Trumbull, Conn., April 15, 1945
When this old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard this week, said cupboard, being familiarly known as Box 7, she found in the traditional manner the said cupboard bare, and so the poor dog had none in the shape of quotable bones, either domestic or foreign; which of course explains the form of salutation and takes away the stigma of classifying you with “man’s best friend”.
Lilac time is practically here. Indeed I expect that perhaps even tomorrow or surely by Tuesday the lilacs will be out enough to pick. Another sign of spring is rhubarb from Mr. Laufer’s garden which Marian prepared for dessert today in a delectable gelatin concoction. Other vernal straws in the wind might be found in my days occupation which consisted of cutting the grass, cleaning the barn, taking down storm windows and putting up screens. Yesterday afternoon I gave a priming coat of paint to the new back porch which Carl Laufer has completed.
Back again to the first paragraph, I just realized I am wrong. I did receive a letter from Dan. Events have transpired so swiftly this week, what with the President’s sudden death and the swift advance of the armies in France, that my impression was Dan’s letter was received earlier than it actually was. However, here it is: (Dated March 24) If you check the date above against the news, you will know that it has not been “just another day” around here. As I write, the world at large is still ignorant of what is going on although the radio has given some inkling already. I am reminded of that day last July (25th) when I was an eyewitness of a portion of the big break-through in Normandy. That day I saw hundreds and hundreds of planes pass overhead – – saw the point where they circled in the sky – – felt the earth tremble under the onslaught of bombs – – saw the planes return toward England. Today, although I am much further from the front, I have seen another great spectacle in the air. I can only guess at the result, but I am confident that it is no mere side-show.
Coincidentally, our own work is being stepped up and the bright new sun finds me somewhat bleery-eyed from nearly 24 hours of constant going. It is becoming increasingly difficult to visit “Chiche” these days but I suppose my efforts for Uncle Sam might have some infinitesimal effect on the establishment of peace on earth.
Paulette was very pleased at having received letters both from Dad and Marian, although it soon became apparent when I took the letters to her house that the rest of the family was just as avidly interested, each person wanting to translate the letter in his own peculiar manner when I hesitated too long over a precise translation of a line. Thanks a lot for having written. I know that has made “Chiche” much more confident of her pending trip to Trumbull. No plans have been formulated for her voyage to America, except that she shall not precede me. I doubt that she will be permitted to cross with me. That will be decided by one of the fates, and the U.S. Army. In the meantime, please add the following to my “gi’ me” list: one 6’ x 6’ oilcloth table cover, one paper of assorted needles, two sturdy laundry brushes, also laundry soap powder. Reading between the lines you will realize there is still room to say “love to all”.
Tomorrow and Friday, the rest of this letter.
On Saturday and Sunday, more early memories of Trumbull from Grandpa’s children.