It’s heaven.

Jan 22, 1943

My Darling Wife

I’m writing to you under handicaps—in my pup tent in a blackout—i.e. no light showing outside. Therefore slightly difficult.

From the rather barren highland—we dropped down a little into a garden spot. Tonight we are camped in an olive orchard beside a good sized stream. Birds are thick as flies, nearby is a large orange grove and we bought a bushel tonight—they are delicious,—8 francs about 5 cents per pound. I also bought several dozen eggs at 60 francs—80¢ per dozen, the robbers know they can get it and we know they are worth it.

I’m in charge of about 40 officers & men and we are enjoying ourselves while we can. Tonight the officers went to town—while I write my letters. Tomorrow I’m going to try to take the men to a …

… warm mineral spring nearby for a bath. The water is supposed to be about 80°—just right for swimming.

The people here seem more prosperous than I have seen before. The cattle have plenty of good feed and are nice & plump. The homes are nicer—and the villages look cleaner. Believe it or not I saw a swarm of birds flying south consisting of several thousand birds. They formed literally a cloud overhead. There are also swarms of birds like Karl has—I forget their name. They are beautiful things to see.

Last night I got to figuring just what this sleeping bag, mattress, and air pillow were worth to me. After much conjecture I knew I wouldn’t sell if I were offered $500—but decided that the sum of $1000—might induce me to part with it. I could stand some discomfort if I could …

… send that much home—but of course no one is offering me anything like that for it. You don’t know how wonderful it is in 30-35° weather to slide in the bag on that air-mattress and to be snug and warm in just a few minutes. It’s heaven. I feel sorry for the men who don’t have such luxuries.

I’m hoping to get some mail from you when the mail clerk gets here Sunday. In the meantime I’m writing away and hoping that the A.P.O. will accept my letters for mailing. My letters may be as [intermittent?] as a month in the near future.—but don’t worry—mail service will pick up soon and when I get time to write, I will.

I wonder what my honey—you—and my baby—are doing now. I hope the war is not being too tough on you. Keep your chin up and everything will come out right.

I think of you both a lot as my letters will testify. I love you both dearly and only regret I can’t be there to tell you so and demonstrate. I hope you both miss me as much as I miss you—if so, it’s an awful lot. Honeybunch, I’ll never be the same man I was until I get back to you and get the affection that I love and need and practically lived on at home. You know, those days at the office [I?] needed you to keep me going—and I need you now—but that will have to be postponed. I’m supposed to carry on now on hate—but I don’t hate anyone except Hitler himself—and most of the Japs.

Must close & get some sleep
Goodnight sweetheart
All my love
Your
John

P.S. I’m going to run out of stationery soon—not envelopes; I’ve got 48 sheets of paper & 24 envelopes. The way I usually write …

… my paper is gone long before the envelopes. Temporarily I cannot get ink—I haven’t lost that swell pen. Incidentally the nuts and candy were awfully good—I just finished them off the last couple of days.