Hosp. - France
Dear folks,
Sunday rolls around again and I’m still at the hospital, but the toughest, roughest, patient you ever saw. I do roadwork, play horse-shoes and ping-pong, hike to nearby towns – generally living the gay life. Today I served on a committee of three that gave a dance for the enlisted patients. Rounded up about 40 French girls and an orchestra and let them cavort in the enlisted men’s mess hall for 3 hours.
One of the most pleasant things I do is to take walks over the countryside in the afternoons. There are several small, rural French villages near here. Each one has a little cafe, and those make a good destination to amble to. Sometimes we even go fishing in the canal nearby. The French civilians can pull out perch and everything else, but the fish don’t seem to like the American touch. We have had some peaceful afternoons, uninterripted even by a single bite.
This last week was brightened by one lone V-mail from Marjorie. It was one she sent to my hospital address, and it was very welcome. The ones that have been sent to the company just haven’t been forwarded to me, and I have every intention of liquidating our mail clerk by the most vicious method I can devise when I return. That will be before long now, so continue sending letters to the company address.
As for me, my leg is back in its original supple and muscular form. No limps or stiff spots. Since there is nothing wrong with me now, I will no doubt leave on the next train from here. That will be in a day or two, I believe.
The news continues good just about everywhere. Things are going a fast as can be expected, and I imagine Germany will continue to crumble at its present rate until there is nothing left. The San Francisco Conference will be well on its way when you get this. That should bring plenty of news with it.
Everything is going well at home, I hope. I will be interested in knowing the plans for the summer season.
Love,
Wallace.
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