April 7, 1945 Saturday

Hosp. – France

Hello, Hon,

Big day today! In addition to the usual routine, I snuck (passed [sic] tense of sneak, of course) out to the Red Cross this afternoon and saw a movie. It took loads of cooperation from ambulatory patients, both in planning an alibi and in executing the project. They volunteered enthusiastically and it was pulled off without a hitch. I’d like to tell you the name of the show, but I never knew. It was a sentimental little musical. Not much good, but it was good enough to make me miss you like everything and draw analogies between us and the hero and heroine. Seems as tho every movie does that to me, and makes me wish our happy ending would hurry. Is it a good thing I don’t see many movies like that? I don’t know. They make me yearn for you and miss you very sharply – but it isn’t good to get too sentimental in a situation like this. You feel better just thinking logically. First Lieutenants get all gummed up like that.

Wrote a letter to Laura today which should reach her about her birthday. I couldn’t get to a P.X. to buy her a gift. If you have time, it would be nice to send her something from “us.”

Sometime in his career every G.I. sends home to his sweetheart a plan for their dream home. It is a warming thing to do. It is possible that, being a teacher’s family, our home will not be permanently located very soon, so we might not get a chance to build a dream home early in our career. Having ideas tho makes it easier to approximate what we want, and who knows when we might actually be in a spot to build a home of our own? The funniest things can happen to people!

So, with that much introduction, let me present:

Preliminary Thoughts on Dream Home*

by RUSSELL

*Heavy debts go to several G.I. Dream Home ideas.

Fig. 1 – ground floor

That living room is the “piece de resistance.” The fireplace is a big one, and the steps down would be nice. The B[reakfast] nook would work, don’t you think? I don’t know whether the library is well placed or not. The glass porch would go good, and windows are sprinkled around where needed. 

Fig. 2 – second floor

This is a balcony that overlooks the living room, making it a real high room.

The glass porch is on the second floor, also, one above the other – this may be screened in up here. 

The study room is to work in when too much is going on in the library.

The absence of a bath room reflects my travels in France. Maybe the small bedroom would be better as a bath room.

I thought about a patio, but that would involve a completely different style house. I don’t know what style this house is. Could look pretty modern from the outside.

There is a “big picture,” Hon; furniture and other details will have to be worked out by better brains than mine. That is, if any better brains were interested in paying attention to it.

I love you from top to toe, Hon, and am much more interested in having one room and you than any mansion. A mansion added would be only a minor improvement.

All my love, 

Wallace.

April 6, 1945 Friday

France – Hosp. 

Evening, my Honey,

Today coasted along following the same routine I told you about in yesterday’s letter. I told the doctor it was time to take the stitches out but he didn’t agree with me. Guess he hasn’t had too much training. No, actually he is about the best doctor I have been under, and everyone has all the confidence in the world in him. He’s a big man, not fat, but big. He has a mild, intelligent face and a manner that inspires faith in him without him saying very much. 

This afternoon I started another letter to you, trying to tell you about some of the little incidents that have happened that I never have written you about. I suppose it is the “veteran” story-telling that we all catch in time. I can see why “veterans” get that way now. Some of the experiences are extremely impressive and you have a big urge to get some of the off your chest. A good many of them feel that what has happened to them just must be more unusual than anything that has happened to anybody. That isn’t so. All of them have had very similar experiences – at least the tankers and infantrymen, and they are the ones I’m talking about. That doesn’t make each one’s experience have any less effect on him as an individual, tho. 

I am still trying to escape this form of “veteran-itis,” because it is a completely useless thing. The vet is carried away by his own story because he lived it, but to others it’s just another monotonous combat experience. Of course, they all meet some of those things you don’t want to talk about, but those are the episodes that are soon repressed almost completely out of memory. Funny that way, the worst things are forgotten; from conscious memory, that is. They pop up in bad dreams now and then. Then you wake up and start going to sleep all over again. 

I’m counting on you, you know, to “rehabilitate” my conversation in that respect. I want to tell you all there is to tell, but just you, Hon. There is good reason for sharing these things with you and I want to very much. Just be sure to stop me after I’ve been around the whole story a couple of times. I know I’ve mentioned this before but I have to keep re-deciding it each time I take a time-out.

Seems as tho I ask you to do, or prepare to do something for me in each letter I write. I don’t mean to ask for too much, Marjorie Hon, but you are a pretty important person to me, and the only one I can count on for a lot of things. I wasn’t raised to be a soldier. You are just about the only part of my life that isn’t G.I. That just makes me love you more, and want to do things for you. I wish I could do something right now to start repaying you, for just being there you are doing more for me than you could guess, dearest. Remember our Durham song “You’d Be So Nice To Come Home To” – that goes now much deeper than I ever thought it would. You are all I want to come home to.

Always all yours,

Wallace. 

April 5, 1945 Thursday

France

Dearest Marjorie,

The idea came to me that it would be possible to keep a diary while I am in the hospital. But, on the other hand, it would be a pretty colorless affair. I have done less in the last week and a half than I have ever done in that length of time in my life. The other hospital was a beehive of activity compared to this. Probably it isn’t the hospital, but my position as a bed patient that makes the difference. Anyway, even if I do nothing worth writing about, I still have the urge to keep a diary. It’s hard to figure out just why. The books say it is an adolescent characteristic, but as far as I can see, all I have left of adolescence is an occasional pimple. And I most likely wouldn’t have those if I washed my face as I should! I think the diary urge is there because I like to feel as tho I knew what I am doing, and writing things down forces you to think more clearly. Another good reason is that my memory for times and places is always in a comfortable fog, but if there is a place for me to look up details of memories that doesn’t bother me. 

In a place where I have trouble holding on to my pay data card, it is easy to see how long I could retain a real diary. So for the time that I am here, I will incorporate a diary with my letters to you. That’s no great innovation. My letters usually amount to that anyway. But I’ll be a little more conscientious about it now. 

By the way, are you keeping a diary now? If you are, will you put an entry here and there about what I am doing? Then I can “catch me up” when I can keep a diary again. Let’s see Sept-Nov = Trip over and Tidworth; Nov = Normandy – St. Mards; Dec = Baccarat – Urbach; Jan = Mulcey – Herrlisheim – Hosp.; Feb = Hosp. – Cites des Charbonnages; March = Trier – Speyer – Hosp.

