(“Somewhere” as usual)
Dear Mudder and Dad,
Well, once again I am in a place where writing a letter is possible. I’m sitting in a comfortable room at a table with plenty of sunshine to write by—yes, I said sunshine. It seems as if spring has hit this country at last. Since I last wrote there’s been a steady rise in temperature; and now there’s not even a trace of snow left on the ground. It’s amazing how green everything has suddenly become. But inevitably with the last of the snow came the spring rains. Oi! Mud. I guess one must accept the bitter with the sweet. Anyway, today is beautiful. Temporarily, at least. I think of France without muttering something unprintable to myself. I can even see myself visiting this place again in the distant future.
I’ve got a laugh for you. I’m growing a mustache. As yet it doesn’t amount to much—maybe it never will--but you’d be surprised how much it makes me look like you, Dad.
As yet I’ve received no mail from you written later than the radiogram so I don’t know whether or not you’re receiving my mail or not. I sure hope so. I got quite a kick out of the clippings about Elliot’s pooch. Millions of men involved in such a desperate struggle and then that palooka can pull something like that—Jesus!
I’m surprised I haven’t received any more packages as yet since you mailed them all just about the same time. They’ll probably be along any time now.
I note by the paper that the 3 big cheeses have finished their “momentous” confab. I think we’d all be better off if all 3 of ‘em were in hell. I wonder if they ever really accomplish anything with these meetings.
The news these days seems damned good even if not as sensational as it was a week or so ago. However, the darned Jerries around here don’t seem too downhearted. They still shoot at me now and then.
I’ll close now with a gentle hint—How about a box of candy or cookies—subtle, huh? Lots of love—in fact.