April 15, 1945 Sunday

Hosp. – France

Dearest Marjorie,

There is one thing about life here that I haven’t told you yet, but it is important enough to get me out of bed in the morning. It is that about every other day we have fresh eggs for breakfast. You might not think that is much, but these are the first fresh eggs I have had in Europe. Oh, a few times we have gathered a few from farms, but they haven’t been prepared well. Here we can get two big lightly turned fried eggs just the way they ought to be, with butter and salt and pepper. Voilà quelques chose! Some mornings I eat up to four of them, because you never know when the next ones are coming.

Yesterday was a full day for me. After my physio baking I went to the dentist and had my teeth cleaned. I guess it pays not to brush your teeth regularly – ever since last July when I had that wisdom tooth taken out I have been assiduously neglecting my teeth. This is about the first time I have had nothing to have done. The guy that cleaned my teeth did it without that machine brush, but he could do more damage shoving that little gadget with a mirror on it around than most dentists can do with a drill. He was a little rough, especially with his left hand. 

Speaking of left hands, I have had a chance to try mine out on a piano. Just for a change I tried out that little vamp which you may have heard me render – dum ta dee dee, dum ta dee dee, deedle dee deedle dee dum. It had the usual effect, but I could see that my left hand was not doing its usual job. The grandiose effect produced by doubling the “dums” an octave lower with the little finger was difficult to produce easily because the little finger is still numb and you can’t tell how hard you are hitting the note. Undoubtedly my amateur title won’t be effected by this, but I fear that a professional career as a pianist might suffer. Perhaps everyone would suffer if my piano career had been carried out. So it maybe best to let the career suffer instead. Besides, critics have said that my repetoire (if that is spelled wrong, please pretend it is an intentional mistake; just one of my little jokes) was too limited for a professional career. I have always held that one piece, say, well-played was better than thousands of mediocre recitals. Now I fear I won’t have a chance to prove this. Art’s loss must become something else’s gain. 

Yesterday I went to Commercy. A few officers rode in on a truck. I looked around for a time, had a glass of beer, and searched for something to buy for you. At the risk of being repetitious, I found some more perfume to send you. I like to get it, Hon. And this is better than the other I sent you. At least, it is a more famous brand, and it is very popular around here. I hope you will like it; it is the nearest thing to flowers I can send from over here. I don’t even know what this bottle smells like. It hasn’t been opened, and I don’t want to weaken it or anything by breaking it open. Everybody says it’s good, tho.

It has been almost a year now since I got a commission, almost two years since I went on active duty. That’s about long enough as far as I’m concerned, but a lot more is concerned than me. I want more than anything to get back to you so we can get on with our plans. However long it is, tho, my Honey, I will always love you and be willing to wait if it eventually leads back to you. I love you so very much, Marjorie.

Always all yours, 

Wallace

April 13, 1945 Friday

Hosp – France

Dear Marjorie,

Roosevelt’s sudden death has been the only subject on our minds today. We have picked up many reports of it going to foreign countries or broadcast from foreign countries. They all seem to be as full of concern as we Americans are. For it is an occurrence of importance to the people of all these countries. They have had as many hopes attached to him as we had. Alsatians have proposed to me that an American government should take charge of all the Rhineland, Alsace and Lorraine. They felt that only Roosevelt would treat them fairly.

The death of Roosevelt won’t interrupt the prosecution of the war, but could be a real blow to post-war planning. Probably there will be plenty of shuffling around before the new character of the government becomes crystallized. The policy will depend upon the type of advisors Truman chooses. I can’t help but feel doubts until Truman does something by which we can see what he stands for. It all throws a big question mark into world affairs just when they seemed to be shaping up well. With the loss of a great leader, the initiative is put back into the hands of the citizens. That is as it should be in a democracy.

Today came my first treatment at physiotherapy. Just baked my leg under a lamp while I layed on a comfortable mattress. They also gave me lengthy instructions on how to walk. There is nothing the army won’t do. Imagine teaching an infantryman how to walk! I have been doing a sad job lately, I will admit. I displayed courage above and beyond the call of duty by asking for a dental appointment this afternoon. It was like attacking a town with no gerries in it. He gave me a perfect tooth card, or the equivalent thereof. Tomorrow morning they are going to clean them for me. That’s all.

Since I have been in Europe I have met almost no people from N.H. [New Hampshire]. I had wondered if I was the only one in the army. I’m not. There is a boy named Sweeny here from Jaffry (How do you spell that, anyway?). A doctor’s son, went to Yale as a pre-med. He is an officer in another armored division, not much wrong with him. Have met a good many people from other parts of New England, too. Quite a change from the Western & southern twelfth.

That mailman is very, very low in my book. I have been here long enough to get some letters. They are all I need to put me in top shape. It’s been an awful long time now and I want to know how you are very much. I hope my letters are coming thru O.K., Hon, and that you know how I am. Particularly I want you to know that I love you, and need you, and think of you more than I can ever say.

All my love,

Wallace.

Illustration

1. 9 A.M.