Today I rolled over to eat breakfast at about 8 o’clock. The reason I got up so early was that the tray was shoved under my nose and I had no alternative. After breakfast I lay back, fatigued, smoking a resuscitating Chesterfield. Hardly had I finished the second one when the wash pan was brought around and I gingerly shaved. After that effort I did snatch an hour or two of rest and brilliant conversation. Then the mail clerk brought the mail – not incoming, that’s not for me, but mail to censor. My share comes to about 20 letters per day, and usually I finish that before the doctor makes his rounds. Today I had a few left when he came, but he only asked me if I had any complaints. I said no, and he passed on. Tomorrow I’ll see if he will take out the stitches.

I read for the rest of the morning from “Thunder Mountain.” This was interrupted by dinner – brought on a tray of course. After the meal, more conversation, and finally the rest of “Thunder Mountain.”

That about finished my activities, except for writing to you. Supper came and interrupted me for awhile. Then a surprisingly heated but intelligent conference on international organization was held spontaneously in the ward. 

The lights went out at 10 o’clock, but we talked on ‘til around 11. Then I said a few words to you and went to sleep.

That’s my day – and they are all alike. Pretty strenuous, but I bear up under it all.

‘Bye now, Hon; I love you every minute.

All yours,

Wallace.

April 4, 1945 Wednesday

Dearest Honey,

How is my Bunny tonite? All nice? I bet so, how could you be anything else? This is your wandering husband, who wanders and wonders just how long it will be before he can see how nice you are again. ‘Course I know all the time, but each time I hear from you or see you I am surprized just how nice you are. Haven’t done either for some time now, so I like to think of the surprize I have in store for me one of these days.

I guess this paper about completes the rainbow for me in the past few days. The Red Cross gives it out, and altho it is weird, it is all that is to be had.

My adventurous spirit came to the fore today. I was determined to find out a little about where I am. Altho I am still not permitted to ambulate, my leg feels very good. It is not sore now and I can bend my knee quite well. I feel as tho I could walk, but the doctor won’t let me try. So today I defied authority and took off on my crutches. I went all around this floor, and then threw caution to the winds and went down the stairs! There wasn’t anything down there but the first floor, but it gave me a feeling of great accomplishment. This hospital is on the site of an old French army garrison. There isn’t much in one building. The authorities make it difficult for me to spread my wings, by not issuing me even a bath robe while I am a bed patient. I should be able to shake that classification in a day or so now. I imagine they don’t want me walking for fear of breaking the stitches. There aren’t many this time – just a few at each opening.

Today was P.X. day, so I am now supplied with enough candy and cigarettes for a while. I have just finished a full pack of Phillip Morris’ and I found out why most people don’t like them. They give the impression of being very, very dry and after a few they leave a bitter taste in the back of your mouth. I am fairly certain I noticed a real difference in taste – in fact, it was hard for me to smoke the entire pack and I rushed back happily to a Chesterfield.

Today I started a full-sized novel – “Thunder Mountain,” which is a robust, escapist story that holds a lot of interest with its well defined characters.

Will you excuse me, dear, if I close a little early tonite? I started writing late tonite and “lights out” is creeping up on me. As always, you will be the subject of my “dropping off to sleep” thoughts. You seem much closer these days – because I can write more consistently, probably. Remember I always love you more than anyone in all the world, Honey.

All my love,

Wallace.

April 3, 1945 Tuesday

Dearest Honey, 

I did some interesting reading today. First I finished “Brainstorm” by Carlton Brown (a condensation, of course). That was practically a case history of a recovered insane man. Gave the background and possible causes of the onset, described the depressed phase and went into great detail on the manic phas that forced him into a state hospital. The phases were separated by weeks, so I don’t know whether it was a true manic-depressive case on not. They did not name it, but mentioned cyclothemia a couple of times. This man thought that he was a “jitterbug Christ” and reached the height of his delusion at the World’s Fair. He didn’t have real illusions, but was hyper-sensitive to normal happenings, translating them all in terms of his own dreams. He gave a story of the state of the asylum that didn’t sound too good, and told of his slow, difficult recovery. Have you, by any chance, seen the real book? You’d enjoy it, Hon. 

Then I found an article in a Life magazine about “psychosomatic medicine,” which is simply the study of emotionally caused physical disorders – peptic ulcers, asthma, high blood pressure, etc. It wasn’t too new, but I learned that they use sodium pentathol in the army to study psychiatric cases. That’s the same drug they have used on me frequently as an anesthetic during my various operations. The doctor here said they did use it in different quantities on cases where emotional blocks prevent memory of battle experiences, etc. It makes a rapid psycho-analysis possible by breaking down a patient’s resistance to memory. It does produce a very pleasant, dreamy sleep. I have told you about it more than once, haven’t I? Something like hypnosis, the doctor said. Again I was surprized when it said that 40 to 50% of army disability cases are of “psychosomatic” origin. That is a good new word to express the mind-body relationship that psychologists always plug. 

It seems awfully good to me, Hon, to find even that much new material on psychology. It is easy for me to think in the vocabulary such books use, and it is very interesting. It is easy to drift off into baloney and pseudo-science in that vocabulary, but if you keep yourself in check it is the best method of describing human actions. Psychology is a hard subject to keep solid, but it is a little better than a purely philosophic approach.

Dear, I hope every day that your days are going as smoothly as mine. It is a big relief to me to be able to think about you any time I want to – and that is most of the time. Up front you can only think about home, which is you, for seconds at a time. Then you must force your thoughts back to the situation. Here I think of you and love you very sincerely and very deeply all the time. ‘Nite now, Bunny, sleep good and lean on me if you’d like to – I love you,

Wallace.

April 2, 1945 Monday

Hello Honey,

This stationary isn’t very fancy, but you know how things are in this line in the E.T.O. I feel lucky to have anything to write on – my only source of notebooks for official business has been the German army. They have a big supply of very fine quality notebooks. Much better than our own, and each non-com and officer has one or more. Stiff covers, lined, very good deal. 

I seem to be coming out of my lethargy automatically. Spontaneously today I did quite a lot of reading and wrote a letter to the folks. It is rather fun to see just how much you’ll do without forcing yourself at all. It sure has been good just to lay around and have a completely natural rest. Soon I may work up to orientation lectures, who knows?

