TRANSCRIBED FROM THE DAILY ARKANSAS GAZETTE JANUARY 5, 1919 P. 9
I have not had one letter in all the time I have been in this “Sunny France,” where it rains six days and drizzles the other one out of every seven. I wrote you when I was at Brest and wrote you from Meunes. This was while I was with the 3d Separation Battalion, and now since I’m with the 6th Regiment I have written twice; once from La Verne and once from Suippe, advising you of my change of address. But to go back.
I haven’t had time to write since I have had the honor of going “over the top.” We were replaced in the last few days of the Champagne drive, and on that front I came out O.K. Not a scratch! Then we moved to this last front of the war and for 21 days we drove the Dutch through rain, mud, cold, and on an empty stomach most of the time. Then came the day! Heinie sent over plenty of gas shells and I got a little of it, not in the lungs very bad, just what we boys call “a stomacher.” Well, we moved that night and on the hike I dropped and couldn’t sit up for a long time. I caught up the best I could next morning and went to see the doctor and told him about it. He examined me and sent me back to the hospital. Well. For two weeks I was saw. No danger of dropping off, you one of the sickest humans you ever understand—just deadly sick. They would bring me a good meal and it would taste, oh, so good, and 10 or 15 minutes later I would throw it all up. It was awful. I couldn’t hold anything on my stomach. But the diet put me all O.K. and I feel fine now, except that the least exertion gets my wind.
I have been here nearly a month now and they have classified us. He has put me in B class, so I must not be right yet. The rumor is that we are going back to the States pretty soon and be mustered out. I don’t know how I’ll feel about it when I get back, but if I feel like I do now I’m going to want to take it easy for a while, for, after that awful period at the front I sort of feel as though I want time to think it over. Ye Gods! It was awful, believe me. It is my idea of hell on earth. Those machine guns—and, oh boy, those shells! Those big German guns are wonderful things. You have to hand it to the Dutch on their big guns and their aviators.
Going to the front one hears many brave men holding forth on what they are and are not afraid of, but let me tell you the first whizz-bang that comes searing over you see ‘em all duck. Just to show you what wonderful things they are; The order is passed to “dig in” on account of shell fire being too close for comfort—well, say a man suddenly realizes he has lost his entrenching shovel—he seizes his pack, extracts his mess pan, and in four or five minutes has his dugout made. But in those two fronts that I have seen there wasn’t much actual contact with the Heinies, they wouldn’t stand.
NOTES: Rayburn Brown Cunningham was writing to his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Charles F. Cunningham of Little Rock, Arkansas. He was serving in the Marines 79th Co, 6th Reg A.E.F. He was born on December 14, 1899 in Little Rock and died on January 25, 1942. He is buried in the Oakland Cemetery in Little Rock.
TRANSCRIBED BY CAROLYN YANCEY KENT
I have not had one letter in all the time I have been in this “Sunny France,” where it rains six days and drizzles the other one out of every seven. I wrote you when I was at Brest and wrote you from Meunes. This was while I was with the 3d Separation Battalion, and now since I’m with the 6th Regiment I have written twice; once from La Verne and once from Suippe, advising you of my change of address. But to go back.
I haven’t had time to write since I have had the honor of going “over the top.” We were replaced in the last few days of the Champagne drive, and on that front I came out O.K. Not a scratch! Then we moved to this last front of the war and for 21 days we drove the Dutch through rain, mud, cold, and on an empty stomach most of the time. Then came the day! Heinie sent over plenty of gas shells and I got a little of it, not in the lungs very bad, just what we boys call “a stomacher.” Well, we moved that night and on the hike I dropped and couldn’t sit up for a long time. I caught up the best I could next morning and went to see the doctor and told him about it. He examined me and sent me back to the hospital. Well. For two weeks I was saw. No danger of dropping off, you one of the sickest humans you ever understand—just deadly sick. They would bring me a good meal and it would taste, oh, so good, and 10 or 15 minutes later I would throw it all up. It was awful. I couldn’t hold anything on my stomach. But the diet put me all O.K. and I feel fine now, except that the least exertion gets my wind.
I have been here nearly a month now and they have classified us. He has put me in B class, so I must not be right yet. The rumor is that we are going back to the States pretty soon and be mustered out. I don’t know how I’ll feel about it when I get back, but if I feel like I do now I’m going to want to take it easy for a while, for, after that awful period at the front I sort of feel as though I want time to think it over. Ye Gods! It was awful, believe me. It is my idea of hell on earth. Those machine guns—and, oh boy, those shells! Those big German guns are wonderful things. You have to hand it to the Dutch on their big guns and their aviators.
Going to the front one hears many brave men holding forth on what they are and are not afraid of, but let me tell you the first whizz-bang that comes searing over you see ‘em all duck. Just to show you what wonderful things they are; The order is passed to “dig in” on account of shell fire being too close for comfort—well, say a man suddenly realizes he has lost his entrenching shovel—he seizes his pack, extracts his mess pan, and in four or five minutes has his dugout made. But in those two fronts that I have seen there wasn’t much actual contact with the Heinies, they wouldn’t stand.
NOTES: Rayburn Brown Cunningham was writing to his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Charles F. Cunningham of Little Rock, Arkansas. He was serving in the Marines 79th Co, 6th Reg A.E.F. He was born on December 14, 1899 in Little Rock and died on January 25, 1942. He is buried in the Oakland Cemetery in Little Rock.
TRANSCRIBED BY CAROLYN YANCEY KENT