Netherlands Indies December 5th, ‘44
Dear Iz and Sil,
Six o’clock — Tuesday evening — weather, raining — activity, nil. Just sitting here thinking about what I’ve done today — an ordinary day. I’ve reached the same conclusion that I have a hundred times before— that I could write pages to you describing each day’s details and events, but that it would be useless. It is difficult to describe fully how one lives, but this isn’t even living. The folks at home, no matter how patriotic or eager, can never know. I’ll tell you what I did today, and you still won’t know. It seems we needed some long poles and that means work- ing in the jungle. The rain didn’t help much. We had to pick our way through the undergrowth in some places one and two hundred yards from the road, cut the small saplings, and drag them out to the road. Sweat- ing, dripping wet from the rain, sinking down into the bog, trying to keep the ants out of your hair and the sweat out of your eyes — miserable isn’t the word for it. I can understand why men at home who have been over- seas don’t talk much. What good are words?
December 4th, 1944
264
Made with FlippingBook. PDF to flipbook with ease