November 27, 1944
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310.45.1-4.2016 Transcription
Somewhere—France
27 Nov 44. Back c̅[1] my
gang after 2 “loan-outs”
[I’d be nigh sunk in keeping any hair on my seborrheic dermatitis head
if I lost my one orange hair brush which I use religously. [you know
the kind like your blue-transparent one][2]. Do you suppose you
should send me another one?— depending on expense &
availability.][3]
Dearest,
For the 3rd time I am writing
that we recently learned we are
permitted to say we are c̅ the “7th
Army Somewhere In France”. Also our
fairly permanent (& new) APO[4] is 758.
Gee! I miss your letters, dear—
miss even the hopeful-expectation
that they can at least arrive
decently—but—c̅ this movement
we made, it will be some time before
things can be switched to us.
Shucks! Sheck! Gosh!
I just recalled something I
learned back in the States—it
is said [how consistantly true is unknown][5]
that the first digit in a APO number
designates the army the individual is
with. In our case now, it certainly
holds true as a #7 preceeds the 5 & the 8,
which are further “breakdowns” for the
help of mail distribution points.
Well—“7 come 11”; 7th Army—758 APO.,
& the “setch” of Mr. Crumleij’s vocation.
Say!? I never did know how/why you
followed certain roulette digits so
dogmatically. Ho! ho! many times
[2]
when I witness gambling going on
‘round about me in this here mans
Army, I get a real [nostalgic][6] chuckle
about you dropping 25 bucks to
Mr. Crumley in around an hour.
Ho! ho! hum! hum! [Yes! & remember
I’ll still tell the folks if you aren’t a good girl][7].
Still (& yet) today we are stagnating
but I’m not going to whittle on that
Algerian briar wood in a bumpkin
manner like I did yesterday. P.S. My
hands are sore & my knife is even duller today.
This briar wood is imported by the
Red Cross workers here for wounded
men to whittle on, & its supposed to
be a very ritzy wood that is used in
making famous Brugeir (sp?) briar
pipes. Anyhooo, one of the rascals
in our gang went over & “lifted”
about 10 blocks of this wood at the
Red Cross building, so that explains
how I (& we) are whittlin’ fools.
I’ve remembered so many times how
you once sorta-kinda “hintively” asked
me—“Do you ever smoke a pipe?”
I’ll enclose the typesheet re: a
“loan-out”. I could write pages but I
might get into censorable channels.
I can say something interesting
however—I put a number of
Germans under anesthesia, & had one
[3]
die right under my mask. BUT so help
me I didn’t do anything but my
best for the guy. He was just too
wounded; too poor a surgical-anesthetic
candidate; & too major a surgery was
needed/attempted. Anyhooo, up here
there is a dictum—the more
Jerries (Germans) we operate means the
better our boys are doing. Its am
absoloutely infalable index of
how the war is going—an index
right in our operating-tents. So thus,
we hardly need to read news pamphlets or listen
to short wave broadcasts.
Maybe I’ll get back to writing
more interesting letters when I get
over this dopey- dumpy feeling caused
by sitting around doing nothing the
past two days. Anyhoooo, I surely do
miss you darlin’ & hope any dumpy
letters won’t upset you—cuz I
love you moistest-bestest-acme-est, dear.
All my love,
Dave
P.S. Gee! I’m “itchin’” for a letter containing
pictures of you & Terry[8] together; his weight;
his new heights; & all about you.
[1] Medical abbreviation meaning “with.”
[2] Bracketed text is part of original.
[3] Bracketed text written on the back of the envelope.
[4] Army Post Office.
[5] Bracketed text is part of original.
[6] Bracketed text is part of original.
[7] Bracketed text is part of original.
[8] Their infant son.