A new warrant officer moved in to the bed next to mine last night. He had some Belgian francs with him. I have not been in Belgium, Hon, but I begged some of it from him and will send it home to you to add to the pile of things you must have already. By the way, I wonder if you have yet received the box of Paris souvenirs, and also the box of coins, I have sent you. Probably not. I understand it takes quite a few weeks for them to get to the States. To completely jumble the sense of this paragraph, I’ll end it by saying that I have been in Luxembourg, which is a romantic little state.

Now to review my reading for today. It has been weasel-reading, I confess. That is, it was all from a magazine “Omnibook,” which contains condensations of real books. As a rule, I don’t enjoy condensations, and don’t consider them valid or valuable reading. But I did have some fun with them today. I read “China to Me,” by Emily Hahn. She certainly was quite a character. Wrote a book about the Soong sisters, married a Chinaman and had a child by a British officer, only to accept repatriation to the U.S. on the Gripsholm. She was an uninhibited sort, anyway, and a typical international character. No observable moral code, no strong convictions, but brilliant and realistic. Freedom from conventionality was her most admirable quality.

Then I breezed on to “Lost in the Horse Latitudes” by the author of “Low Man on a Totem Pole” [H. Allen Smith]. That brought me a few good laughs. I think the humor suffered from the condensation, tho, because it seemed awfully forced in the version I read. Both Smith and James Thurber write very much in the style of Robert Benchley, but neither one can touch him, in my opinion.

Finally, I found a condensation of “Brainstorm” by Carlton Brown. I have not finished it yet, but it is the most interesting of all. It is the story of a man going insane, and his experiences in recovering. I’ll tell you more about it when I have finished it.

Say, Hon, first you know you’ll be reaching the end of your current activities. Oh, not too soon, but with spring well here, can summer be far behind? You will have your degree, I presume, and school in Westmoreland will be over. What then? We know the hue of my future – O.D. for some time yet, I imagine. So will you forgive me if I think about your future? I like to think about it because the opportunities are unlimited. You can do just about anything you really want to. You might be able to travel some, or study music some more, or even get with that book of yours. Of course, having Grammie to consider might be something of a limiting factor, and also consideration for our bank roll – but as long as it is going the right way I don’t want you to think of that too much. What would you really like to do? That’s what I’d like to have you do, Hon. Even drinking root beer on the Russells’ lawn sounds good to me. Very good, in fact. It’s nearly time to think about getting those battered lawn chairs out. And the croquet set – remember when I hit you in the head with a mallet? One of my romantic memories!! I promise never to do it again, Hon, if you’ll only play with me again. I love you even if I do make such unconscious attempts at manslaughter.

‘Nite now, my Bunny,

Here’s dreaming of you,

Wallace.

April 2, 1945 Monday

France – Hosp.

Dear folks,

This letter should prove beyond the shadow of a doubt that my heart is in the right place as far as writing to you is concerned – and perhaps it will make up for the occasions when I was apparently neglecting you. 

I am still enjoying a completely useless life as a bed patient. All my meals are brought to me on a tray and a nurse rubs my back every other day. Many other luxuries are tendered me, too – those are just examples.

Soon, no doubt, I will start moving around more, since now the stitches are in. As soon as they are removed, a little exercize will be in order. 

The British are changing their time today. They were already on daylight saving and now they are going even further – they just won’t know what to do with all their daylight. That has caused a little confusion in our routine today, but I think we’ll make out all right.

The walking officers in this hospital are waging a feud with the assigned officers here. It seems that Patient Officers have been barred from going to the movies nights and also from going to the Officers’ Club here. That very naturally burned them up, so they have been putting notices on the bulletin board, advertizing “parties” to be held “For Patient Officers Only.” They put on a big campaign for a “party” held last night. The announcements sounded very exciting. They described in glowing words the attractions – fruit juice, music, news comments by William Joyce (Lord Haw Haw), etc. Of course, it was our regular evening’s activities, but several nurses tried to crash the gates of our “exclusive” party.

What do you think of the news? It certainly sounds good, but I have grown to be a skeptic on such things. Ever since I left the States I have been censoring mail in which the end of the war was expected in a few days. It always takes longer than optimistic Americans expect.

Hope you folks all had a lively and pleasant Easter. Did Carlton get enough Easter eggs? I remember I never used to. ----

With Love,

Wallace.

April 1, 1945 Sunday

France, – Hosp.

Dearest Marjorie,

Happy Easter, Hon – or I might say Happy April, fool! But I won’t say anything like that. In our usually slap-happy ward there hasn’t been even one April fool’s joke. Just the usual run of G.I. humor.

Most of the men went to church today, but I haven’t got permission to leave the ward yet. In fact, Honey, I am in the same state I was last time. I haven’t a bit of personal clothing or equipment. I have been able to hang on to a few francs and my identification, tho, so I don’t feel quite as bereft as before. Besides, I am now adjusted to putting complete and infinite faith in Uncle Sam for all things. Whatever he doesn’t supply, the Red Cross does, so I have no worries whereof I shall eat or wherewith I shall be clothed. (I told you yesterday I was going to be a modern Christian!) Well, the Red Cross done noble again, and brought a nice Easter lily for the ward. It isn’t my idea of a real Easter lily at all. It’s orange and to all appearances the bloom is upside down, but that is what they said it was. The green looks like a lily, anyway.

A couple of my current buddies are being shipped to England, or the U.K. as it is known here. That’s United Kingdom, in case you know as little as I did when I left the States. They are more serious cases than mine. I can’t seem to get beyond Com Z – communication zone. Some real serious cases are Z.I.’d – zone of interior, which is the U.S. (of sacred memory). 

I can make a further report on my cigarette research. I can state positively that Chesterfields are a milder cigarette, but that they do not retain their shape and tightness of packing as well as Luckies or Camels. However, there is too little difference among the top popular brands to warrant being arbitrary in choosing any one brand. There is a notable difference between the top ones and such weeds as Raleigh’s, Chelseas, etc. I haven’t given Phillip Morris a valid test yet.

Under each bed in the ward there is a cardboard carton. It is used to hold clothing that is brought in, but as I have said, I have none. So I drew a big Chesterfield box that I had no use for. Just now, with no more results than a very dirty look from the ward boy, I took my jack knife and cut out one side of the box, to use as a writing board on my own bed. It will enable me to write any time without waiting for the wooden board we usually use. I tell you this only to show my amazing initiative. I shall now do all my writing to you on a two-inch high sign proclaiming that Chesterfields satisfy.

