After the Bulge was blunted, that is the Germans were placed in retreat or captured, since the foxholes did not have running water etc. we had not washed. We were in the same clothes worn when we left Haverford West, South Wales, UK 6 weeks or so before. Some soldiers may have had an opportunity to change clothes. We didn’t. If you were to look at my hands, the only clean parts would be my fingertips where the dirt and grime would wear off from use in handling my rifle, ammunition and a month or so of living outside under bad conditions.

One day we were transported about 10 miles behind the front lines to a temporary Quartermaster operated washing and change of clothes-station. They had set up a truck alongside a small stream. The truck was equipped with water heaters and showers. There were small tents at the front and rear of the truck. Small groups were let into the first tent and given instructions in very colorful language “take off all your clothes” you will not see them again. “If you have any valuables hold them in your hand.” “When you enter the shower find someplace where they may not get wet”. My “long Johns” felt like a part of me. I had sweat in them, froze in them and did everything in them. I mean everything. When I took them off it was like peeling off some of my skin. So there we were naked and shivering waiting for more instructions. All our clothes were on the ground (dirt) and we were freezing. It was winter and we were nude in a forest by a stream.

We were then given instructions as to what was going to happen next. Once again instructions were given in colorful language. It seems that no one would pay attention unless you spoke that way. We were told it was to be a three-minute shower. You would go up the steps into the shower cubicle, which was built into the truck somehow. The water would come on. You would have one minute to wet yourself, followed by one minute to soap yourself and then one minute to rinse. We were reminded that if soap was still in your eyes or anywhere else “too bad”. The water would be shut off anyhow. Pick up your valuables (family photos and other items of value) then go down the steps into the rear tent.

As I went down the steps from the shower into a cold tent someone handed me a set of new clothes and shoes without any regard for size. We were all nude wandering around that tent bumping in to one another asking anyone what size they were given and “could we trade”. I ended up with very narrow shoes. (They were probably 11 and a half-triple A). They curled up in the front and seemed to say “hello”. Did you ever try to dress and/or bend in a crowded room of nude men or try putting on a pair of shoes? We were then ushered outside the tent, which seemed extra cold because our pores were now wide open and we weren’t wearing the dirt-clogged underwear etc. As dirty as my “long Johns” had been, I longed for them at that moment.

Because we were a company of about 250 men it was a slow and long process to shower and process everyone. Some of us wandered down the road to a bar that somehow was open. It didn’t take much cognac, so for the first time in my life I got drunk. I hardly remember getting in the truck to return to the front lines. I can’t remember where I went. I thought about it later and realized it was dangerous being on the front line and not really having all my senses.