Trumbull, Conn., Feb. 3, 1946
Dear Rover Boys:
Well, here it is February again. The groundhog came out yesterday, glanced at his shadow and went back in again, until six more months of cold weather have passed and then he will peek out again to see if Dave or Dan have made any definite homecoming plans, and I shall be looking over his shoulder to see what he sees. As for Ced, with rocket ships making the trip from coast to coast in four hours, all we need do is wire him in the morning that another of the family has come home and he can be with us in time for supper, provided of course he doesn’t have to spend too much time shinnying up the front porch pillar to make a surprise entry as he did before (Of course by that time he may have thought of some other method of ingress). But as I started to say before that groundhog switched me off the track, this is a short month and less than four weeks from now we will be in March and that comes pretty near marking the end of winter and the beginning not only of the Spring season but that welcome time when Europe and Asia will loosen their grasp on the rest of the Guion’s, and (in Dan’s case) plus.
Yesterday, Dan, your blanket started on its overseas journey and next week we will start on the civilian clothes for you. By the way, yesterday, two government checks by your order reached me and have been deposited to your account. This restores a good credit balance again so you can keep right on ordering your Trumbull purchasing agent to function without letting your conscience bother you.
For the delectation of the rest of you, here is what Dan says in the two letters that arrived last week, which by the way, marked up a 100% record with letters also from Ced and Dave. But unfortunately I find I left part of these at the office, so that there will not be a complete quotation. Here is what Dan says: “Epinal, France, 1/17/46, This is one of those persistent notes which serve merely to assure you that I am alive and well. I expect to be here in the Moselle Valley for a couple of weeks. I see Chiche more often these days. She is still at Douai and both she and “Jean-Pierre” are doing well. Please include half a dozen bibs in the layette – even our baby will probably drool a bit, or spill things. I get homesick quite often these days — conditions are far from comfortable, in spite of posters which have been appearing throughout France lately “Ca va deja mieux” – it goes already better. Ah well, each day brings me 24 hours closer to home.
(2 days later) In this Yankee deserted town it has taken me two days to borrow a stamp to mail this letter. In the interim it has suddenly become possible (through the kindness of the establishment in this hotel) to have Chiche come here to stay until the survey is finished. Naturally I am all excited at the prospect, so if you no longer get a 5-page letter from me every day during the next couple of weeks, I’m sure you’ll understand. Received the “Christmas Report” and a card from Al and Marian. Glad to hear that Cedric is back among his klootches.”
And here is what Ced contributes: “Things have settled down to the old routine — drab and uninteresting and too darn much to do with too little time to do it. Sunday I begin the week to the sound of Big Ben’s sweet and faithful chime from its face down position on the dressing table. I quit work at 4 in the afternoon, go home and clean up, out to dinner at a local boarding house, where for a dollar one can get a good home-cooked meal and eat as much as he likes. Then I generally go out to visit someone I have promised perhaps a dozen times to drop in on. To bed fairly early as work starts Monday morning at 7 A.M.
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necessitating a 6 o’clock arising again. Monday night after dinner at the boarding house I have a couple of hours to write or do some other necessary chore, then at 8 P.M. to bed and up at 4 A.M. Tuesday and out to work at 4:30. Off at 2 P.M. in the afternoon, and by the time I warm up the T-Craft and put in an hours flying time, it is again 4 P.M. and I go home, clean up and go out to eat at Lomen’s boarding house. To work at 7 A.M. Wednesday, and as I’m tired from the 4:30 A.M. morning, I haven’t much ambition and usually content myself with a short visit with friends again, and turn in early. So goes the rest of the week until Saturday which is my day off, but there are only 52 Saturdays in a year and if one happens to be cloudy it is more or less lost for recreational purposes. That becomes far too inadequate for my peace of mind, and so far I haven’t any more than looked at a pair of skis. Of course any work on the airplane has to be done on Saturday, and with all the work necessary on the Buick, things are in one heck of a shape. What is really wrong, I guess, is that the days are still too short. I am always droopy on the short days. Last Saturday I flew for about an hour and a half in the morning then I tore the engine of the plane apart and ground a valve which had been leaking since somewhere in Canada on the way up. I guess there was too much high octane gasoline put into it on the Canadian leg of the trip. What I did to the engine fixed it up in fine shape anyhow, and in spite of the fact that I worked on it till 2 A.M. Sunday morning, I was pleased to have the job done satisfactorily.”