TRANSCRIBED FROM THE MELBOURNE TIMES OCTOBER 10, 1918 P. 2
Hospital Train 58, Near Paris,
July 27, 1918.
Dear Father:
With both feet hitting on all six cylinders on the good old soil of France and with a re-established ability to sink my teeth into edible odds and ends without fear of the immediate future, I have regained confidence in myself sufficiently to address a letter to you, my dear father. There was a time and not long since when I was positive I would never be able to write my name again, much less attempt a letter.
By this I do not mean I have encountered a frolicsome Hun at close range, but after an intimate acquaintance with the well known Atlantic ocean, there could be nothing of less consequence than meeting Hindenburg’s army with a ball and chain on each foot. This is said in unqualified spirits of admiration. It is some pond, and crossing it as I did, with several hundred comrades in arms, and one of Uncle Sam’s good old transports, there was enough tragedy and comedy during the passage to fill several volumes.
It is best to forget the tragedy angle, as I feel I can say I was one of the chief tragedians. The subject is a painful one. When the ship was not plowing the seas up to her collar bone in brine, she was frisking around looking for waves with health and size. I never heard of such a boat for “bucking the line.” Why the government did not take a periscope on her and call her by her right name I do not know, for “submarine” would have been a decent name for her.
Even the darkest spots of the trip were dark. There were several companies of colored troops, many of them from the most extreme parts of our South. I will tell one of the many funny incidents that happened. I was placed in a mump ward by my major to care for the unfortunate mump cases. About the fourth day out a certain six foot brown skin was sent in with a case of mumps. The lad stretched himself out on a bunk and exclaimed “I loves my county and I loves my folks, and it ain’t cause I don’t love ‘em, but I shore ain’t going to cross this ocean for them again.” I tried to convince him he would be the first to hit the gang plank on our way back, but too much water for him.
I only wish I could go into details of the wonder Uncle Sam is working in France. If all the people of the U.S. could take the trip from the port where we landed to our location and see the American camps, American railroads, and construction works and see and hear what we have seen and heard of the Sammies at the front there would not be another word of criticism. For France itself it is easy to understand these wonderful people have fought and bled as they have. France is worth fighting for. Traveling thru the country one sees miles after miles of highly cultivated farms and vineyards, beautiful towns and cities.
A word about what the U.S. is doing for wounded might not come amiss. I am stationed on one the Red Cross hospital trains running to and from base hospital.
These hospital trains are the finest things on wheels. They are made up of sixteen cars and accommodate 354 patients. When the wounded Sammies are put aboard one of these trains he finds himself in a spotless moving palace. I will try and give you something how the train is arranged. The first car is used to carry supplies for the cars, which consists of linens, towels, etc. the next car is used for the personnel of the train, the coms, noncoms quarters, enlisted men’s mess hall and kitchen for enlisted men. As for the sanitation and convenience of this kitchen I am sure they would please the most fastidious housewife or even a couple of young Americans just starting upon their long journey of matrimonial bliss. From here starts the ten cars used for wards. The sleeping apartments for these cars are arranged in tiers of three in the manner of Pullman berths (only much more comfortable) and is provided with all bedding that is found in modern hospitals. The car used for the infectious ward is attached to the rear. Following the ward cars is the pharmacy car. The pharmacy car carries a stock of drugs and surgical supplies equal to our modern drug store in America.
Following Pharmacy is officer’s quarters, nurses quarters, and another kitchen for officers, nurses, and patients. This finishes the train. The train is finished in mahogany, rosewood, and white enamel. All cars are equipped with modern conveniences, such lights and fans, both hot and cold water. In conclusion, these trains only compare with the many other great undertakings already accomplished by Uncle Sam in France.
These trains go in a few miles of the front and we are beginning to take with quite nerves, the explosion of a big shell which some Hun intended for our breakfast, or at night to see the search lights on the machine of some Hun aviator and see the shrapnel burst around him as our aircraft guns either lowers him in flames or makes him take track to the “Vaterland.”
