Here's one coincidence for you u/Joys1Daughter

More than a decade ago we were going through my mom's things after we moved her to a nursing home due to Alzheimer's. This "Letter to the Editor" of our local newspaper was found among her things, withered and yellowed written by my FIL. We asked her about it but the disease had taken that memory. As far as we are aware she never knew him until I met his daughter (my wife) after my seperation from the navy.

It was written "to the editor" by my now wife's father when he was stationed in the south pacific during WWII. Until the day he died (he died before mom did) I never heard him talk about the war but now understand the years of alcoholism.

So, R.I.P. Peter, you are missed.

TWO BUCKS A DAY

I'm full of damned malaria,

shake the whole day long,

the quinine's ringing in my ears,

I'm anything but strong;

Mosquito bites all over me,

You'd think I had "the itch,"

My ears are full of 'Guinea mud,

My bunk--a muddy ditch.

I'm living in a jungle,

It's hot as merry hell,

C rations is my menu,

No cooking can I smell.

For this I get two bucks a day,

And a chance for a little ground,

That measures four by six by four,

And a covered, grassy mound.

My pal who came down here with me—

The lad was just eighteen—

Got him a bed he'll never leave,

The coverlet is green.

Another one will see no more,

Another lost an arm,

And hundreds more I do not know

Are now safe from all harm.

But when I hear of a bunch of guys

Who're safe and far away,

Refuse to work because they want

Two dollars more a day—

I only wish I had them here

For just a week or two,

To live in 'Guinea jungles,

And there we'd let them stew.

We'd give them all malaria,

Let mosquitoes have a feast,

We'd make them bury many a lad

From North, West, South and East;

We'd make them sleep in foxholes,

We'd feed them from a can;

We'd let a hot sun blister them—

'Twould be no "Palm Beach tan."

We'd let them hear the wounded moan,

We'd let them see them die;

With snipers' bullets whizzing close

And star shells in the sky.

And then we'd send them home again,

To their 10 bucks every day;

To tell the others what they'd seen

Way down New Guinea way.

I'll bet this guy would have enough,

At home he'd gladly stay;

No strikes he'd start right soon again,

For "two bucks more a day."