TRANSCRIBED FROM THE GREEN FOREST TRIBUNE APRIL 26, 1918 P. 2
France, March 3, 1918.
My dear cousin:
Your delightfully cheery letter came a few days ago. As a surprise it was complete. With the exception of mother, sister, and the Sparks’s family you are the first relative I have heard from during the six months I have been in France. Believe me, letters are the only cheerful things we isolated lads in France have, and if the people in the states could realize how much it means to us, this war would go down in American history as the letter-writing epoch. Some people write letters to us and then wait two or three months for an answer. They seem to forget that the rush of events on the battlefield and the impossibility of regulating the fighting game to suit the desires of all, prevent the men engaged from writing when they wish. In other words the powers-that-be refuse to hold off the war long enough to permit us to write to our friends and relatives. Horrid of them, isn’t it? I am a very poor letter writer and have a strong dislike for the job, but letters and the butchering of boche are our only source of happiness over here, so please keep a letter on the road to France. You cannot imagine how much it helps. I promise to answer as promptly and often as is possible. Do your own little bit dearie.
Am glad to hear all of the family are enjoying good health; hope it continues. My physical health has never been anything but “best,” but at present my mental health is poor; I am war-sick, home-sick, France-sick, love-sick. Speaking about climates, I have endured the rigors of winter in the Pacific Northwest and the torturing suffocation of summer on the Arizona and California deserts, still I prefer either to the weather we have enjoyed (?) for the last six months in France. The hardships are not much to worry about but the weather and the butchering— well, Sherman spoke entirely too politely about war. Twenty inches is some snow, all right; it would be considered frost in one part of France I have seen.
So you are making a success on the telegraph key; good for you. It is interesting work, and helpful. I have not had much practice on the key-board in the past years but I can handle one fairly well. I know the Morse Code and two army codes. Flag, heleograph and searchlight are my favorite weapons.
I would like to tell you all about what is going on over here; of course you can understand it is impossible. Some men write news home, that seem innocent enough, but is just the bit of news that the German spies are looking for. Such men are endangering the lives of their comrades and the success of our great fight, just to appease their egotistic desire for notoriety.
France is a wonderful country. I have seen her wonderful showplaces and she can well be proud of them. I might think she was a marvelous country, if I had not seen so much of our own country. Her magnificence and splendor are all artificial, whereas ours is the work of nature itself; in Paris for instance, two blocks from the Arch of Triumph is the filthiness and squalor of a tenement district, the same with the Eiffle Tower; directly behind Notre Dame is the equally famous “segregated district. The buildings are wonderful works of art, but I have seen some in America which surpass the best in this country. Sanitation and morality are just in an experimental stage in the larger cities; in the villages morality is good but sanitation is unheard of and never practiced. The villagers are following the customs and living the same as their forefathers have for the last two centuries, and they and their children and grand children will never change those customs and habits. Am getting sleepy, must cut short. Give my love to all, and keep me supplied with letters; keep the wire humming.
Very sincerely,
Your cousin,
Lieut. R. V. Bergen,
9th Infantry, A. E. F. France.
NOTES: This letter was originally published in the Eureka Springs Times-Echo. Bergen was writing to his cousin, Mrs. Ruby Mize.
TRANSCRIBED BY LINDA MATTHEWS
France, March 3, 1918.
My dear cousin:
Your delightfully cheery letter came a few days ago. As a surprise it was complete. With the exception of mother, sister, and the Sparks’s family you are the first relative I have heard from during the six months I have been in France. Believe me, letters are the only cheerful things we isolated lads in France have, and if the people in the states could realize how much it means to us, this war would go down in American history as the letter-writing epoch. Some people write letters to us and then wait two or three months for an answer. They seem to forget that the rush of events on the battlefield and the impossibility of regulating the fighting game to suit the desires of all, prevent the men engaged from writing when they wish. In other words the powers-that-be refuse to hold off the war long enough to permit us to write to our friends and relatives. Horrid of them, isn’t it? I am a very poor letter writer and have a strong dislike for the job, but letters and the butchering of boche are our only source of happiness over here, so please keep a letter on the road to France. You cannot imagine how much it helps. I promise to answer as promptly and often as is possible. Do your own little bit dearie.
Am glad to hear all of the family are enjoying good health; hope it continues. My physical health has never been anything but “best,” but at present my mental health is poor; I am war-sick, home-sick, France-sick, love-sick. Speaking about climates, I have endured the rigors of winter in the Pacific Northwest and the torturing suffocation of summer on the Arizona and California deserts, still I prefer either to the weather we have enjoyed (?) for the last six months in France. The hardships are not much to worry about but the weather and the butchering— well, Sherman spoke entirely too politely about war. Twenty inches is some snow, all right; it would be considered frost in one part of France I have seen.
So you are making a success on the telegraph key; good for you. It is interesting work, and helpful. I have not had much practice on the key-board in the past years but I can handle one fairly well. I know the Morse Code and two army codes. Flag, heleograph and searchlight are my favorite weapons.
I would like to tell you all about what is going on over here; of course you can understand it is impossible. Some men write news home, that seem innocent enough, but is just the bit of news that the German spies are looking for. Such men are endangering the lives of their comrades and the success of our great fight, just to appease their egotistic desire for notoriety.
France is a wonderful country. I have seen her wonderful showplaces and she can well be proud of them. I might think she was a marvelous country, if I had not seen so much of our own country. Her magnificence and splendor are all artificial, whereas ours is the work of nature itself; in Paris for instance, two blocks from the Arch of Triumph is the filthiness and squalor of a tenement district, the same with the Eiffle Tower; directly behind Notre Dame is the equally famous “segregated district. The buildings are wonderful works of art, but I have seen some in America which surpass the best in this country. Sanitation and morality are just in an experimental stage in the larger cities; in the villages morality is good but sanitation is unheard of and never practiced. The villagers are following the customs and living the same as their forefathers have for the last two centuries, and they and their children and grand children will never change those customs and habits. Am getting sleepy, must cut short. Give my love to all, and keep me supplied with letters; keep the wire humming.
Very sincerely,
Your cousin,
Lieut. R. V. Bergen,
9th Infantry, A. E. F. France.
NOTES: This letter was originally published in the Eureka Springs Times-Echo. Bergen was writing to his cousin, Mrs. Ruby Mize.
TRANSCRIBED BY LINDA MATTHEWS