#1940s Tumblr posts

  • aloneandforsakenbyfateandbyman
    21.10.2021 - 9 minutes ago
    Hedy Lamarr in Ziegfeld Girl (1941)
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  • nemfrog
    21.10.2021 - 13 minutes ago

    Due dates 1928-1975. 


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  • hiddenknives
    21.10.2021 - 19 minutes ago

    // Ok but uhm, a Rebecca inspired plot where the two muses are cutesy and get married, and everyone thinks they have it all but in reality, they’re haunted by the memory of the rich muse’s widow and haunted by mansion and everything it represents.

    And it’s definitely required that the rich muse says: “I’m asking you to marry me, you idiot.”

    #mun speaks #guess what i'm reading just in time for halloween??? #i've watched the 1940 movie but don't think i've read the book
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  • jean-arthur
    21.10.2021 - 1 hour ago

    Jean Arthur in A Lady Takes a Chance, 1943.

    #jean arthur #a lady takes a chance #1940s#1943#old hollywood#bw#** #william a seiter
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  • carbone14
    21.10.2021 - 2 hours ago

    Heinkel He 111 du 26e escadron de bombardiers (Kampfgeschwader 26 “Löwen”) abattu au retour d'un raid sur l'Angleterre et désossé par des mécaniciens de la Luftwaffe – Plage près de Dunkerque – Eté 1940

    #WWII#Bataille d'Angleterre#Luftwaffe #26e Escadron de bombardiers Löwen #Kampfgeschwader 26 Löwen #KG26#Aviation militaire#Bombardier#Bombardier moyen #Heinkel He 111 #Dunkerque#France#1940
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  • women-tennis-colorizations
    21.10.2021 - 2 hours ago

    Pinup Model posing with a tennis racket, 1940s

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  • mulvs
    21.10.2021 - 3 hours ago

    Soft and Steel

    This is a Hugo Stiglitz fic request for @thevioletwtch. Sorry it took so long! Hope you enjoy!

     He was tough. And rigid. Rough and stoic. 

    She was gentle. And light. Sweet and kind. 

    Everyday opposites, but somehow the stench and cries of war made them the same. 

    She had been a nurse before the war. He had been a soldier, working in mechanics, keeping the engines of war machinery running smoothly. Not because he wanted to. But because he knew it had to be done. He was good at getting things done. Good at pushing his own feelings aside in order to get whatever needed doing done. Whether he liked it or not. 

    They had fought together. Since the beginning. They had witnessed the most heinous things side by side. 

    He never spoke. About the things he’d seen or been through. Not to the Basterds. Not to her. 

    She had become a sort of motherly figure. Of course she was lusted after by the Basterds. But they had come to revere her as almost like a saint. A soothing feminine energy whom they could talk to, cry to, hug. Things they couldn’t get from each other. 

    Hugo didn’t talk. He watched. Observing her everyday. 

    He had a quiet affection for her which he swore he would never express. He couldn’t do that to her. Burden her with the weight of knowing a monster loved and wanted her for his own. 

    He observed the way her eyes would soften as she immediately began taking care of the Basterds after a day of bashing Nazis’ skulls in. The way she would bring tea to the Basterd who was missing his mother terribly. How her sweetness never seemed to fade even after witnessing the same things that drove the Basterds to her for comfort. 

    He had realised during his observations that she herself had no source of comfort. No one to go to when she was ravaged with the imagery of splattered Nazi brains. When she was missing her mother. When she needed a source of physicality. 

    He realised that he had been even more cruel than he could have been  by confessing his love for her. He had left her alone in a world filled with rot and depravity. 

    No. That wouldn’t do. He needed to show her the kindness that she gave to everyone else. He just needed to figure out how. 

    .                                                            .                                                                 .

    Weeks had passed. Hugo had spent every day hopelessly trying to find a way to connect with her. Every time he had tried, he had seemed to have scared her. He didn’t mean to. His lack of expression and cold, calculating demeaner was off putting. That was just how he was. 

    When he would approach and sit next to her at the campfire at night while she was watching the stars, she would give him a curt smile and scurry off to bed. When he would bring her bandages after her being hurt during a fire fight, she would take them and bandage herself instead of allowing him to do it. 

    He had accepted that she could only see him for his monstrous acts of war. And to him, that is all he was. He understood. 

    He could not help but feel a bit of his soul die. How was he even allowed to be in her presence. 

    For the next week he couldn’t hide his anger at himself, his shame, guilt and disgust. He was snappy with his brothers-in-arms. He would walk away from her when offered tea. He hid himself away at the edges of the camp, sharpening his blade and feeding his anger. 

    He thought she would be relieved to be away from him. He expected her to be happy. 

    Instead, when he glanced over to the fire, he could only see sadness in her bright eyes. She was staring at him with... pity? 

    He forced himself to look away and focus on the only thing he knew needed him. His blade. 

    .                                                             .                                                                .

    The camp fire had been reduced to glowing embers and the Basterds had nestled into their sleeping bags. This was the only time he allowed himself to be vulnerable. When noone else was watching. 

    He let out a shaky breath and rolled his shoulders. He put his head in his hands which were resting on his knees. He ran his calloused hands through his hair and pulled, finally feeling the anger built up within him. 

