TRANSCRIBED FROM THE ARKANSAS GAZETTE AUGUST 25, 1918 P. 36
Dearest Little Mother:
Just now I find myself in very different surroundings indeed than I have been used to during my time oversea. It seems strange to us who live unseen, to be suddenly thrown have been living unseen or trying to into a place where they have “open lights,” street cars, and where you never hear the sounds of guns. To be more definite, in our last battle I got in the way of a strange machine gun bullet and for my trouble it laid me out flat. However, I do not think the sender must have been very angry, for the bullet penetrated my left cheek and went out under my right ear without either fracturing my jaw bone, or breaking out by tongue. Oh, lucky, is no name for it. I have wondered over and over how it happened, but only by God’s hand can I see how I came out in such good shape.
We had gone over the top three times in 30 hours and were taking machine gun nests at the point of the bayonet, and I suppose all were a little too fast. But an officer shouted to us to straighten our lines and as I turned my head to see what kind of an alignment we had a bullet, which otherwise would have got me center in the forehead, struck me in the cheek.
Every doctor I passed said I was one of the luckiest, and there certainly were some awful cases on the same train with me.
But I must tell you how I have been treated.
Being on the go, working night and day, breathing high explosives and gas until thoroughly sick, I had eaten once in 40 hours. Not that I did not have it, but because I did not take time. As it was, I ‘got my blighty’ about 6:45 p. m., it is not dark until 10 and after coming to myself and finding I had no pain, I bandaged myself up and forted for the rear, carrying my prize (an officer’s revolver) with me. Strange to say, I walked the four kilometers back to the aid station without any fatigue whatever, but, oh, how thirsty. Learning at the aid station it would not be against me to drink all I wanted. I stopped at a spring and to any observer it must have seemed I had a barrel hidden away—but it was so good. Quite naturally, I felt much better after washing my face and hands, so I started out briskly for the next town, where I could get an ambulance. You see, by my being able to walk, I was one of the first ones in, so got out early. From then to two days later I remember very little, except riding in several trucks, and finally on the train. Everybody wanted to do something for us. Never will I forget those two days. It was either fruit or sandwiches, or coffee, and imagine me unable to move my jaws.
While in the French hospital I had an awful time. The ward master could not understand or speak a word of English, but I was saved at last by a young nurse who spent most of her time with me, so I needed nothing. She was French, but by working in the American hospitals she had acquired much knowledge of our language. I have been treated so nicely by every one now that I fear I shall have a hard time getting back to the old life again.
As yet, dear, I have not heard from home, and whether I shall when I leave the hospital, all depends upon whether I am sent back to my company, or a replacement camp. More than likely there is mail for me at my company, but if I am transferred again I may lose it. Here’s hoping that I hear from you soon, though, with the good news that you are all well and happy.
Your loving son,
CECIL BURROWS
NOTES: Cecil Burrows of Arkadelphia, and is writing to his mother, Mrs. John W. “Bertie” Burrows. He was so eager to go overseas that he resigned his sergeants rating at Camp Beauregard, La. to become a private in a company that was leaving for the front. He was born April 1899.
TRANSCRIBED BY CAROLYN YANCEY KENT.
Dearest Little Mother:
Just now I find myself in very different surroundings indeed than I have been used to during my time oversea. It seems strange to us who live unseen, to be suddenly thrown have been living unseen or trying to into a place where they have “open lights,” street cars, and where you never hear the sounds of guns. To be more definite, in our last battle I got in the way of a strange machine gun bullet and for my trouble it laid me out flat. However, I do not think the sender must have been very angry, for the bullet penetrated my left cheek and went out under my right ear without either fracturing my jaw bone, or breaking out by tongue. Oh, lucky, is no name for it. I have wondered over and over how it happened, but only by God’s hand can I see how I came out in such good shape.
We had gone over the top three times in 30 hours and were taking machine gun nests at the point of the bayonet, and I suppose all were a little too fast. But an officer shouted to us to straighten our lines and as I turned my head to see what kind of an alignment we had a bullet, which otherwise would have got me center in the forehead, struck me in the cheek.
Every doctor I passed said I was one of the luckiest, and there certainly were some awful cases on the same train with me.
But I must tell you how I have been treated.
Being on the go, working night and day, breathing high explosives and gas until thoroughly sick, I had eaten once in 40 hours. Not that I did not have it, but because I did not take time. As it was, I ‘got my blighty’ about 6:45 p. m., it is not dark until 10 and after coming to myself and finding I had no pain, I bandaged myself up and forted for the rear, carrying my prize (an officer’s revolver) with me. Strange to say, I walked the four kilometers back to the aid station without any fatigue whatever, but, oh, how thirsty. Learning at the aid station it would not be against me to drink all I wanted. I stopped at a spring and to any observer it must have seemed I had a barrel hidden away—but it was so good. Quite naturally, I felt much better after washing my face and hands, so I started out briskly for the next town, where I could get an ambulance. You see, by my being able to walk, I was one of the first ones in, so got out early. From then to two days later I remember very little, except riding in several trucks, and finally on the train. Everybody wanted to do something for us. Never will I forget those two days. It was either fruit or sandwiches, or coffee, and imagine me unable to move my jaws.
While in the French hospital I had an awful time. The ward master could not understand or speak a word of English, but I was saved at last by a young nurse who spent most of her time with me, so I needed nothing. She was French, but by working in the American hospitals she had acquired much knowledge of our language. I have been treated so nicely by every one now that I fear I shall have a hard time getting back to the old life again.
As yet, dear, I have not heard from home, and whether I shall when I leave the hospital, all depends upon whether I am sent back to my company, or a replacement camp. More than likely there is mail for me at my company, but if I am transferred again I may lose it. Here’s hoping that I hear from you soon, though, with the good news that you are all well and happy.
Your loving son,
CECIL BURROWS
NOTES: Cecil Burrows of Arkadelphia, and is writing to his mother, Mrs. John W. “Bertie” Burrows. He was so eager to go overseas that he resigned his sergeants rating at Camp Beauregard, La. to become a private in a company that was leaving for the front. He was born April 1899.
TRANSCRIBED BY CAROLYN YANCEY KENT.