On Easter I am always reminded of the Dahl cartoon that showed a news photographer snapping the Easter parade – a rich man, a deb, a socialite family, etc., all formally and colorfully dressed. Finally an ordinary “average” man comes along in a business suit and says to the photographer, “Never mind me, I go to church every Sunday.” Also do you remember the “New Yorker” cover with a religious frame of trumpeting angels, with saints et al looking toward the center, where in a bursting halo stood a silly little Easter hat? [April 4, 1942] I liked that. 

Aside from these few incidents and thoughts my Easter has been uneventful. Pleasant, tho. I shall look forward to the letter you will probably write me about your activities today. Did you go to a sunrise service? Sing in the choir? Eat ham and eggs at my folks house, maybe? In any event, I have had a nice picture of you in a fresh spring outfit doing something enjoyable. Hope the day was a good one for you, my dear, and that we never have to spend another one apart. Easter season means a lot to us personally because of past events and by right we should pass it intimately together. I love you as if we had spent today together, renewing our promises.

All of my love,

Wallace

March 31, 1945 Saturday

Dearest Marjorie,

You will have to forgive me if I’m not my usual sparkling self today. I was operated on as per schedule this a.m. They use a local anesthetic but augmented it with about the strongest sleeping pill you ever saw. Consequently I have had to pull my eyelids open ever since I got back, and I can still feel the effects of the drug.

The operation was a success, and my leg is sore as a son of a gun right now. I expected that, tho, and it will last until there is more than the stitches holding the thing together. The doctor said I was very inconsiderate to pick those particular spots to get hit. It was hard to work on it – being on the backside of the knee. I had to be on my stomach part of the time and on my right side some.

Tomorrow is Easter, so yesterday and today I have been checking over the Easter story in the little testament they gave me when I left O.C.S. It is a beautiful story and gives you a lot to think about. Of course, as a psychologist, you have to give the whole thing a figurative interpretation. Nevertheless, the substance of Christianity is very sound and lifting. It goes much deeper than the physical activities described. I imagine someday I’ll become some sort of modern Christian. At least, emotionally. It is a mystery religion and therefore very nebulous. But it is based actually in truth and love and sincerity, and goes to surprising depths. It goes too deep and is too involved in allegory for me to accept completely. But it does have very basic realities when interpreted thoughtfully.

I imagine you have something new for Easter. What is it? A complete outfit like that robin’s egg blue one you got one year, or one of those high, turban-like hats I saw all over Paris? Spring is really your time of year, Hon. It gives you a chance to wear all those bright, neat, and shapely outfits you design and look so well in. Spring and you go very well together, if you will pardon my poetic thought. It is the time of year that goes best with your character and appearance. Clean, new, promising, cheerful. Wish I could spend it with you. Well, anyway, Bunny, we have a nice future to think of – may it come soon.

I can see that I am making handsful of mistakes today. Please blame it onto the sleeping pill. I write a few lines, then fall back and snooze for a time. Then I wake up and write a little more. The body is very reluctant to write, tho the mind is anxious to. I like to write down just what I think as it comes. Sometimes before emotional blocks or some such have made it hard for me to write haphazardly, but I haven’t noticed that since I have been in the hospital this time. I feel as tho my mind had been freed from something that had been holding it back. Perhaps it was the little shock of the Herrlisheim deal. That was horrible in a very big sense, and I can see how it would cut off normal thoughts for a time. It was a rough thing to accept. Now it is a little further away, bright spring weather is here and I have had time to think it all thru. Consequently I feel in a very spring-like mood now. As tho things were starting over. Things look fine, and tho maybe I feel more incentive to work for other people, I am still interested in my own future. 

Music does a lot to make a mood, and no doubt the well-chosen songs I hear over the radio have helped to make me feel good. Anyway, I certainly have an extremely refreshing and gratifying case of spring fever. I love you completely and happily and my Easter wish is that you feel the same way about me. 

Every bit of my love,

Wallace.

March 30, 1945 Friday

France

Dear Ma and Pa,

Instead of giving stock market reports on “Radio Luxembourg,” the only station I can get on the little radio near my bed, they spend whole programs giving reports of the height of the Rhine at every city along its length. Each day I listen carefully to every rise and fall of Europe’s “Ol’ Man River” for no good reason except that it makes me feel like Mark Twain.

I love the monotony of life here at the 58^th General. Each day is just the same, and being in bed most of the time even cuts down my usual local reconnaissance. So I just lie here and write letters and meditate. I haven’t even felt the urge to read much. I am too busy sleeping and appreciating the comfort here.

My big job yesterday was to clip my moustache. Cut it down from a big Groucho Marx affair to the more chic Clark Gable type. That makes it hard to spot from a distance again. Perhaps, it’s best that way.

“Good Friday” today. I remember Churchill said “pessimistically” last fall that the war might last until Easter! Well, any nation with sense would have quit by now, but it seems that we’ll have to “move in” on Germany rather than get any formal surrender. That takes time, and when papers say “no organized resistance” that doesn’t slow down the speed of shots from isolated guns at all. I am continually upset over those “no opposition” reports. It’s true enough for the “big picture” but unfortunately individuals have to face a “little picture” that may be very difficult.

Every night we listen to a stimulating talk by Lord Haw Haw. His twist of the news is very amusing. His logical manner and serious concern over the plight of the English is really something. His patient sarcasm is about the funniest thing we get on the air. It seems very peculiar to me to listen to regular German programs and to their programs given especially for us. Also we pick up programs we put on for the Wehrmacht. They are all very good programs with nice music and subtle digs. It’s like waging a war of spitballs right along side of the real stark thing. The front line life and these programs are miles apart.

Well, Doc said he would sew up my leg tomorrow. These wet bandages are fine – the soreness is gone and the penetration looks clean and neat. 

Keep the pot boiling on the home front, people; I know I’ll get your letters sometime, so I’ll assume all is O.K. with you until they come. What are Carlton’s latest adventures?

Your loving son,

Wallace.

P.S. Thank Aunt Flossie for her very welcome cards and letters to me.

March 30, 1945 Friday

France

Dearest Marjorie,

Today we have the same pleasant routine. Sleep, smokes, conversation, radio. It’s taking me longer than usual to get saturated with idleness. But as long as I enjoy lying between two sheets more than anything else, I won’t venture out. Don’t think I just lay here because of sickness or anything, because I feel fine and rested and cheerful. Walking with the crutches is a chore, tho – even so, I’m secretly glad for the good excuse to stay supine. (I knew I’d be able to work that word in!)

