Luxembourg

Oct. 13, 1944

Dearest Helen,

Friday the 13th, 8:30 PM and thus far nothing drastic has happened. By a strange coincidence the mail has just come in – three letters for the whole company, and of course the odds were too great to have one of them be for me. Maybe there is something to this Friday the 13th after all.

I’ve spent the past hour or so, composing a letter in French to my photographer friends back in St. Germain. The French postal service is in operation again and we can now write to France. My haste in writing to them has been accelerated by the fact that before we left that area, they took some pictures of Sam and I. However, we left before the pictures were finished, so I promised them that I would write as soon as the postal service was resumed and he would then have my address and send the pictures on to me – and, of course, as soon as they arrive I’ll send them on to you.

I have yet to come across a worthwhile strap for the wrist-watch but I’m keeping my eyes open for one, but opportunities for “shopping” are lacking these days. This however doesn’t seem to discourage the souvenir hunters. There are men in the outfit who send home every scrap of junk they can find – everything from insigniae to Nazi uniforms, and flags, swastikas, etc. and hardly a day goes by that some men don’t make up a  package of Nazi flotsam and jetsam. Whoever it was that said the American Army fights for souvenirs was remarkably close to the truth.

I, myself, did send home a German helmet to my father, knowing what a kick he would get out of it, and from his acknowledgement I find I was right. Knowing him, I expect that he’s probably riding around town wearing a German helmet.

And this brings me to the end of yet another page, another letter and another day away from you –

Love,
Ted