Reminiscences of a woman Marine
By Rosemary Murray
Posted: 02/15/2009 07:18:27 PM PST


All down the years we have dates we remember: Our birthdays, our weddings, the 10th of November.

To a woman Marine, the best date we'll see is the 13th of February, 1943.

That is the day the Corps saw the light that a woman could free a Marine man to fight.

Now for God and for country we could raise up our hand with Semper Fidelis our law of our land.

Camp Lejeune now our focus, we were put on a train. One loaded with coal dust, and of course, in the rain.

We arrived at the boot camp in the dead of the night. Hot, tired and dirty, our hair was a sight.

We were met by a sergeant who exuded no charm; with her cover squashed low and some stripes on her arm.

The first thing she told us was "Boot" was your name, you're not a Marine 'til you leave here with fame.

We were marched to a barracks, big room, poor decor and we wondered why mops were lined up by the door.

At reveille next morning, we found out right quick, as we swabbed that deck 'til it shone and was slick.

Then away to the mess hall for some real gourmet treats: Burnt toast, fried baloney and some stuff they called "meats."

We marched off to the beauty shop, inappropriate name, as with great big scissors they chopped off our manes.

Then we got our new shoesies (mine fit like a glove) and they seemed like a style that my grandma would love.

We donned new uniforms, beautiful, flirty. Mine would have fit well if I'd worn a size 30.

Had a chat with a chaplain, and a long talk with a shrink. He had to find out if we thought we could think, because if we did, we could put it in store the Marine Corps thinks for you now and ever more.

We spent time in a classroom, air-conditioned not and in North Carolina in the summer is HOT.

We learned Navy regs and some Marine lore. We learned all that and a whole lot more.

Out to the boondocks, where we found out about fleas, but our chic cotton stockings protected our knees.

We crawled under barbed wire and pulled on ropes. Sent postage-free letters back home to our folks.

Some new EPD lists appeared, we were there. We'd committed a crime: On our collars, a hair!

But that was OK, pulling weeds can be fun, because not all the mosquitoes come out in the sun.

Now all of these things can cause some apprehension. But a lovely cold shower would relieve all the tension.

'Twas a very large room, spigots high on the wall and we ran through together, no privacy stall.

From the communal shower we came out nice and clean like that thing we'd scrub called a latrine.

There was relief for one having a nicotine fit, at 1900 hours, the smoking lamp was lit.

Now soon boot camp ended, we were now real Marines. We would go forth with honor to a new set of scenes: To schools, to mess halls, or a desk in DC. Some to PI, some to drive a Humvee.

Many went to air bases, El Toro was one, to keep F4Us flying - Corsairs - the best one.

1945 and our heroes came home, covered with glory, and with medals that shone. From Tarawa, Pileliu, Guadalcanal, Guam, Okinawa, Iwo Jima, et al.

We'd freed those Marines, and our freedom they'd won. Our job was finished, we'd earned a "well done."

We were given some papers, small change, "ruptured duck," and told we could leave now, goodbye and good luck.

So we departed to GI Bill houses with our fetching brown sea bags and some with new spouses.

To our children and grandchildren we'd a story to tell of our 10 weeks in boot camp, our 10 weeks in ... heaven? And how as the few and the proud, we did honorably serve in the U.S. Marine Corps Women's Reserve.

Semper Fidelis.

Rosemary Murray lives in Long Beach.


Ellie