It seems that the European radio stations carry more classical music than our own. I like that. There have been two choral Easter works today, in addition to the usual orchestral programs. Heard a string orchestra play Intermezzo from Cavalleria Rusticana the best I have ever heard it today. That’s a wonderful peaceful thing. 

The Red Cross does a good job keeping patients occupied here. In addition to books, they provide materials for making little things. They have some red cloth that can be made into handkerchiefs with geometric designs. All you have to do is pull out certain threads to make the design you want. It is a sight to see us tough combat officers busily pulling out strings to make dress hankies and scarves! More in character are the holsters made from captured leather, or the pistol grips from plasti-glass. The Red Cross lady comes around every other day with chocolate bars, comics, tooth-brushes, and most everything else. Chaplains of various faiths call regularly, too. So you seem the occupational therapists are doing a valuable job here. Morale is very high in this part of the hospital. I have seen no other parts, you see. 

I haven’t seen the info. & education dept. at work here yet but I will check up on it when I can. I still have a yen to get into that.

American soldiers are having an unlimited opportunity to engage in their favorite activity of souvenir hunting, or as it is frankly called, looting. Often it actually amounts to that. Since just about everything in Germany is at their disposal, their natural reaction is to want to take it all home. All front line troops have a maniacal desire for a luger, and most of them have them by now. I know I have sent you a few little things, but it is nothing compared to the things I could have. But as I see it, the only legitimate reason for looting is to get a souvenir, and I don’t care much if I don’t have souvenirs of this war. Sometimes I find it repulsive the way they greedily grasp at prisoners’ watches, medals, anything. As a result maybe I lean the other way when it comes to taking personal property. Most of it gets lost before anything is done with it, anyway.

Tomorrow they are going to sew up my leg, and so a new phase of my stay will start. It won’t be quite such an extensive job as they had to do on my arm. The two openings are really very small. They are going to use a local anesthetic for the work. That makes me a little sad, because I really enjoy pentothol, the dreamy stuff I have had so often before. It must be habit-forming, because I’m getting so I just look forward to the shots.

Well, if they won’t let me have pentothol, I can get along – I do some pretty good dreaming all by myself. About you, hon. I like to imagine what you are doing at any particular time. And knowing your environment as I do, I bet I do a pretty good job at it. I think of you playing the piano, writing a letter to me, visiting my folks and laughing at some of Bob’s remarks, or studying either as a student or a teacher. Which do you feel like most, a scholar or a teacher? The very best state is to be a little of both, don’t you think? We’ll always be learning something, won’t we? That will be the yeast that will make life interesting. (Tho it may not make our dough rise – heh, heh, heh). At any rate, we’ll never be bored, and what more could we ask? What with our music, our home, our travels, our reading, our work, and our hours together, we’ll fill every minute with life. Let’s prepare to be very exceptional people, my dearest! Gee, I love you, Hon, for making the realization of these dreams possible.

You’re my wonderful wife and 

I love you all to pieces,

Wallace

March 29, 1945 Thursday

France

Dearest Hon-

My life is a series of naps. I wake up to eat, to smoke and to write. I haven’t done much reading yet, but it will come to that soon. Can follow the news very well here by radio and the “Stars & Stripes.” Today they say the U.S. was blowing its top yesterday over a false peace rumor. Must have been very disillusioning if it was taken seriously. General Eisenhower agrees with me (!) that the war here will end as an occupation rather than as a formal surrender. You know, the German people don’t like us even a little bit. It is a peculiar feeling to conquer a German town. Often we just punch a hole for a column thru the main street. All civilians line up along the way and watch us go by. But it’s not like the parade thru France. They are cold, sullen, with not a flicker of softness. Occasionally a woman stands crying her heart out as we go by, but usually all of them, even to little kids just able to walk, stand with a white handkerchief in their hand and stare in a defiant way that curses us more than if they said anything. We return the animosity and never take our fingers from our triggers. We take their towns, but they are not defeated. There’s no surrender in their attitude, only the white flags show that right now they are unable to shoot back. In most towns there are a great many Poles, Frenchmen, Russians, etc. that are used for labor. They greet us enthusiastically, but we take no chances even with them. I have always made friends with the children in other countries, but it would be “fraternizing” in Germany. Sometimes the little ones flock around me as if they know I’d like to be friends with them, and it is hard as can be for me to be tough and shew them away. German babies are as cute as anybody’s!

Spent quite a lot of time today in trimming my moustache. It got pretty long and ragged there for a time, so I had quite a bit of cutting to do. Maybe I cut off too much. I’m trying a new style now. It doesn’t take long to change from one to another. I have had it for quite a long time now, haven’t I? Never have yet found just the style that I like best. We’ll have to decide when I get back – after all, it is at least half yours, Hon. I keep it for you.

You know the radio I have here. The only station that comes in well on it is Radio Luxembourg. Now Radio Lux. is a good station except that it tries to give pleasure to peoples of four different languages. This forces it to spend ¾ of its time giving its identification to all concerned, and now, since the invasion it has decided to add English translations to its announcements. That further complicates things, but we could take that if they didn’t insult the Americans by making them in Basic English for our benefit. I’ll probably be fluent in all four European languages soon, but will forget all English words of more than two syllables. Well, c’est la guerre!

I hope that in the letters you have sent me you have told me all about your music teaching and your K.T.C. [Keene Teachers’ College] reactions. Does it seem like old times to be back at school? And what have you learned from teaching music? Hope you found it as much fun as you expected to, Hon. You have certainly been busy according to the last letters I received, and I am glad because it no doubt makes time go faster. No doubt you can find some real enjoyment in a lot of it, too. It would be a fine thing if the time before we are together again could be profitable and enjoyable, and not just a passing of days. For me, tho they have not been enjoyable, the days have been full of experiences of real value. My sight-seeing has been limited, but I have met people, seen things, organized activities, and felt reactions that are more powerful than any I had known before. I’ve seen a lot of the realities we talk about, some even more stark than I thought they could be. You’ll be able to tell more than I how much they changed me. One thing I know is the same, Hon, – the way I feel about you. Also the things we want to do and have. They are the same and they are the important things. I’ll always love you, dearest, and wherever I go or whatever I do you’ll be the one I’m thinking of and working to get back to. And when I do get back we’ll fulfill all the dreams we have. In fact, just seeing you will be realizing my greatest one.

