November 19, 1944 Sunday

Somewhere in France

Dearest Sherlock,

Your letter of the 31st of October has just reached me – the letter in which you wrote about the country around Salisbury. Since I am now longer in that country, even, I can tell you that you were “right in every particular” (as old Grandsir John used to say). The places and towns you wrote about are quite familiar to me, and I am very glad that you, too, know about them now. I think from your letter that you can see how thrilling it was for me to be actually in that country. In your list of towns you not mention the little village of Tidworth.

I did not get to visit the cathedral at Winchester, tho I did come near it, and the skipper on “my” LST said that he had been there and was quite impressed.

Your sketch of the Salisbury cathedral is perfect. I can show you on it just how I went through the place. It was really very striking and awe-inspiring. I do hope Miss Ackerman can use the Stonehenge pamphlet – actually Stonehenge wasn’t 25 miles away, I cheated on that because I couldn’t imagine describing it without naming it!

And now, here I am or here we are with another whole country to assimilate just as we get together on the other. And I have so much to tell you, Honey. I have so much to tell and perhaps you can “Sherlock” the rest as you did in England.

Our trip over was very comfortable – at least for my crew. We came with the vehicles. The rest of the outfit came in other boats for personnel – fast and crowded and uncomfortable. We took quite a few days, set some time at anchor outside the harbor, lived in excellent quarters, ate well, and were not crowded. Moreover we came to a camp all set up by the time we arrived after a long convoy from the port.

I have told you in a V-mail letter how we lived in pup-tents, except for the officers, and how I lived with Mme. Legrand for a few days. I don’t believe I mentioned that at long last we have caught up with Gino Forchielli. It was good to see him again. Now, with Olevine’s replacement, 1st Lt. John Trusley of Tennessee, our officers’ staff is complete for once.

Now the picture has changed completely again. The company has moved about 15 kilometers to a small town. We have the whole town in which to billet our company. Our mess hall is in the rear end of the local café, the 1st and 2nd platoons are billeted out here at the largest farm in town – about a kilometer from the church. The other platoons and sections are separate in other farms. This wide dispersion makes a unique situation that I like. It makes Lt. Fairbairn a small dictator in town – there are about equal number of civilians and C Company men. It makes we platoon leaders quite responsible. We make our own platoon schedules and devise our own training. We look after our own billets and guards. For the first time my platoon is a unit by itself, unfettered by a larger unit right nearby. We have to take our half-tracks to get to chow!

Lt. Forchielli and I live together in a big room of the excellent main house of the estate on which both our platoons are billeted. It is by far the best quarters we have had this side of the Atlantic. The men are in lofts and barns nearby.

In England, historical places and big events caught your attention. Here it seems to be a country of small people and everyday life. Peasants working as they have done for years, following customs and living very much to themselves. They are not conscious of their antiquity as are the English, but their life is full of tradition, and much more “human” than I found life in England. I have become the company “interpreter” and so have had a lot of chances to get acquainted with the French people. The mayor and his “assistant” are great friends of mine, and many others. They are extremely warm and friendly and expressive. I have no trouble understanding them and am getting more fluent every day. I shake hands, wave them when I talk, exclaim “en effet” or “oui, oui, oui” with the best of them. They like to talk to me and get a kick out of my French, which is understandable but a bit weird in spots.

Today I looked after such things as these. I told a man with a machine for making cognac, not to sell or give any to “C” company men during the day. I arranged for a detail to attend a funeral for a French soldier tomorrow. I began diplomatic relations with the café owner, and tested his Calvados. Same for the owner of this estate. He is an only son, and rich. He treated me politely, and we had a fine talk – but I think he will require a little handling before I get him in line. It’s understandable why he isn’t enthusiastic for 200 men to take over his farm, but the other people realize the necessity and willingly give all they can. He is a little too rich for that. That is the trouble with being rich. “Where your treasure is, there your heart is also.” This rich man is the first person I have met in France that I didn’t like at once. He is too busy staying rich to be friendly.

Well, I cannot tell you everything in one letter, I can see that. It’s late already. I have much more to tell you, tho, Honey, so I’ll write again just as soon as I can. I cannot tell you how much I love you and how much I appreciate your wonderful letters. They mean everything to me. Be strong, Bunny, I love you very much.

Your Wallace