(Somewhere in France)
Dear Mudder and Dad,
While I’m trying to invent a new way to start this letter I might as well begin writing. Enclosed is a money order for 50.oo. It’s been some time since I’ve been able to get off $50 to $75 a month. This month I saved some of my pay for rations or so that if I get back for a rest, to Paris or something else equally as unlikely I will have a little cash on hand. That’s somewhat awkward, but I imagine that you can understand it.
I’ve been fortunate in being able to see 2 movies during the last couple of days. The pictures were both old, I guess, but they were new to me so I’m content.
While I’m back off the lines like this there’s not a “helluva” lot to do except eat, sleep and write letters. As usual it’s all just a matter of sitting and waiting. I’m waiting for mail, or “chow”, or a rest, or an attack, or some other damn thing. We call it “sweating it out”. I guess I’ll never quit “sweating it out” ‘til they hand me my discharge papers.
I haven’t heard much news for the last few days but from what I read in the “Stars and Stripes” I understand things are going all right. Frankly I’m damn sick and tired of this mess and hope we begin pushing on the Western Front before long.
I received 3 letters from you today, the last having been dated February 4. You did manage to sound cheerful despite the fact that you had received no mail from me for nearly 3 weeks.
I’ve got some bad news for you. I lost my watch. I know where it is but that doesn’t do me any good now. Probably some Kraut has it or maybe another G.I., I hope. At any rate it’s gone and “I ain’t got no watch.” Too, it was practically the last one in the platoon. What I should have is a pocket watch. Maybe I can pick one up somewhere.