Dear Mudder and Dad,
I’m standing guard this morning which entails doing practically nothing so I figured that it would be a good time to get a letter off to you.
We seem to be having a bad cold spell here with frost and even an occasional flurry of snow. It’s pretty cheesy weather for May at any rate. Of course it’s pretty nice when we go on a hike but otherwise I don’t like it. When I think of last winter, however, it seems pretty tame.
The setup here is pretty nice—good houses, meals, shower baths and generally peaceful atmosphere.
Last night after I sent my letter we heard of the surrender of the Italian forces, or rather the German armies in Italy and the fall of Berlin. It must be all over but the shouting.
The kids here are pestering me something fierce. Every two minutes they come and hand me a couple of Jerry bullets that the Krauts left behind in their haste.
Yesterday A Company had a baseball game with B Co. We lost. It was a lot of fun though. I was lousy. I never could bat but now I couldn’t do “nuttin’”. I haven’t had a ball in my hand for such a long time.
I can’t think of anything else to write. Isn’t it awful? If they keep me in this blooming army much longer I won’t know my own name. There’s two Taylors in the squad now and I’m getting so I answer to the name Powell too. It’s on the back of my helmet liner and everyone who doesn’t know me just takes it for granted that I’m Powell.
Well, I think I’ll try to get something on the radio.