My Dear Mother:-
Today is Sunday, altho' Sunday in France bears no dissemblance [sic] to any other day and tonight in glancing at my diary I noticed I hadn't written to you since the 23rd so I'll write a line. There isn't much to record. We are still in the line and tomorrow will complete twenty-one days straight work. I am well altho' I have a slight cold and a troublesome pair of heels. Things go on day by day and we unconsciously drop into a daily routine here as we did in England or in Canada.
The worst feature is the difficulty in keeping clean. My clothes are in a rather disreputable state. I hardly dare call them my own for I am being slowly crowded off.
Have been looking for a parcel. Eats are plentiful here and I'm my own cook these days. Tonight for supper I had some boiled potatoes, a piece of steak, toast, bread, jam and cheese. As I'm busy most of the night I live on two meals , one at noon and the other about six o'clock with (...) before midnight. I think Mother, it would be better to send smaller parcels once a week. It's getting the parcel that counts most for of all things a box from home is the tie that binds. No matter how big it is it only lasts an hour or so. Send say fifty cigarettes, a few chocolate bars and a few eats - home cooking means much - or anything else you like. But don't make the parcel too bulky. Send me a few handkerchiefs, soap & socks occasionally for it's hard to get things washed and especially when in the line when you have only a few with you they get most terribly dirty.
The weather has been fine, milder, with only a few rains. The Post is a treat and is in great demand. Here one appreciates a story to read in order to pass the spare hours.
Well, I'll close. Hope you are all well. Haven't had a letter for some time. Did I tell you that I had some fellow by the name of Taylor from south of Belmont who came across with the 134th , Fred C.'s unit. I haven't seen Fred yet.