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.