Somewhere in France
Dearest Marjorie,
Yesterday I received two Xmas packages from Laura and
Justin. They contained many little things that look good over here. Candy,
cigarettes, socks, 3 books (one a fine collection of poems) and a plum pudding.
I promptly proceeded to make myself sick on the chocolate covered
almonds—“comme un petit,” says Simone, my bucksome [sic], motherly lady of the
house. She and I have a lot of fun together—she is learning English and I,
French. She is also very nice about pressing clothes and sewing on buttons. She
is something like a fattened up edition of Aunt Nettie. From Le Havre,
originally, and quite interesting.
As you know, so many things are going on that I am likely to
lose track of them in the future I am considering jotting down a few notes of
what I do each day to serve as a stimulus for my memory. I will send them to
you for holding if I can. Also I have now quite a lot of souvenir money from
England, France and some other European countries. I can only send the
equivalent of one dollar in a letter at a time, but I think I’ll start sending
it on to you. I only had a little until one day at a newsstand I showed an
interest in the now uncommon 50 centimes piece. The newsstand owner said that
if I returned, I could get some German money. I did, and they gave me an
envelope full of coins of all countries and ages. That made my collection large
enough to start sending home. If you get some letters with only coins or
unreadable notes, don’t be shocked—I write as often as I can but I can see that
it won’t be possible nearly as often as I’d like to.
Not much mail is coming thru right now, but I feel that
there is plenty on the way. In any event, that is not as important as knowing
you are there. Honest, Honey, I can’t imagine what a single soldier has to
fight for—they do get very lonely and most of them plan marriage right after
the war. I do pity the ones that don’t have a girl in mind, and it makes me
very contented to remind myself that I am already married and have someone who
really cares. I have never been more glad I married you than since I have been
so far away. I tell myself that I have at least made one good decision in my
life. Maybe I’ve messed up a lot of things, but marrying you was the right
thing from the very start. Please, Bunny, so not the sparsity or shortness of
my letters make you feel that I have changed at all. I haven’t. And do not
forget that I think of you every day—every time I am alone, whenever I see a
star or phase of the moon that you might be seeing too, each time I go to bed,
or when something interesting comes up I’d like to tell you about. Like just
now—Simone brought in some French coffee (black & sweet) and some of the
French pastry we vainly sought in New Orleans. They were very good.
Well, it’s time for bed now. Good nite, my honey.
Love,
Wallace.
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