All my love, always,

Wallace.

March 28, 1945 Wednesday

View of 58^th General Hospital in Lérouville, France

France

Hello again, my Honey--

Here’s the old familiar scene once more. An officer’s ward, this time the 58^th General, a bed, a writing board, and me bringing you my report of “recent operations.” I know you want to know the “hows” and “wheres” and I’ll tell you all I can without breaking circular 6, the censorship rules.

They insist on keeping this division under news blackouts, which irritates us some because we know that the ones that you do read about do not do all the work. I am not in the same army I was, and it seemed good to work for once as armored infantry really should. We covered plenty of ground and fast. It was all in Germany, too, which made it even more satisfying. We reached the Rhine and my platoon was leading the advanced guard into a large city one morning with an A.T. gun fired directly thru the building I was in. I [It?] scattered in all directions! Luckily, nothing big came my way. I was blown around some, some small pieces scratched me here and there, and one piece traversed the muscle above my knee. That is what sent me back. It’s coming on fine and will be all well soon. Last time I was hit things were pretty rough and battle shock had me feeling low for a while. Not this time. For one thing, I was more used to it. Also, things were going our way and it was daylight rather than dark.

Also the reaction of my platoon made it a fine experience. It proved to me that I hadn’t wasted my efforts for them. They kept on operating as a well-spirited team, yet just about every man got away long enough to come over and see if he could help the “Lootenant.” They seemed genuinely concerned and I had lots of help back to the aid station. Funny how strong an attachment you get for your outfit, and how good it makes you feel to see that it goes the other way, too. 

Well, so much for so much. I was evacuated thru a string of stations, operated on under that nice sleepy drug they inject in your arm, and now the wound is in a “wet bandage” that helps it drain well. I have received a lot of penicillin and sulfa again. In a few days they will sew it up, then unsew it, then physiotherapy, then return to duty. The medics so a miraculously efficient job.

Just now the doctor came by, and what do you know? He found another little piece of shrapnel! In my right leg. Just a teeny bit, but it makes me feel like a cribbage board. That makes scratches all over me except my right arm. They are like fingernail scratches, tho, and amount to nothing. Maybe I’ll enclose the one the doctor just found as a curio.

I am a bed patient, you know, and tho I have a pair of crutches I only use them to go to the latrine. The nurse gave me a bath this morning, which was a unique experience for me. Another comes around every now and then and keeps my bandages wet with a big old medicine dropper. Being naturally lazy, I am enjoying myself immensely. The chow is the best I’ve seen for a long time. Of course, I have each meal in bed and I eat them all like a connisseur. Have plenty of time for cigarettes before and after – oranges, fruit juice, apple pie. Oh my, life if so comfortable here. The radio is right here by my right hand, and there are about 10 other officers in this small ward that keeps a lively conversation going. 

Along with this I’ll send the latest attachment for my Purple Heart, which you may have received by now. I believe it clasps on to the center of the purple cloth part. Also here is an address I would like you very much to keep. When we visit France after the war we will look up these people – they were very good to me and would like to meet you. I lived with them for some time, and they made French pies, French fries, etc. for me. The Madame is a super-neat housekeeper and her husband, a turner at the mine.

I am resigned to the fact that I will get no mail from you for a long time. I haven’t received any since early in March, and this will confuse the mail people even more. However, I know I will get a big pile some time.

Meantime, I want you to know that you are the nicest wife anybody ever had. You seem close to me when everything else at home begins to seem foreign. I think of you just as tho you were here and not as someone back in the States. That is an awfully good feeling, Bunny. I love you so very much I don’t know what I would do if you seemed far away. Having you near is what makes me feel as if I weren’t just rattling around in a brittle world.

I love you always, Hon,

Wallace.

March 27, 1945 Tuesday

Original V-Mail sheet [i.e., not micro-filmed]

Dearest Marjorie,

It does seem good to be able to write to you again. And in the next few days I am sure I will be able to write you many things I have wanted to share with you. I will pretend that you are here with me and try to write all the things I would tell you if we were actually together. Of course, if we were together we wouldn’t have to say a great deal at first. I would just want to look at you and hold you in my arms and feel the wonderful “togetherness” we always feel. Then I would say that I love you many times and we would promise again always to share our lives and be one just as completely as we can. That is what we are now and it is the thing that will always become more and more beautiful. I love you forever,

Wallace

March 26, 1945 Monday

[V-Mail]

Dear folks,

At the risk of boring you with repetition, I must report that a German shell and I have crossed paths again. A puncture wound just above my left knee. It made a small hole thru the mountain of muscle there but missed the bone completely. I am already back in a General Hospital, comfortable as can be. This one is no worse than the last one, but due to its location I am more bed-bound than before. 

Soon I will write and tell you all that has taken place since I last wrote, and that is quite a lot.

I hope that everyone is fine at home and that your spring is as pleasant as it is here. Never saw such fine weather as we’ve had the last couple of weeks.

With love,

Wallace.

March 26, 1945 Monday

[V-Mail]

My dearest Marjorie,

One sunny spring morn on the banks of the romantic Rhine a teutonic “88” tried to occupy the same space as Lt. Russell with negligible success. Yes, Gerry has knicked me again. This time in the left leg just above the knee. I don’t believe it is as bad even as last time, but here I am in another General Hospital for a rest and an oak leaf cluster to add to my Purple Heart. Instead of a jagged shrapnel wound, this one consists simply of two small holes, one entrance, one exit. No bones involved, no complications, nothing to worry about. I prowl around on a pair of crutches, but can do without them if necessary. I am going to write lots of letters just as soon as I can. I love you more than ever, and am thinking of you always. I am in fine shape, Hon.

Always all yours,

Wallace.

March 16, 1945 Friday

[V-Mail]

Dear folks, 

Spring has come to France at last. At last we know what they mean by “sunny France.” There is sun in France, yes, your son! I am back at the company now with the same platoon. I live with two nice French people who make real “French fries” for me, and other good things that are a change from our regular concentrated army field rations.

Paris is all they say it is. A very beautiful city with big boulevards and modern buildings. Compares with New York for things to see and do, and is actually better laid out. Don’t know as you’ll have any trouble keeping me down on the farm, however. 

