TRANSCRIBED FROM THE LITTLE RIVER NEWS DECEMBER 25, 1918 P. 1
Convalescent Camp A.P.O. 909, November 26, 1918.
Mrs. J. H. Barkman and family.
My Dear Mother and Father:
As I am not otherwise employed just now I will write you all a few lines.
This leaves me in the very best of health and I sincerely trust that you all are enjoying the same good health.
I am still connected with the convalescent camp, and am serving in the capacity of "Sergeant Major" of a battalion. I served as First Sergeant of the company for two months and was promoted last week to the rank of Sergeant Major.
I have not heard from Lambert yet, but I am sure that he is all right, and that he has written to me but as the mail system is rather conjested over here it never reached me.
I thought I was a "goner" when I saw him last, as I was not only "gassed" but had a terrible case of "Spanish Flu." I certainly hope that he has received some of my letters, as I know he thought my case doubtful when I left him.
Quite a lot of the censorship has been removed from our letters lately, so I can give you a vague idea of what we have been through.
I left him on the front line around 'Toul' France and they went "over the top" the next morning. Going over the top certainly has its thrills, especially to the man who has never been before. But it came to be a daily occurance to us for a long time. I could never describe just how the trick is done, on paper, but I am coming home some time and I'll take great delight in gathering around the old "fireplace" and telling you all about it.
We had not been in this country hardly a month until we were thrown into the muddy trenches. And such a life, you never would imagine that a living being could live through.
We were shelled, gassed, and bombed from above.
We thought it reasonably nice when they first began to shell us with a few shells once every hour or two, but when the big guns got busy and began to throw entire "foundaries" over at us, the existance of the entire outfit looked doubtful.
Well, all of that sounds tough. I have had my comrades killed almost in my arms, seen them gassed and die right before my own eyes, and those sights will ever remain before my eyes even though I live a thousand years. But the after math of the story is tougher from a mental standpoint.
Every man who comes out of a drive can relate at least a hundred times when he almost lost his life and as a result his nerves are completely shattered. His spirit is gone, his morale wrecked and his entire mental system is a mass of ruins.
But thanks to that Nobel Institution the American Red Cross, who have saved the lives of thousands upon thousands of our boys,
They nurse us and bring back our health to us, that so shortly seemed to us could never return.
Well, the bloody war is over.
The Hun is whipped and we know that better than the Americans at home do.
No leniency will the Hun ever receive from me.
The first German I ever killed had both hands up in the air as high as he could stick them, but I was so excited that I killed him anyway, and that night I could not sleep over thinking of it. But I learned after that it was an old game of theirs.
They worked every scheme under the sun to kill us, and when I saw my friends being killed, on either side of me, all on account of a Hun's treachery, I swore I would never show one any mercy whatever. (And I stuck to my word.)
Well, I would like to write more, but as I might cause the censor some worry over such a long letter, I will close. Trusting that I may see you around New Years Day, I remain.
Your very devoted son and soldier,
Weaver J. Barkman.
NOTES: This letter was written by Weaver James Barkham to his parents, James Humphrey and Sarah Barkman. He was born on April 22, 1894 in Wilton, Arkansas. He died on September 1, 1974. He is buried in the East Memorial Gardens in Texarkana, Arkansas. He enlisted on March 30, 1918 and was discharged on April, 16, 1919. He departed New York, NY on July 21, 1918 onboard the Grampian. He was serving as a Sgt. in Camp Gordon Automatic Draft Co. #3 Infantry. He departed Brest, France on March 26. 1919 onboard the Leviathan. He was serving as a Sgt. in Camp Pike Detachment 338th Infantry.
TRANSCRIBED BY LAEL HARROD
Convalescent Camp A.P.O. 909, November 26, 1918.
Mrs. J. H. Barkman and family.
My Dear Mother and Father:
As I am not otherwise employed just now I will write you all a few lines.
This leaves me in the very best of health and I sincerely trust that you all are enjoying the same good health.
I am still connected with the convalescent camp, and am serving in the capacity of "Sergeant Major" of a battalion. I served as First Sergeant of the company for two months and was promoted last week to the rank of Sergeant Major.
I have not heard from Lambert yet, but I am sure that he is all right, and that he has written to me but as the mail system is rather conjested over here it never reached me.
I thought I was a "goner" when I saw him last, as I was not only "gassed" but had a terrible case of "Spanish Flu." I certainly hope that he has received some of my letters, as I know he thought my case doubtful when I left him.
Quite a lot of the censorship has been removed from our letters lately, so I can give you a vague idea of what we have been through.
I left him on the front line around 'Toul' France and they went "over the top" the next morning. Going over the top certainly has its thrills, especially to the man who has never been before. But it came to be a daily occurance to us for a long time. I could never describe just how the trick is done, on paper, but I am coming home some time and I'll take great delight in gathering around the old "fireplace" and telling you all about it.
We had not been in this country hardly a month until we were thrown into the muddy trenches. And such a life, you never would imagine that a living being could live through.
We were shelled, gassed, and bombed from above.
We thought it reasonably nice when they first began to shell us with a few shells once every hour or two, but when the big guns got busy and began to throw entire "foundaries" over at us, the existance of the entire outfit looked doubtful.
Well, all of that sounds tough. I have had my comrades killed almost in my arms, seen them gassed and die right before my own eyes, and those sights will ever remain before my eyes even though I live a thousand years. But the after math of the story is tougher from a mental standpoint.
Every man who comes out of a drive can relate at least a hundred times when he almost lost his life and as a result his nerves are completely shattered. His spirit is gone, his morale wrecked and his entire mental system is a mass of ruins.
But thanks to that Nobel Institution the American Red Cross, who have saved the lives of thousands upon thousands of our boys,
They nurse us and bring back our health to us, that so shortly seemed to us could never return.
Well, the bloody war is over.
The Hun is whipped and we know that better than the Americans at home do.
No leniency will the Hun ever receive from me.
The first German I ever killed had both hands up in the air as high as he could stick them, but I was so excited that I killed him anyway, and that night I could not sleep over thinking of it. But I learned after that it was an old game of theirs.
They worked every scheme under the sun to kill us, and when I saw my friends being killed, on either side of me, all on account of a Hun's treachery, I swore I would never show one any mercy whatever. (And I stuck to my word.)
Well, I would like to write more, but as I might cause the censor some worry over such a long letter, I will close. Trusting that I may see you around New Years Day, I remain.
Your very devoted son and soldier,
Weaver J. Barkman.
NOTES: This letter was written by Weaver James Barkham to his parents, James Humphrey and Sarah Barkman. He was born on April 22, 1894 in Wilton, Arkansas. He died on September 1, 1974. He is buried in the East Memorial Gardens in Texarkana, Arkansas. He enlisted on March 30, 1918 and was discharged on April, 16, 1919. He departed New York, NY on July 21, 1918 onboard the Grampian. He was serving as a Sgt. in Camp Gordon Automatic Draft Co. #3 Infantry. He departed Brest, France on March 26. 1919 onboard the Leviathan. He was serving as a Sgt. in Camp Pike Detachment 338th Infantry.
TRANSCRIBED BY LAEL HARROD