TRANSCRIBED FROM ARKANSAS GAZETTE MAY 19, 1918 p 19
Today has been quite a gala occasion; the Y. M. C. A. staged a big track meet and speech-making affair. I attended the former. It was quite entertaining and furnished a nice bit of novelty for a Sunday afternoon. Really they keep us pretty well entertained all the time here; the Y. M. C. A. is truly a wonderful organization.
I have just returned from a little pilgrimage to a town where we had dinner at the “American restaurant.” It got its name from the fact that the proprietress (there are not proprietors here) could speak three words of English, and from the fact that she could recognize Americans whenever she saw them. But we had a fine meal deliciously served and as good as a restaurant anywhere could serve.
Among other things in this town we saw a 1,200-year-old church and a woman attending it who looked like she might almost have been a charter member. We were real popular—no less than 50-odd school children tried to jabber at us at one and the same time. I had some 20 to 30 opportunities to flirt with petit madamoselle, but came through the test unscathed. But about the greatest shock I got was when I went into a bazar and tried for some 15 minutes to tell the lady in French that I wanted a souvenir for you. After my most painful efforts she blurted out; “Oh, say it in English and I may be able to understand what you’re driving at!” We happened to strike “market day” that is an institution here, but description of it will have to be postponed to the series of “Fireside Tales.” And then I came home to the best part of the day by far—my mail. Two wonderful boxes and 10 life-saving letters from my dear ones. These letters and boxes and many thoughtful messages from home really serve to take off many of the rough edges of this little expedition.
By the way, the major just informed me I will be battalion gas officer. It is surely an important piece of work and I am kept quite busy.
I have not seen a bath or up-to-date sewerage since I’ve been here except those built by the American troops. A majority of the farms consist of about one acre-in America I believe the average would be about 50-acres; the streets here average about one-half the width of our streets, but are much better made and vastly better kept. Most are dirt roads, but some are bricks; they are canals to a great extent for freight transportation –these canals are mathematically perfect and splendidly kept. They are about 20 feet wide and boats with flat bottoms are generally used; these boats, instead of being propelled by steam, are pulled by a dray horse on either side of the canal; fields, streets, yards, cities and the country is vastly better cared for than in the States; people here seem to live longer—70 to 80 year old people doing heavy work is the commonest of sights.
We are receiving as many or more courtesies in our new place than before. The American troops get the best the land affords wherever they go. Our men are all working with a will, and one cannot help but be proud of the American soldier when he sees how they just take hold of anything and content themselves with just any conditions.
NOTES: A partial letter from Lieutenant Randall M. Falk to Mrs. Randall M. Falk. Falk attended the first and only officers training camp at Fort Roots the summer of 1917. He graduated with the rank of Second Lieutenant. Before the war was over he was promoted to Captain. He was born June 25, 1895. He died January 29, 1945, and is buried at Oakland-Fraternal Cemetery, Little Rock, Arkansas. He sent home two shell cases from a .75 anti-aircraft gun. The cases were put on display at the Falk Millinery store run by his parents.
TRANSCRIBED BY CAROLYN YANCEY KENT
Today has been quite a gala occasion; the Y. M. C. A. staged a big track meet and speech-making affair. I attended the former. It was quite entertaining and furnished a nice bit of novelty for a Sunday afternoon. Really they keep us pretty well entertained all the time here; the Y. M. C. A. is truly a wonderful organization.
I have just returned from a little pilgrimage to a town where we had dinner at the “American restaurant.” It got its name from the fact that the proprietress (there are not proprietors here) could speak three words of English, and from the fact that she could recognize Americans whenever she saw them. But we had a fine meal deliciously served and as good as a restaurant anywhere could serve.
Among other things in this town we saw a 1,200-year-old church and a woman attending it who looked like she might almost have been a charter member. We were real popular—no less than 50-odd school children tried to jabber at us at one and the same time. I had some 20 to 30 opportunities to flirt with petit madamoselle, but came through the test unscathed. But about the greatest shock I got was when I went into a bazar and tried for some 15 minutes to tell the lady in French that I wanted a souvenir for you. After my most painful efforts she blurted out; “Oh, say it in English and I may be able to understand what you’re driving at!” We happened to strike “market day” that is an institution here, but description of it will have to be postponed to the series of “Fireside Tales.” And then I came home to the best part of the day by far—my mail. Two wonderful boxes and 10 life-saving letters from my dear ones. These letters and boxes and many thoughtful messages from home really serve to take off many of the rough edges of this little expedition.
By the way, the major just informed me I will be battalion gas officer. It is surely an important piece of work and I am kept quite busy.
I have not seen a bath or up-to-date sewerage since I’ve been here except those built by the American troops. A majority of the farms consist of about one acre-in America I believe the average would be about 50-acres; the streets here average about one-half the width of our streets, but are much better made and vastly better kept. Most are dirt roads, but some are bricks; they are canals to a great extent for freight transportation –these canals are mathematically perfect and splendidly kept. They are about 20 feet wide and boats with flat bottoms are generally used; these boats, instead of being propelled by steam, are pulled by a dray horse on either side of the canal; fields, streets, yards, cities and the country is vastly better cared for than in the States; people here seem to live longer—70 to 80 year old people doing heavy work is the commonest of sights.
We are receiving as many or more courtesies in our new place than before. The American troops get the best the land affords wherever they go. Our men are all working with a will, and one cannot help but be proud of the American soldier when he sees how they just take hold of anything and content themselves with just any conditions.
NOTES: A partial letter from Lieutenant Randall M. Falk to Mrs. Randall M. Falk. Falk attended the first and only officers training camp at Fort Roots the summer of 1917. He graduated with the rank of Second Lieutenant. Before the war was over he was promoted to Captain. He was born June 25, 1895. He died January 29, 1945, and is buried at Oakland-Fraternal Cemetery, Little Rock, Arkansas. He sent home two shell cases from a .75 anti-aircraft gun. The cases were put on display at the Falk Millinery store run by his parents.
TRANSCRIBED BY CAROLYN YANCEY KENT