I hope that all is well at home and that this old war will wind up soon.

Yours, with love, 

Wallace.

March 16, 1945 Friday

[V-Mail]

Dearest Honey,

Routine duties again today. The best thing to talk about is the weather. Just our type of Junior Prom days. Reminds me of a lot of things – our wedding, Wiggin’s picnic and all. The very best kind of weather, I think. 

Received a V-mail from you today, so naturally I am very happy. Those are always the things that remind me how wonderful life is, and make me feel very contented. For I love you always, my very wonderful and understanding wife.

Yours,

Wallace

March 15, 1945 Thursday

[V-Mail]

Dearest Honey,

I am taking all the opportunities I can to write to you, and I wish they came much more frequently. I am sure you understand that, and will continue to. I am fine and even comfortable at present. Loads of things are happening and I’ll be glad when I can tell you all about them. Now Lt. Olewine is back with us, for one thing, and Sgt. Folkman who had been my platoon sergeant recently, has been made a Lieutenant. Above all, Honey, I love you always and more than anyone in the world. Always be certain of that, dearest, even when I cannot write, for it is the truest thing I know.

I love you, 

Wallace.

March 9, 1945 Friday

France

Hello, at last, my dearest,

Finally I am off duty for a time and not too tired to write, so I shall get right about bringing you up to date on my activities for the last week and a half. But first let me say I love you very, very much. Perhaps you know that, but just for the thrill of writing it – I love you very, very, very much and feel that you love me, too. That’s very nice, isn’t it? That we love each other, I mean. That’s what makes life warm and good, no matter where I am. I love to think about you, Hon, going to school and teaching and playing the piano. Just being yourself. It sort of connects me up with civilization. Because I am connected very closely with you and you live among those civilized things that are just missing over here. 

But I must tell you about Paris. I know I can’t tell you everything, but I’ll do the best I can. The little impressions that you get are the main things, and they are hard to put on paper. So here we go again chronologically thru my trip to Paris starting on March 1.

I rode to Paris in true army style in the rear of a 2½ ton truck. In fact, I slept there. By traveling all one night we reached Paris about 8 in the morning. First we drove thru town looking for the place to report. I noticed that Paris was intact – not at all broken up like London. There were plenty of civilians around and a number of G.I.’s, but not too many for Paris passes are well regulated and given mainly to combat troops.

I booked at the Mayflower Officers’ Club and was given a private room in the Hotel Metropole just down the street. It is not far from the Place D’Etoile. The room was a bit larger than those at the Bradford, and decorated quite royally – frilly wood-work and a carved ceiling that looked like the top of a theatre, four big mirrors, a mock fire-place and a wash-stand and toilet in one corner. I was hungry as could be so I ate a lot of coffee and donuts at the Mayflower Club, and a complete meal. The Club is one of the best Paris Hotels. They fed us in two large halls with the best of service and table ware, but the food was G.I. – better cooked than I have ever had it, tho. 

I was pretty tired then, and was surprized at myself that I didn’t give much of a damn if I saw “Paree” or not. I never felt like that before. Even the string orchestra that played very European waltzes and polkas during our meal didn’t make me very enthusiastic. But I went ahead anyway, had a class A uniform pressed out, and signed up for a tour of the city. Wore my dark green outfit – shirt, pants, and blouse – all the time I was there. The tour left at three p.m. and lasted until 5:15. You know how they are, we whizzed in a bus from place to place, seeing just about everything for a glance or two. “We” is just me and you for from the time of the tour on, I went around mostly by myself. Just didn’t find anybody that wanted to do just the things I did. Drinking and women seemed about all the other officers were interested in! Well, here are the things I saw in rapid succession on the tour. I am sending you pictures of most of them. We went down the Champs Elysées to the Arc de Triomphe at the Place D’Etoile – only the one relief pertaining to French liberty was knicked, and that not badly. Then down Avenue Foch (Paris streets make me wonder about Keene’s claim to the widest paved – ) to the ultra-modern Palais de Chaillot and the gardens of the Trocadero. Right here I was snapped out of my first sluggish attitude and felt really interested for the first time. I was my old sight-seeing self from then on. We took in the Eiffel Tower, Napoleon’s Tomb, rode up the Left Bank past those famous stalls along the Seine, crossed over to the Île de la Cité and saw a procession going on in the court before the Notre Dame cathedral. Then we looked at the outside of the Louvre, the Place de la Vendome, the shopping district, the Tuileries Gardens and the Place de la Concorde. 

I returned out of breath and with plenty of ideas of things I wanted to do from then on. It seemed so remarkable to see these famous places I had studied about so often. I had to hurry around to take advantage of a ticket I was given to the Opera-Comique. I rode down to it in a closed in buggy towed by a motor-bicycle. These “things” and horse drawn buggies have about replaced taxis. 

I had a whole “loge” to myself at the theatre. Perhaps somebody made a mistake, but I got a box big enough for six, with even a private entrance! I felt like nothing less than Prince Leopold as I gazed in august solitude at the beautiful red-plush theatre. The theatre in Nancy, the Opera-Comique, and the Opera are the finest theatres I have ever seen. In style they are something like the “Met” in Boston, but smaller and more ornate. Of course, they are built only for stage productions.

I saw 3 productions that night, two short operettas and a one-act modern job that was actually a little opera. The first was an old-time operetta, and last was a new comedy. In between was the modern opera – the story of a sailor returning to his wife; she doesn’t recognize him and kills him in his sleep to get money in order to help her husband. It was typical French irony, and done with almost stereotyped actions and weird make-up. For example, one character was a livid green, the hero, red, and so forth. The actions were not realistic but grotesque pantomime; it was all dramatically effective, tho. I had no trouble understanding the French. 

I went to bed early that night to get rested up. Next morning I set out about 9 with the idea of getting a ticket to the opera and of seeing more of the Rive Gauche. I went all over after a ticket but wasn’t successful. I did bump into a major, tho, who took me to dinner at the SHAEF Officers’ mess [Supreme Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Force; Hotel Meurice]. You can imagine how grand that was. The lowest ranking man there was the major (except me), and we were served with that subdued air found only in the very snootiest places. About the best service and food I have found in France. After dinner I went down to the Louvre. It is open, but you can only get a hint of what it once was. The Egyptian rooms are all open, but the paintings and sculptures are not there. Either in the U.S. or Germany or bomb shelters. The place is extremely large, and the rooms very elegant in the style of some Louis or other. In peace time I think it would be the finest museum and gallery in the world. We’ll have to see it sometime together.