I enjoy my work very much. In order to let you know something of the spirit of the wounded Sammy, a week or so ago we unloaded a certain base about ten o’clock at night. Some of the boys could walk. On their way to Hospital it would please anyone to hear them sing “Pack up your troubles”, the Long Long Trail” and etc. They take their ill luck in a good way and declare if they ever get another chance, “I’ll give ‘em Hell.”
If you were a Hun I am ____ you would think, that, that was exactly what they were sending and bringing over, that very stuff which Sherman call war.
I have been to Paris several times for only a few hours each time. I have seen only a little of what is to be seen and what expect to see before this is over. I visited Napoleon’s tomb and Notre Dame church, Hotel Des invalids. In this place they have war relics of almost all previous wars of France, Saint Chapelle Chapel, at one time a private chapel of Louis XIV, and many other noted places.
I received a letter today from mother and am glad to know that you are beginning to hear from me. Sometimes a letter will come in three weeks and sometimes in six weeks, but hereafter I think I will get my mail more regularly. I met Captain Drennan a few days ago. He was transferred from my Company before we left the States. He is now commander of Hospital Train 58. As he was so close to home it almost seemed like meeting homefolks.
For the first few weeks I was in France I wasn’t in very good health but now I weigh more than I ever did and feel better than I have in a long time. However, for the last two weeks we have been going night and day and feel a little tired at present.
I hope you got this letter for I have written a little now and then just as I had time. Write a long letter for I am always ways anxious to hear from you with one.
Love to all,
Your son,
Stanford
NOTES: This letter was written by Private Stanford Hayden to his father, Dr. W. R. Hayden of Mt. Olive, Arkansas. Stanford Ransom Hayden(first name may have been Ransom) was born in Optimus, Arkansas on November 23, 1896 and died in Pope County, Arkansas on February 14, 1944. He departed for France on April 23, 1918 onboard the H. R. Mallory. He was a Private 1st Class serving in Hospital Train No. 33, Medical Department. He departed for Hoboken NJ onboard the Antigone on March 12, 1919 and arrived on March 24, 1919.
TRANSCRIBED BY MIKE POLSTON
Hospital Train 58, Near Paris,
July 27, 1918.
Dear Father:
With both feet hitting on all six cylinders on the good old soil of France and with a re-established ability to sink my teeth into edible odds and ends without fear of the immediate future, I have regained confidence in myself sufficiently to address a letter to you, my dear father. There was a time and not long since when I was positive I would never be able to write my name again, much less attempt a letter.
By this I do not mean I have encountered a frolicsome Hun at close range, but after an intimate acquaintance with the well known Atlantic ocean, there could be nothing of less consequence than meeting Hindenburg’s army with a ball and chain on each foot. This is said in unqualified spirits of admiration. It is some pond, and crossing it as I did, with several hundred comrades in arms, and one of Uncle Sam’s good old transports, there was enough tragedy and comedy during the passage to fill several volumes.
It is best to forget the tragedy angle, as I feel I can say I was one of the chief tragedians. The subject is a painful one. When the ship was not plowing the seas up to her collar bone in brine, she was frisking around looking for waves with health and size. I never heard of such a boat for “bucking the line.” Why the government did not take a periscope on her and call her by her right name I do not know, for “submarine” would have been a decent name for her.
Even the darkest spots of the trip were dark. There were several companies of colored troops, many of them from the most extreme parts of our South. I will tell one of the many funny incidents that happened. I was placed in a mump ward by my major to care for the unfortunate mump cases. About the fourth day out a certain six foot brown skin was sent in with a case of mumps. The lad stretched himself out on a bunk and exclaimed “I loves my county and I loves my folks, and it ain’t cause I don’t love ‘em, but I shore ain’t going to cross this ocean for them again.” I tried to convince him he would be the first to hit the gang plank on our way back, but too much water for him.
I only wish I could go into details of the wonder Uncle Sam is working in France. If all the people of the U.S. could take the trip from the port where we landed to our location and see the American camps, American railroads, and construction works and see and hear what we have seen and heard of the Sammies at the front there would not be another word of criticism. For France itself it is easy to understand these wonderful people have fought and bled as they have. France is worth fighting for. Traveling thru the country one sees miles after miles of highly cultivated farms and vineyards, beautiful towns and cities.
