Wallace's Tent on Salisbury Plain

Wallace's Tent on Salisbury Plain
Writing a letter with candle on clipboard, see Oct. 16 letter

Monday, August 8, 2016

November 26, 1944 Sunday

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.



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