    His jaw clenched and he finally stood up so harshly that the chair he was sat on fell back behind him. He stared out over the cliff they were camped on and listened to the distant sounds of gun fire. 

    And as he contemplated hurling himself off the edge, he felt the softest touch of tiny hands around his waist. 

    ‘‘Please don’t. Bitte.’’ the softest whisper. 

    He turned slowly and was met with eyes filled with tears, glinting with moonlight. He was confused. 

    ‘‘Don’t look so confused, Hugo. Please don’t do anything silly.’’ 

    ‘‘Ja’’ was all he could muster. 

    He raised an eyebrow in question. And she laughed bitterly. She looked down at the mossy ground with a worried face. 

    ‘‘If you leave, I’ll be lost. You make all of this easier...’’

    He stared at her intently, confusion still probing him. 

    She giggled this time, still sad but melancholy. 

    ‘‘For someone so intelligent and cunning, you are quite dim.’’ 

    ‘‘I am fond of you Hugo Stiglitz. Very fond of you.’’ 

    She stared up at him through long eyelashes with the sweetest smile he’d ever had the privilege of seeing. 

    ‘‘But... I scare you... no?’’ 

    Another laugh. This time full of humour. 

    ‘‘Yes. But not the way you think.’’

    ‘‘I... do not understand...’’

    ‘‘You make me nervous. I always believed that you hated me. You never talked to me. Never came to me for help. Always bandaged yourself up. You’re the only Basterd who hasn’t come to off load his worries... You’re tougher than steel. And I admire you for that. I have admired you since you first nodded at me in the woods when we met. The longer we were around each other, the more i grew fond of you, but the less I could face you. You read people. See into their soulds. And I was afraid you would see into mine and realise. I stayed away. And now I wish I had done no such thing. Maybe then you wouldn’t be trying to throw yourself off of a cliff.’’ 

    Her face fell sad once again. 

    His heart was pieced back together. 

    He couldn’t believe the words that had fallen from this angel’s lips. And he had been so stupid! She blamed herself for his stupidity. 

    He stood there processing what she had confessed. She believed he was insulted, so apologised quickly and turned to scurry away. He was braver then in that moment than he had ever been in his entire life. 

    Hugo grabbed her wrist as gently as he could and pulled her to him. 

    He stared deeply into her eyes, then around her face as if to take in every fine detail. He cupped her silken cheek with his rough hand, and finally... 

    He kissed her.

    Delicately. Tenderly. With everything that he was not. 

    She kissed back. 

    Passionately. Vigorously. With everything that she was not. 

    And in that moment, the things which they were did not set them apart. They brought them together. Infinitely closer. 

    Two halves of one whole. 

    Soft and Steel. 

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  • newyorkthegoldenage
    21.10.2021 - 4 hours ago

    Phone booths, Penn Station, late 1940s.

    Photo: Walter Chandoha via the NY Times

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  • madvintology
    21.10.2021 - 4 hours ago
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  • misforgotten2
    21.10.2021 - 5 hours ago

    “Should this horsey be whispering bad things to me like this?”

    How to Scratch a Match and Other Secrets of Successful Pipe Smoking  illustrated by Jefferson Machamere   1947

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  • theworldatwar
    21.10.2021 - 5 hours ago

    Soviet soldiers try to defend Leningrad - March 1942.

    Some 100,000 civilians died of starvation and disease during the siege as most of the supply lines to the city were cut by German troops.

    In a bid to help ease the shortages Soviet engineers ingeniously laid a light railway across the frozen surface of Lake Lagoda, the second largest lake in Russia after Lake Baikal.

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  • misforgotten2
    21.10.2021 - 5 hours ago

    How to Scratch a Match and Other Secrets of Successful Pipe Smoking  illustrated by Jefferson Machamere   1947

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  • undr
    21.10.2021 - 6 hours ago

    Ernst A. Heiniger. Rope team on the Bianco ridge, Grisons. 1941

    #ernst a. heiniger #vintage#photography #black and white #art#history#vintage photography #black and white photography #1940s
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  • spockvarietyhour
    21.10.2021 - 6 hours ago
    Solid Wall of police cruisers and more than 50 constables block entrance to dock at Niagara-on-the-Lake after it was reported Saturday 150 C.S.U. strikers and sympathizers planned to picket the C.S.L. ship Cayuga. 1948 (TPL Archives)
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  • theworldatwar
    21.10.2021 - 6 hours ago

    Anthony Eden, Foreign Secretary and General Sir Bernard Paget watch a training exercise by the British 42nd Armoured Division - Malton, Yorkshire 1942

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  • misforgotten2
    21.10.2021 - 6 hours ago

    Tomorrow's House: A Complete Guide For the Home Builder  by George Nerson & Henry Wright   1945

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  • i--needed--that
    21.10.2021 - 6 hours ago
    This movie was PG, but it really WANTED to be rated R. 😉 Why did those censors hate us?!? 😂 Fun Fact about this film...there was a scene (I think it was a version of this one) that was so steamy, Louis B. Mayer ordered it destroyed. Why did Louis B. Mayer hate us?!? 🤨 Judy Garland & Gene Kelly, starting a fire, in "The Pirate" (1948). 💕
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