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Helen Fox Angell letters to Bess Peebles Fox, July 1944-April 1945

1944-08-09 Helen Fox to Bess Peebles Fox Page 2

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Somehow, it's not the kind of letter I enjoy writing - telling how a ward smells when it is full of men in casts, and the casts full of decomposing blood and excretions. Ot how you get a shock when you notice that they have little wires running into the flesh of each finger or toe and out into the traction of a "banjo? frame. Or what you find to discuss with a man who has six inches left of one arm and nothing of the other. Or how a fellow with one eye gone and the other going, sits in the library and desperately reads page after page of the Bible so he will remember it. So, my dear, if my writing seems overloaded with bicycling, cocktails, etc. just put it down to escapism and don't get worried. It is a wonderful experience but, gosh darn it, you just can't tell about it. Now, while we're in a serious vein let's discuss boxes. Since the explanation of my suggestion to cut down on sweet things was incorrect, here's the correct one. We all get boxes and we're all getting swamped - literally swamped. You know how
 
World War II Diaries and Letters