2. 12 Noon [muscle]

3. 1500

4. 1800

Explanation – Well, for one thing I skipped this page and rather than send it blank, here is a “visual diary” of my activities when I was a bed patient.

O.K., I should have left it empty.

April 12, 1945 Thursday

Somewhere in (muddy, haha) France

Page “1”

My darling angle,

How is my little darling today fine i hope i am O.K. my darling. I can’t think of nothing else to do so I will right to my darling angle. (That’s you, my angle, haha)

I will ans. your letter of April 1, 1945. i am sorry i did not write you yet, but you see, angle, i am in a hosp. and i am very busy and could not right even if i wanted to. Of course, naturally, i don’t want to (oh yeah?). They have some nice little French girls in this hosp and they are pretty nice (ha). Are you mad, my darling angle? i hope not, my darling, because it is only a joke, see? I love you madly, madly and yet so very madly. French girls aren’t haf as much fun as you, angle, and i haven’t met one yet as nice as American Girls. They are awful, my darling angle.

Darling, i didn’t mean that thing you said i said in your letter of April 1, 1945. Anyway, angle, if i did it would be kinda hard on account of i am in the infery and the infery don’t get to places like that very often. Believe me, my darling angle, you are my only wife and I am glad of it. If you do not believe me, that is just one of them things and there is plenty of nice little French girls in this hosp. (ha, ha)

Well, darling, i can’t think of nothing to right today because i do nothing and nothing ever happens. The war is going pretty good and will be over in a day or two, so maybe i will see you again pretty soon, my darling angle. I love you madly, madly and yet so very madly.

Your loving husband,

Cpl. Johnathon T. (Sqirt) Jones, 3336172

I LOVE YOU ANGLE

hug, hug, hug & kiss, kiss, kiss

This is not true battle fatigue! It is only the result of censoring a stack of mail. It makes you feel like that, so here is a version of the average soldier’s letter home. No, it isn’t the average – the average isn’t too bad, but there are enough like this to sour one on letters in general. The average is quite sincere and reveals the stress the war is causing. Letters like these come so frequently that you overlook the better ones. Some are six times better than I could ever write.

Love, 

Wallace.

April 11, 1945 Wednesday

Dear Marjorie,

I did not write at the usual time last night, due to a sudden urge to take a walk in the hospital area. It was a “Junior Prom” type of evening. Quiet, clear, and a nice fresh scent of spring flowers in the air. The season here is far in advance of the usual time-table for New England. The trees are green already, and all the early flowers are budding. The sun is warm during the day, and evenings are only a little cooler. 

Last night I found out just how pleasant it was outdoors. I took off my stiff legged gait and strolled. That was possible because yesterday morning I got a new outfit. It’s that “awful” G.I. stuff, but it is much better than pajamas. [switches from pencil to ink] In addition, I began to eat at the officer’s mess. That gives me a chance to take a short walk to each meal. The walk I took last evening was enjoyable, but inevitably it made me a little lonely. Even despondent, in a quiet, almost pleasant, sort of way.

In a day or two I will start physiotherapy. That’s all I need now. The muscles are stiff, and won’t stretch out as they should. 

Today they are having a formal inspection at the hospital so, inevitably the patients take second place, while they clean up the wards. It seems to me that the attitude of the officials at this hospital is not as good as that in others. Most everything is more the detachment and the reputation of the hospital than for the well-being of the patients. That does not go for the medical treatment at all. That is of the best. But the entertainment & morale sections endure patients rather than work for them.

The usual custom is to begin a letter in ink, run dry, and finish in pencil. It is only to flout convention that I reverse that order today. No use being narrow. Might just as well run out of lead occasionally as to be forever running out of ink first.

So long for a short time now, Honey; I am planning to write again today to settle my conscious [sic] about not writing last night. You know I think of you all the time and love you more than all the world. You are always my wonderful wife.

All my love,

Wallace.

April 10, 1945 Tuesday

Hosp. France

My dearest Marjorie,

Well, here’s Dinah Shore’s program! I have heard it several times in the last couple weeks, and each time it recalls happy thoughts of last summer and you. She sang “I’ll Walk Alone” one night. She can sing our theme song better than anyone, and even tho it is off the hit parade now, it’s still our theme song. I’m lonely, but it isn’t at all unbearable since I have you to have faith in and rely on. And I have all the faith in the world, Honey.

Today I branched out to the barber shop without the aid of crutches. I casually roll along with a cane now. A cane makes you feel like a millionaire somehow. You can get such majestic flourishes with it. The bandage make me walk with a rather stiff-legged stride on the left side, but I have all the power of a bull moose in each step. How do I know how it got there? And I can’t prove it, you’ll just have to believe me – it is undoubtedly the power of a bull moose.

