|
bych jel nejraději! |
say one thing, and believe me: I would like going home best! |
June 3
The heat is intolerable. There are no trees. We swim in the sea every day. We are killing our best times here—what I could experience t home if there were not that damned war.
We are well off. We boil potatoes, make potato salad, and buy fruits and various things the Italians bring in from Sardinia. Much wine gets drunk here—one liter costs one lire—and we play cards. The Italians set up one central kitchen for the entire camp; theft is easier that way. Sergeants get extra macaroni and all the bacon. The rank and file get some ugly brew.
Nobody wants rice anymore. It used to sell for 50 cts. per cup, and now you have to give the men 10 cts. to make them eat it.
June 6
Strong winds brought a sandstorm to the isle. Everyone in my platoon has money, and I am penniless, although two payments are on the way. My platoon is ready to leave for France but Roubík, Ferdinandi, and I will stay.
June 10
The service is getting tough. We have to do pushups daily. The doctors were searched, and their papers and books were taken away. The suitcases of the parsons were seized. The Italians discovered that a Spanish barge used
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