TRANSCRIBED FROM THE ARKANSAS GAZETTE MARCH 13, 1918 P 2
Special to the Gazette
Conway, Mar. 12
I arrived in London about 8 p.m. Sunday, and after groping around in the dark for a while, finally found a hotel, and after filling out a long registration card, I went out to find a place to eat. After another long walk in the dark, I finally found a little restaurant. I did not order. They had only one thing, a kind of link sausage, which I did not like, war bread, potatoes and spinach and tea, no sugar for one shilling–very cheap, I thought. I came back to hotel and wrote a letter. Sitting in the smoking room talking. They had an air raid the night before and expected one any minute, as the sky was clear. I was tired and went to bed but could not go to sleep, and in a few minutes I heard my first gun in the war. I immediately got up and hurriedly dressed and went out on the street. Big guns were firing all around. Could see their shells bursting in the heavens. It looked like twinkling stars, but could see no air plane. The firing kept up, I suppose for about 25 minutes. This morning early I went to where one of the bombs had fallen. The papers today say there were 16 killed and many wounded at this one place. Among the killed were women and children.
I have so many interesting things to tell about our trip over the danger zone, etc., but I suppose I can say this much, to use a funny expression, the sweetest thing, the most beautiful thing I ever saw in my life was an American destroyer. Well, I could have hugged it, and so could everyone else on board–you could not call it fear. It was just a case of nervousness, I suppose. Vote for a big navy.
On my trip across England yesterday I saw the most wonderful and beautiful county I ever saw. I thought that such a place existed only in story books. I tried my best to find a yard of ground that was not utilized but failed to find it. And London! I thought New York was the climax, but this place is beyond description. Today I have been in so many places of interest, including the Tower of London.
So many women are doing men’s work. So many wounded soldiers are on the streets. Poor fellows! Their badge reads “For King and Country.” So many soldiers are here on leave coming and going, followed by weeping mothers and sisters. I tell you it’s hard. We must win this war.
Food seems to be plentiful here, except meat, sugar and fats. I have had a tiny bit of sugar in my tea twice since I have been in England. So you in the land of plenty do not kick when you are asked to do without things once a week. Yesterday on the train I was talking to a “Tommy” returning to the front. I remarked on the slowness of the train.
He answered, “It’s going bloody fast enough when you’re returning to the trenches.”
The English are certainly kind to us Americans. They can all tell we are “Yanks.” I heard little kids on the streets today talking among themselves. As we passed they would say “Good old Americans.” Ask a question of anyone and they can’t do too much for you. I have not heard a single Englishman express an opinion as to the outcome of the war or when it will end. How helpless they feel in these air raids and I am beginning to feel the same way. All you can do is to stand and take what comes. Indoors is not much protection. The subways are filled with women and children. Retaliate is one remedy, and that is what the English people are demanding. I would like to write to all of you today, but cannot. Today is Monday we leave on Wednesday morning and expect to be in Paris Wednesday night about 11 o’clock.
NOTES: Enoch Newton Cole was writing to his parents Mr. and Mrs. W. D. Cole of Conway, Arkansas. He was sent to France with a group of 22 U.S. postal clerks, a postal inspector and an assistant supervisor for the mail service to the troops. He arrived in London on February 17, 1918. He was born on July 15, 1876 at Ripley, Mississippi and died on August 31, 1947 in Texarkana, Arkansas. He is buried in the Hillcrest Cemetery at Texarkana, Texas. He was working as a U.S. mail clerk on the railway before being sent to France.
TRANSCRIBED BY CAROLYN YANCEY KENT.
Special to the Gazette
Conway, Mar. 12
I arrived in London about 8 p.m. Sunday, and after groping around in the dark for a while, finally found a hotel, and after filling out a long registration card, I went out to find a place to eat. After another long walk in the dark, I finally found a little restaurant. I did not order. They had only one thing, a kind of link sausage, which I did not like, war bread, potatoes and spinach and tea, no sugar for one shilling–very cheap, I thought. I came back to hotel and wrote a letter. Sitting in the smoking room talking. They had an air raid the night before and expected one any minute, as the sky was clear. I was tired and went to bed but could not go to sleep, and in a few minutes I heard my first gun in the war. I immediately got up and hurriedly dressed and went out on the street. Big guns were firing all around. Could see their shells bursting in the heavens. It looked like twinkling stars, but could see no air plane. The firing kept up, I suppose for about 25 minutes. This morning early I went to where one of the bombs had fallen. The papers today say there were 16 killed and many wounded at this one place. Among the killed were women and children.
I have so many interesting things to tell about our trip over the danger zone, etc., but I suppose I can say this much, to use a funny expression, the sweetest thing, the most beautiful thing I ever saw in my life was an American destroyer. Well, I could have hugged it, and so could everyone else on board–you could not call it fear. It was just a case of nervousness, I suppose. Vote for a big navy.
On my trip across England yesterday I saw the most wonderful and beautiful county I ever saw. I thought that such a place existed only in story books. I tried my best to find a yard of ground that was not utilized but failed to find it. And London! I thought New York was the climax, but this place is beyond description. Today I have been in so many places of interest, including the Tower of London.
So many women are doing men’s work. So many wounded soldiers are on the streets. Poor fellows! Their badge reads “For King and Country.” So many soldiers are here on leave coming and going, followed by weeping mothers and sisters. I tell you it’s hard. We must win this war.
Food seems to be plentiful here, except meat, sugar and fats. I have had a tiny bit of sugar in my tea twice since I have been in England. So you in the land of plenty do not kick when you are asked to do without things once a week. Yesterday on the train I was talking to a “Tommy” returning to the front. I remarked on the slowness of the train.
He answered, “It’s going bloody fast enough when you’re returning to the trenches.”
The English are certainly kind to us Americans. They can all tell we are “Yanks.” I heard little kids on the streets today talking among themselves. As we passed they would say “Good old Americans.” Ask a question of anyone and they can’t do too much for you. I have not heard a single Englishman express an opinion as to the outcome of the war or when it will end. How helpless they feel in these air raids and I am beginning to feel the same way. All you can do is to stand and take what comes. Indoors is not much protection. The subways are filled with women and children. Retaliate is one remedy, and that is what the English people are demanding. I would like to write to all of you today, but cannot. Today is Monday we leave on Wednesday morning and expect to be in Paris Wednesday night about 11 o’clock.
NOTES: Enoch Newton Cole was writing to his parents Mr. and Mrs. W. D. Cole of Conway, Arkansas. He was sent to France with a group of 22 U.S. postal clerks, a postal inspector and an assistant supervisor for the mail service to the troops. He arrived in London on February 17, 1918. He was born on July 15, 1876 at Ripley, Mississippi and died on August 31, 1947 in Texarkana, Arkansas. He is buried in the Hillcrest Cemetery at Texarkana, Texas. He was working as a U.S. mail clerk on the railway before being sent to France.
TRANSCRIBED BY CAROLYN YANCEY KENT.