Covered some more of Hitler’s early life and the start of National Socialism. There was considerable material on the German underground efforts to maintain the power of the army as a political force. Valuable as a pre-glimpse of what probably lies ahead for us now. If German nationalism of the last war produced such vicious unseen growths, it’s certain to be even more sinister now. For then, only a portion of the population had that fanatical form of patriotism that fosters secret organizations. Now, all of Germany is as steeped in it as Hitler and a few soldiers and students were then. With the practice the Germans got in the early 1920’s they may pop up with something new and mean in fifth column work, and since they have so many people to join in it. The French did some neat underground work, and they did it after a time when their national feeling was extremely low. The Germans have seen the French work, and are themselves so groggy with nationalism they will have even more incentive. 

Today a captain from the 12^th came into the ward as a patient. He is a headquarters man, but is seemed good to see anybody from the outfit. He had some news of the outfit but nothing at all personal about the men I know. They are making plenty of time. 

My goodnite wish tonite is that you are just as happy as you can be and that you love me just the way I love you.

All my love, always,

Wallace.

April 9, 1945 Monday

Hosp. France

Dearest Marjorie,

The Russian campaign against Vienna at least has one good result. It put “Tales from the Vienna Woods” on the air much more frequently than usual. Almost irony to play it at a time like this, isn’t it. But you can’t let war stop all the delicate things. It’s doing a good enough job as it is. It is very sobering to consider objectively the scope of the war now. Look at us, after six years of war in Europe, jumping off on bigger and bigger attacks every day on wider and wider fronts. And after this, another big scale affair to finish up in the Pacific. It’s staggering when you consider the small unit actions involved. Each company fights enough to feel it is winning the war by itself, but thousands of companies are in it, even thousands of divisions. When you think of the destruction of lives and property in all that, it isn’t hard to imagine H.G. Wells’ version of the fall of civilization. Europe at least is in a decline it can’t shake off in years. Churchill speaks of the tremendous job of rebuilding bombed England. Why, England is a peaceful countryside compared to large parts of Europe. What can you expect from the next generation of Europe after a childhood spent under conditions like these? It’s hard to see how the tremendous hatreds being built up can ever be reconciled. How can the French ever forget their treatment under the Germans, or the Germans forget what is going on now. Especially when every family has lost so much.

In spite of morale considerations you can’t laugh off a thing the size of the war, especially as it begins to seem certain that the thing will go right on to the last pocket with no end until one side is annihilated. There’s nothing to do but keep pushing and hope like hell that we have strength to reach a complete victory fairly soon, and that somebody will be able to make something of the pieces that are left. If it goes on too long, there just won’t be enough pieces left, not matter who “wins.”

It’s a monster of a war, but it is overlooking me pretty well these days. The big event for me today was to start a book “Der Fuehrer,” which (can you guess?) is the biography of Hitler, well propangandized but with some straight history as well. Next in order of importance was shaving in the lavatory, not at my bed. Oh yes, and PX rations came today.

I don’t need to say that my life here won’t be easy until I hear from you again. It’s been at least a month now since I had a letter. I know that they will come in time, and until they do I’m picturing you as pretty busy, but well off and greeting spring. The snow still can’t be getting higher and higher as spring gets nigher and nigher. Or is it? 

Gee, I love you, my honey,

Wallace.

April 8, 1945 Sunday

Hosp. France

Dear folks,

Sunday once more. I like Sunday, even if the only difference from other days is that meals are served an hour later as they are here. I guess it’s because you can get better music on the radio. Also you feel a little different.

Not much has happened to me this last week. I expect the doctor will take out my stitches very soon now. Until they come out, it is necessary to use crutches and stay in bed most of the time. It wouldn’t be impossible to walk but there would be danger of pulling the stitches. They are just above my knee and in back where walking would stretch them.

I spend most of my time reading and writing. Right now I am dividing my time between Carl Sandburg and Robert Benchley. One for when I feel sublime and one for when I feel ridiculous. Robert Benchley is more ridiculous that Sandburg is sublime, but I appreciate them both.

Yesterday I was smuggled to a movie. As a bed patient I’m not supposed to go, but I got a few good collaborators and managed to get by without trouble. It was just another musical show but a big break in my usual routine. 

You can see that things are moving pretty fast on the front now. I don’t know where the outfit will be when I get back, but it’s a cinch they are closer to the Russians than they are to me. I know I am a damn fool and don’t know when I am well off, but I still wish I was with my platoon. We aren’t always reasonable with the things we feel. I hate to think of old “C” company going places without me. You think about them all the time, and wonder how things are going. It isn’t just “college spirit” for the company. You get the impression back here that the infantrymen up there are the only ones really doing anything in the war. That’s wrong, but you get the feeling, nevertheless.

The “Goums,” natives of north Africa fighting with the French, are doing something, too. We have been with them before and what soldiers they are. Like old Indian fighters. When they take a town, the town doesn’t know it’s being attacked at all until all of a sudden the “Goums” in red fezes pop up all over the town and blow up everything all at once. They infiltrate into towns secretly and are not even seen until they are close enough to use knives. If you are on guard at night and feel a pair of hands gliding around your helmet, you don’t have to be scared. It’s just a Goum feeling the shape of your helmet to see if you are a German.*

Love to all at home,

your loving son, 

Wallace

*P.S. This didn’t happen to me, but knowing the “Goums,” I believe it.