Trumbull, Conn., June 3, 1945
‘Tis anything but a day in June, this 3rd inst., as far as weather and temperature is concerned. In fact, Mr. Laufer said yesterday frost had about ruined all the tender buds on his grapevine. Outside now it is damp and cold and drizzly – – one of those “slow” days which mock one with the realization of all that might be accomplished outside on this day in the week when business doesn’t steal ones home-grounds leisure.
It almost seems as though, along with rationing of meat and gas and sugar, weather is now restricted, with no black-market prospect of relief. (By the way, eggs are the latest thing on the scarcity list. Apparently none were to be had in Bridgeport). But enough of this brand of gloom.
Jean is all a-dither – – has been, in fact, since the letter Thursday from Dick informed her that his request for her to come to Brazil and be with him on the Post had been granted and that the proper authorities in the government would write her giving her full detailed instructions, the main features of which were that she should travel to Miami on her own and there, contact the proper authorities who would make arrangements for her to travel to Brazil by plane. Cinderella and the Golden couch fade into insignificance beside the prospect, when Prince Dick will meet her undoubtedly at the airport with his span of runway horses which undoubtedly he has been saving for the occasion, and which again undoubtedly, will convey the happy couple to their new domicile which has been selected by Dick and approved by the local authorities of the Health Dept. Meantime, time is standing still (but not Jean) until the final official documents arrive.
Dave, Lad and Dan are the boys who get the halos this week. What has happened to that Alaskan chap is beyond me. Maybe he thinks he’s getting too old to write. He was much in my thoughts on June 1st. It was Easter Sunday, (April 1st) if my memory serves me aright, when last I had the privilege of quoting one of Ced’s letters. Two months – but we’re still hoping.
Now for Dave’s letter written on Red Cross paper May 24th and received the 31st. “In the first batch of mail received after I got here there was one letter missing. I received that one today. The reason, it was addressed to Camp Crowder. It was very nice letter, Dad, even if it was a little late. Now that I’ve become used to this life away from home and the States, it’s nice to be able to read a letter such as yours with its predictions, morale builders, etc. You write of the thrill of crossing the states – – it was a thrill. I thought of the Willys, Ced, Dan and Dick while I was out on the coast, but unfortunately my time was so short I couldn’t see any of the places they might have seen. The same goes for seeing Arnold – – no time. As for getting a kick out of traveling in foreign lands is concerned, I certainly have. You say that you imagine my morale will be high, and as I’ve been telling you in my letters, it is high – – better than in the States. As you predicted, I’ve made new friends – – you’re really very good at making predictions. How about telling us a little more about the new occupants of the apartment. Are they very friendly? Are they fixing up the place pretty well? There’s only one thing I can find to comment on in your letter of May 6th – – to answer the mystery of why I congratulate Dick. Last I knew he was a buck sergeant, and just prior to the time I wrote my letter, he was made a staff. In my estimation that’s worthy of congratulations. Am I right?
And Lad writes on May 20th, received June 1st, “Some restrictions have been lifted on censorship and therefore I can now tell you that we are stationed at Langres, France, which is south-east of Paris about 150 miles. It is between Dijon and Nancy and we have been here since our first move from Southern France. When I have more time I’ll write more about it and also about our trip from the states. Activities have increased here since VE Day and I’ve not done anywhere near as much writing. In fact, I’ve only written two letters to Marian during this entire week. Work has gone along as usual and my cold is practically gone. I went into Dijon to see a play put on by what seemed to be an amateur troupe from the States called “Anything Goes”. It was mediocre and hardly was a “musical comedy”. I don’t think I’d go across the street to see it again, at least not with that cast. If I get a chance, I’ll try to get my ring size from a jeweler or some other way. The material from which the ring is made might depend upon how it would look or how it will be made. Talk to Marian. Maybe she might have a definite reason for a particular metal. Dave’s letter was very interesting. He must feel quite a bit different about being in the Army then I do or else he doesn’t convey his real feelings in his letter. And like the girls, I’m curious about Dick’s congratulations too. It is possible that I may go to C.B.I. but nothing definite is forthcoming as yet.”
Tomorrow I;ll end this week with the last half of this letter.
On Saturday and Sunday, more letters from Bissie, in St Petersburg, Florida, to her father and siblings in Trumbull.