TRANSCRIBED FROM THE WEEKLY SOLIPHONE, SEPTEMBER 6, 1917, P. 1.
Somewhere in France, 8-8-17.
My Dear Mother:
Your letter received and I was so glad to hear from you, for it had seemed a year since I had a letter from you. It sure does take the mail a long time to reach France.
So you are busy at Red Cross work? Well, I hope the women of Arkansas will not make the mistake that the women of Canada did at commencing of the war. Tons of sox were knitted and sent over here; also underwear. Well, when you consider that a soldier at the front has enough to carry without any excess baggage, it is not at all surprising that all this junk was ditched long before reaching the front line. We have in addition to our pack hwich contains our overcoat, sweater coat, housewife carryall, toilet articles, etc., our rifles, 180 rounds steel-nosed cartridges, side arms, 2 gas helmets, one steel helmet, mess tin, few bombs, etc.; so the fellows generally ditch everything like underwear and sox and only hold onto one change, for that is all that is really needed, for we have a bath parade and turn in our dirty clothes and receive clean ones for them. But if they want to bring real cheer and joy, send cigarettes and tobacco, for that’s what pleases most. Of course, the W .C. T. U. women won’t agree to this, but the British army has found it pays, as each man receives an issue of cigarettes and tobacco from the government, and when it comes there is a happy lot of fellows. Fancy sox and silk pajamas are “no bon” out here at the front, but a fellow can get some real solid comfort out of a good smoke. Which reminds me. You might send me half a dozen sacks of Durham.
Well, I am not in a dangerous place now compared with what I was a week ago. In fact, except for an occasional stray shell, the place I am now is practically bomb-proof. So do not worry over me. I was in a place last week where Fritz shelled all day and night. My address is 15th Canadian Bu, B. E. T. France. But here I am farther from the front line, relieving a signaller who is away on furlough. Will probably move further up the line when this man returns. But do not worry, for I assure you that I have stopped worrying long ago. The first day up where they were bursting was a new and disagreeable sensation, but one gets used to such things and so they do not care much about such things. It’s not the fire I dread, but this living like a cave man in a hole in the ground with naught save mud and rats for company. Much love to all and kiss my boy for me.
Lovingly, your son,
Dick
NOTES: Written to his mother, Mrs. M. L. Salter. Salter was born on Feb. 4, 1886 and died on Feb. 27, 1920. He is buried in the Linwood Cemetery in Paragould, Arkansas.
TRANSCRIBED BY DEBRA POLSTON
Somewhere in France, 8-8-17.
My Dear Mother:
Your letter received and I was so glad to hear from you, for it had seemed a year since I had a letter from you. It sure does take the mail a long time to reach France.
So you are busy at Red Cross work? Well, I hope the women of Arkansas will not make the mistake that the women of Canada did at commencing of the war. Tons of sox were knitted and sent over here; also underwear. Well, when you consider that a soldier at the front has enough to carry without any excess baggage, it is not at all surprising that all this junk was ditched long before reaching the front line. We have in addition to our pack hwich contains our overcoat, sweater coat, housewife carryall, toilet articles, etc., our rifles, 180 rounds steel-nosed cartridges, side arms, 2 gas helmets, one steel helmet, mess tin, few bombs, etc.; so the fellows generally ditch everything like underwear and sox and only hold onto one change, for that is all that is really needed, for we have a bath parade and turn in our dirty clothes and receive clean ones for them. But if they want to bring real cheer and joy, send cigarettes and tobacco, for that’s what pleases most. Of course, the W .C. T. U. women won’t agree to this, but the British army has found it pays, as each man receives an issue of cigarettes and tobacco from the government, and when it comes there is a happy lot of fellows. Fancy sox and silk pajamas are “no bon” out here at the front, but a fellow can get some real solid comfort out of a good smoke. Which reminds me. You might send me half a dozen sacks of Durham.
Well, I am not in a dangerous place now compared with what I was a week ago. In fact, except for an occasional stray shell, the place I am now is practically bomb-proof. So do not worry over me. I was in a place last week where Fritz shelled all day and night. My address is 15th Canadian Bu, B. E. T. France. But here I am farther from the front line, relieving a signaller who is away on furlough. Will probably move further up the line when this man returns. But do not worry, for I assure you that I have stopped worrying long ago. The first day up where they were bursting was a new and disagreeable sensation, but one gets used to such things and so they do not care much about such things. It’s not the fire I dread, but this living like a cave man in a hole in the ground with naught save mud and rats for company. Much love to all and kiss my boy for me.
Lovingly, your son,
Dick
NOTES: Written to his mother, Mrs. M. L. Salter. Salter was born on Feb. 4, 1886 and died on Feb. 27, 1920. He is buried in the Linwood Cemetery in Paragould, Arkansas.
TRANSCRIBED BY DEBRA POLSTON