TRANSCRIBED FROM THE POCAHONTAS STAR HERALD JUNE 28, 1918 P. 2
“Somewhere in France,”
Mothers’ Day, 1918.
Mother Dear:
I cannot understand why a day is set apart and labeled “Mothers’ Day.” I guess it is because for three hundred and sixty-five days of every year that we have a mother, we are under the sweet, pure influence of a mother’s love. Because every action, thought, word and deed of our mother is for us. Because our mothers have suffered most for us. Because her infinite love and tender counsel have kept us in the high and straight pathway of life. Because every living minute of a mother is devoted to her child or children. Because by her noble and upright standards she has set for us an ideal worthy of a lifetime’s struggle to reach.
Because a mother has set apart every day of the year for the love, care and memories of her children, these sons and daughters of mothers have inaugurated a “Mother’s Day” –one day of these three hundred and sixty-five—God Forbid! During the other three hundred and sixty-four are we to pursue our life’s events while every minute of those days our mothers are pouring out their hearts love for us?
If I should spend every day of my life to the end of lightening my mothers burdens, and to making her proud that she has a son like me, I would consider that my days had been well spent and my life Ideal.
It may be that a “Mother’s Day” is a good idea after all, It is possible that if were not for a day set apart in remembrance of her, some of us might forget that there had ever been such a person as mother.
If I should dissect my past life I doubt if I could find a single action of account committed entirely for my uplift in your sight. I have never done anything to cause you to have pride in your son. I have doubt but that I have caused you more worry than I can imagine, but, dear heart, I have many years more to live, and it is possible that some day I may be able to accomplish something rendering it possible for you to realize your hopes in me.
I cannot conceive the feelings of a young man without a mother. It seems that his life would be empty and removed from any cause for ambition. What the absence of a mother means to a man’s life is too far away for my mind to grasp, and today I thank God that I have not had to experience the feelings of a motherless son, and that I have such a mother as you to love for.
I cannot hope to express in words the love I hold for you, and the extent to which I have woven your personality into my scheme of life.
Thursday I received from you the first letter I had received since I have been in France. You cannot imagine how it lifted my spirits. A letter means a great deal in the life of an American soldier who is in France.
Thank God, dear mother, that you will never have to suffer as the women of France are suffering. Cultivating the land, doing everything to preserve their lives, only to receive sympathetic notes bearing the news that a father, husband, brother or son, will never return to relieve the burdens heaped upon them.
Know always that I bear greater love for no one than for you.
Warren Blankenship.
NOTES: Warren Lee Blankenship was born in Maynard, Arkansas on July 2, 1898 and died on May 23, 1951 in Memphis, Tennessee. He is buried in the Masonic Cemetery in Pocahontas, Arkansas. He enlisted in the military on July 29, 1917 and was discharged on May 23, 1919. He departed from Hoboken, NJ for France on January 13, 1918. He departed from Bordeaux, France on April 20, 1919 onboard the General Goethals. He arrived in Brooklyn, NY on May 3, 1919.
TRANSCRIBED BY KAREN PITTMAN
“Somewhere in France,”
Mothers’ Day, 1918.
Mother Dear:
I cannot understand why a day is set apart and labeled “Mothers’ Day.” I guess it is because for three hundred and sixty-five days of every year that we have a mother, we are under the sweet, pure influence of a mother’s love. Because every action, thought, word and deed of our mother is for us. Because our mothers have suffered most for us. Because her infinite love and tender counsel have kept us in the high and straight pathway of life. Because every living minute of a mother is devoted to her child or children. Because by her noble and upright standards she has set for us an ideal worthy of a lifetime’s struggle to reach.
Because a mother has set apart every day of the year for the love, care and memories of her children, these sons and daughters of mothers have inaugurated a “Mother’s Day” –one day of these three hundred and sixty-five—God Forbid! During the other three hundred and sixty-four are we to pursue our life’s events while every minute of those days our mothers are pouring out their hearts love for us?
If I should spend every day of my life to the end of lightening my mothers burdens, and to making her proud that she has a son like me, I would consider that my days had been well spent and my life Ideal.
It may be that a “Mother’s Day” is a good idea after all, It is possible that if were not for a day set apart in remembrance of her, some of us might forget that there had ever been such a person as mother.
If I should dissect my past life I doubt if I could find a single action of account committed entirely for my uplift in your sight. I have never done anything to cause you to have pride in your son. I have doubt but that I have caused you more worry than I can imagine, but, dear heart, I have many years more to live, and it is possible that some day I may be able to accomplish something rendering it possible for you to realize your hopes in me.
I cannot conceive the feelings of a young man without a mother. It seems that his life would be empty and removed from any cause for ambition. What the absence of a mother means to a man’s life is too far away for my mind to grasp, and today I thank God that I have not had to experience the feelings of a motherless son, and that I have such a mother as you to love for.
I cannot hope to express in words the love I hold for you, and the extent to which I have woven your personality into my scheme of life.
Thursday I received from you the first letter I had received since I have been in France. You cannot imagine how it lifted my spirits. A letter means a great deal in the life of an American soldier who is in France.
Thank God, dear mother, that you will never have to suffer as the women of France are suffering. Cultivating the land, doing everything to preserve their lives, only to receive sympathetic notes bearing the news that a father, husband, brother or son, will never return to relieve the burdens heaped upon them.
Know always that I bear greater love for no one than for you.
Warren Blankenship.
NOTES: Warren Lee Blankenship was born in Maynard, Arkansas on July 2, 1898 and died on May 23, 1951 in Memphis, Tennessee. He is buried in the Masonic Cemetery in Pocahontas, Arkansas. He enlisted in the military on July 29, 1917 and was discharged on May 23, 1919. He departed from Hoboken, NJ for France on January 13, 1918. He departed from Bordeaux, France on April 20, 1919 onboard the General Goethals. He arrived in Brooklyn, NY on May 3, 1919.
TRANSCRIBED BY KAREN PITTMAN