A word about what the U.S. is doing for wounded might not come amiss. I am stationed on one the Red Cross hospital trains running to and from base hospital.
These hospital trains are the finest things on wheels. They are made up of sixteen cars and accommodate 354 patients. When the wounded Sammies are put aboard one of these trains he finds himself in a spotless moving palace. I will try and give you something how the train is arranged. The first car is used to carry supplies for the cars, which consists of linens, towels, etc. the next car is used for the personnel of the train, the coms, noncoms quarters, enlisted men’s mess hall and kitchen for enlisted men. As for the sanitation and convenience of this kitchen I am sure they would please the most fastidious housewife or even a couple of young Americans just starting upon their long journey of matrimonial bliss. From here starts the ten cars used for wards. The sleeping apartments for these cars are arranged in tiers of three in the manner of Pullman berths (only much more comfortable) and is provided with all bedding that is found in modern hospitals. The car used for the infectious ward is attached to the rear. Following the ward cars is the pharmacy car. The pharmacy car carries a stock of drugs and surgical supplies equal to our modern drug store in America.
Following Pharmacy is officer’s quarters, nurses quarters, and another kitchen for officers, nurses, and patients. This finishes the train. The train is finished in mahogany, rosewood, and white enamel. All cars are equipped with modern conveniences, such lights and fans, both hot and cold water. In conclusion, these trains only compare with the many other great undertakings already accomplished by Uncle Sam in France.
These trains go in a few miles of the front and we are beginning to take with quite nerves, the explosion of a big shell which some Hun intended for our breakfast, or at night to see the search lights on the machine of some Hun aviator and see the shrapnel burst around him as our aircraft guns either lowers him in flames or makes him take track to the “Vaterland.”
I enjoy my work very much. In order to let you know something of the spirit of the wounded Sammy, a week or so ago we unloaded a certain base about ten o’clock at night. Some of the boys could walk. On their way to Hospital it would please anyone to hear them sing “Pack up your troubles”, the Long Long Trail” and etc. They take their ill luck in a good way and declare if they ever get another chance, “I’ll give ‘em Hell.”
If you were a Hun I am ____ you would think, that, that was exactly what they were sending and bringing over, that very stuff which Sherman call war.
I have been to Paris several times for only a few hours each time. I have seen only a little of what is to be seen and what expect to see before this is over. I visited Napoleon’s tomb and Notre Dame church, Hotel Des invalids. In this place they have war relics of almost all previous wars of France, Saint Chapelle Chapel, at one time a private chapel of Louis XIV, and many other noted places.
I received a letter today from mother and am glad to know that you are beginning to hear from me. Sometimes a letter will come in three weeks and sometimes in six weeks, but hereafter I think I will get my mail more regularly. I met Captain Drennan a few days ago. He was transferred from my Company before we left the States. He is now commander of Hospital Train 58. As he was so close to home it almost seemed like meeting homefolks.
For the first few weeks I was in France I wasn’t in very good health but now I weigh more than I ever did and feel better than I have in a long time. However, for the last two weeks we have been going night and day and feel a little tired at present.
I hope you got this letter for I have written a little now and then just as I had time. Write a long letter for I am always ways anxious to hear from you with one.
Love to all,
Your son,
Stanford
NOTES: This letter was written by Private Stanford Hayden to his father, Dr. W. R. Hayden of Mt. Olive, Arkansas. Stanford Ransom Hayden(first name may have been Ransom) was born in Optimus, Arkansas on November 23, 1896 and died in Pope County, Arkansas on February 14, 1944. He departed for France on April 23, 1918 onboard the H. R. Mallory. He was a Private 1st Class serving in Hospital Train No. 33, Medical Department. He departed for Hoboken NJ onboard the Antigone on March 12, 1919 and arrived on March 24, 1919.
TRANSCRIBED BY MIKE POLSTON