I went across the Seine to the Rive Gauche and walked slowly up the river toward the Île de la Cité. Examined the stalls of the “Bouquiniste” – they sell old books and new, paper bound ones – all of fairly good taste. Also old prints and post-cards. Seeing the old men fishing in the Seine completed the perfect Left Bank atmosphere. I wandered on to the Cathedral of Notre Dame and went inside. It was interesting to see with all its history and fame, but not nearly the most beautiful cathedral I have seen.

The Paris Subway, the METRO, is free for soldiers. I did most of my touring in it. It is a good system, but sometimes you have to walk quite a ways between transfers. I went down to the Café de la Paix for a snack and returned to the Opera to see if I could get a last minute ticket. My persistence paid off and I got a seat just before the first note of “Rigoletto.” So I broke the long jinx that has kept me from an opera so long! I could write a week about that evening. The Opera itself is one of the great national theatres of France along with the Opera-Comique. I sat way up high in exactly the same relative spot you sat when you saw “La Gioconda.” The theatre was superlative. Like you see in European movies. The ceiling was very ornate with some fine painting. I was very close to it, so could appreciate it well! I had studied so much of this very theatre that it was hard to make it seem real. They teach French very well in the States. I felt familiar with all I saw in Paris, even to the plan of the city. I already knew where most of the sights were located.

The performance of “Rigoletto” was first rate. Best orchestra I have heard in months, big too. The action was of the best. The soprano was the only weak spot. I have heard much better. Have you seen “Rigoletto”? I was very satisfied by it. Wonderful!

The opera was followed by a short, modern ballet that was full of color but meaningless to me. Called “Music Hall Impressions.” During the performance the man next to me became friendly. He ran a movie theatre in Paris, I found. I had a glass of wine with him, he gave me two passes to his theatre, and we talked over the opera and ballet. All my talking in Paris was in my own practical French. My grammar is not always accurate but I can say about anything. 

Well, my night was not yet over. I had two passes to the Casino de Paris, so I invited my new civilian friend to go along. You see the opera started at 6:30, so it was over early. 

We saw the last half of the show at the Casino. It was a glorified vaudeville show. It definitely would not run in Boston. Talk about peeled onions; Gypsy Rose Lee is a ham in comparison to these French. When I had recovered my breath, I said good-bye to the movie-house director and went home for coffee and donuts before bed. At the Club they served only these at the bar, but with usual French finesse. To give an atmosphere of variety they took each order with great care – coffee and donuts is too simple. They had to know 1) just coffee or coffee and? 2) with milk? 3) with sugar? 4) how much sugar? 5) donuts? 6) how many donuts? After all this you felt as though you had selected a six course meal!

Next day I felt fine and set out on an orderly campaign to see what I had missed so far. I went to see the Place de la Bastille, then walked thru the narrow, old, crowded, poor Montmartre. That brought me with an abrupt change to the enormous Church of the Sacred Heart – Sacré Coeur. I have never been more impressed with a building. It sits on a big hill overlooking all Paris. It is of pure white stone, very large and more Moslem than Christian. Very bright and exalting on the outside, its dark, sombre, subterranean crypt contrasts that well. I wandered slowly thru the tunnels of the crypt. It’s not frightening but very peaceful and calm. The whole building gives an impression of exalting peace that I have never seen before. 

I headed toward the Palace of Luxembourg next but took a wrong train and ended up at the Champs de Mars. I took it all philosophically, had some French coffee and some red wine and tried again. I had more luck then and reached the Palace after seeing the St. Sulpice church. The museum is closed, so I moseyed around trying to find a door that would open. I found one, all right. I walked in and began looking around. A French soldier came up, whacked his heels and gave me a palmy French salute. I returned a practical American salute. We began to parry verbally. Soon it became clear that I was in the private home of the President of the French Senate! I told him I was just making a little visit. He said I needed an appointment for that. He whacked his heels and saluted. I threw one at him and retired gracefully. I bet I have seen more of the Pres. of the Senate’s home than any living American.

From there I went to the Sorbonne, the Boulevard St. Mitchel (Boul’ Mitch), the old Roman Cluny Museum, the Cathedral of St. Etienne Du Mont and the Panthéon. This last was Roman in style, like the Eglise de la Madeleine I saw earlier. It was very exciting on the inside, tho. Paintings, or rather murals all about – on French history. It was very roomy with tall columns. Not at all crowded. There I saw the original painting of St. Geneviève watching over Paris. It has always been a favorite of mine. Do you know it? It is a big panel of a mural; I haven’t the slightest idea who painted it. Soon an old Frenchman came around droning “au tombeau” in a sepulchral voice. I followed him to the dark old basement and he showed me the tombs of Voltaire, Victor Hugo, Rousseau (homme de la nature et de la verité) and many others. He told me about them in French.

On the way back I passed by the sidewalk art displays on the Boul’ Mitch – that’s near the left bank and like Greenwich Village. There I became a patron of the arts to the tune of 200 francs and bought the first original oils for the Russell gallery. You will get them soon, Hon. 

That evening I went to the Folies Bergère, of great fame. If they have always been as they are, their fame is completely undeserved. It was just cheap burlesque, not even very burlesque-ish. I rode to the Folies in an old time horse and coach, with the driver up on top!

The next day we had to leave Paris. I hated to leave, because even in a few days the famed spirit of Paris can be felt. It is an artistic, warm, friendly, tasteful, colorful, and lusty city. You have to see it to understand it. It has character. I left with a bunch of phrases humming in my head. Phrases from tunes in the Folies, the Opera-Comique, and Rigoletto – Paris sera toujours Paris; qu’il est Lourd!; cela ne suffit pas; le malediction!

To answer your questions in advance – Paris stores are still in the height of fashion, but have little to sell that is not rationed. The latest styles for women are everywhere and all the girls use make-up, and well. Cigarettes make every combat soldier rich. We have beaucoups of them, and they are worth their weight in gold here.

Voilà, et maintenant, ma cherie, je voudrais dire seulement que je t’aime plus que je peux dire et pour jamais. Tu as mon coeur et mon esprit, completement et sans aucune doute. 

Toujours à tu,

Wallace.