TRANSCRIBED FROM THE MODERN NEWS JUNE 14, 1918 P. 4
With the French Army, April 26, 1918.
Dearest folks:
My last letter must have been a week or ten days ago it seems, and altho there’s nothing new to say except that we’re still working like Hades, it won’t cost any postage to get another under way.
Quite miraculously, everything has been going fine, that is, if things in an army go fine; no more cripples, no deathe in our Section, a couple of banged up ambulance, some close callss, but most important, we had a pay-day and besides, we received second class mail that contained cigarettes and candy from the States.
It’s nearly a month now that we’ve been up and at’em. Incidents enough to fill a book have happened, but I’ll leave those to tell of when I return.
Let me recite the events of just one day, somewhat in order as they happened. We’ll make that day yesterbay, and well, I’m sort of glad yesterday is a part of history.
It was my day to take charge of a Post which is a hummer or whatever you might call a rather uncertain location, went out and relieved Sgt. Smollen. (By the way, Smollen is a rather interesting chap; used to drive Jim Corbett’s car, but gave it up to drive an ambulance. Joe brought the first ukulele to the trenches. He can make the little ‘flea guitar’ moan like some lonely angel. One night the enemy heard Joe strumming “Somewhere a voice is calling” and about that time our Blue Devils got some nice shots at Germans helmets. The Boaches simpiy had to come ont and see what infernal sounding machine was like. But that’s getting away from what happened yesterday.)
First thing I found that Podmore was missing (Poddy is one of our millionaire kids from Honolulu) He had been sent out about midnight on a run that should take about an hour: it was then 8 AM and no Podmore. He is a new man and not accustomed to the roads. Besides, a gas attack had occurred about 3 a.m., and our men work their masks a couple of hours. The post is only about a mile and a half from the Bosche line: Question in my mind–Has Poddy been gassed or did he take a wrong road in the darkness and run into the Bosches.
I Jumped into a car and for an hour did some wild riding searching the roads, went thru two towns where they dropping them pretty lively, and finally returned to our Base. There it developed that he had been sent out on a long run; had been carrying gassed men and it was necessary to take them to a distant Hospital and have his car fumigated.
That settled, I got into one of the fellows cars going to a Post about a mile from the one I had charge of. This place was still being shelled, but we got there successfully and beat it into a cellar. After about an hour, during which every window in the house was broken, things grew quieter and I started to walk to my Post just beyond another village. They exploded and tore big holes in front of me, behind me and all around. For the next half hour I hugged the earth and wondered just how soon they’d have to send one of our ambulances to pick up what was left.
As per usual, the Bosche had to take a breath and the shells became less frequent, so I up and did the other half mile in record time: by the time I reached my dugout my breath was coming in short pants.
Here it was almost as bad, maybe they were shooting at us or maybe they were missing where they were shooting at, anyway came close enough to cave in a few, so we beat a temporary retreat around a little hill. There we sat in a little group, contemplating the situation about 15 yards from the road. Another crash and we saw the road go up–the thing that saved us was a big tree standing there which was pretty well splintered. The road was of concrete on a bed of solid rock; in spite of it the shelled tore a hole about 14 ft. in diameter and 6 feet deep.
We retreated further back and after a time it was more quiet again. I started for the ambulances to see if they were still OK. Had nearly got there when whizzz-zz- I dropped flat on the ground. Thank goodness it was a little bugger and landed about five yards away. The concussion must have lifted me a foot off the earth. Then followed another, a third and a fourth in rapid succession and almost as near. I did another sprinting exhibition and after I was breathing calmly again we all started back for our holes. The cars may be needed and it would never do to have wounded men wait for a driver.
Hardly had we got in our dugout when the bombarment started again; this time coming so near that the best thing to do was to lie low and hope there would be no direct hits. After that slow up I had each man start his car and we evacuated, where there had been no orders to move, but in actual practice, common sense is expected to supercede red tape. Later I got in communication with the various Headquarters and made the necessary arrangement.
I thought I had the thing fixed for the night so we could work efficiently; imagine my dismay when I discovered that we were right upon a big camouflaged explosive and ammunition dept, which if it is ever struck will make Paris shake in it’s shoes.
Another move was made and the night passed without mishap except that the soup wagon failed to arrive about 10:30 p m which is not at all in accordance with my idea of tea time.
That about covers the story one day: some are more interesting, some less, but we’re still going at em strong. The fellows are getting fed up and the daily question is when do we go on repost, Sarg?”
The work is a bit trying, but they tell me I’m getting fat: I know I feel like a wild hon, and after a few close shaves I feel safer.
My best love and greetings to all of you,
Lovingly, son and brother.
NOTES: This letter was written by Lieut. Frederick Held to his brother L. E. Held of White Hall, Arkansas in Poinsett County.
TRANSCRIBED BY MCKENZIE MOORE
With the French Army, April 26, 1918.
Dearest folks:
My last letter must have been a week or ten days ago it seems, and altho there’s nothing new to say except that we’re still working like Hades, it won’t cost any postage to get another under way.
Quite miraculously, everything has been going fine, that is, if things in an army go fine; no more cripples, no deathe in our Section, a couple of banged up ambulance, some close callss, but most important, we had a pay-day and besides, we received second class mail that contained cigarettes and candy from the States.
It’s nearly a month now that we’ve been up and at’em. Incidents enough to fill a book have happened, but I’ll leave those to tell of when I return.
Let me recite the events of just one day, somewhat in order as they happened. We’ll make that day yesterbay, and well, I’m sort of glad yesterday is a part of history.
It was my day to take charge of a Post which is a hummer or whatever you might call a rather uncertain location, went out and relieved Sgt. Smollen. (By the way, Smollen is a rather interesting chap; used to drive Jim Corbett’s car, but gave it up to drive an ambulance. Joe brought the first ukulele to the trenches. He can make the little ‘flea guitar’ moan like some lonely angel. One night the enemy heard Joe strumming “Somewhere a voice is calling” and about that time our Blue Devils got some nice shots at Germans helmets. The Boaches simpiy had to come ont and see what infernal sounding machine was like. But that’s getting away from what happened yesterday.)
First thing I found that Podmore was missing (Poddy is one of our millionaire kids from Honolulu) He had been sent out about midnight on a run that should take about an hour: it was then 8 AM and no Podmore. He is a new man and not accustomed to the roads. Besides, a gas attack had occurred about 3 a.m., and our men work their masks a couple of hours. The post is only about a mile and a half from the Bosche line: Question in my mind–Has Poddy been gassed or did he take a wrong road in the darkness and run into the Bosches.
I Jumped into a car and for an hour did some wild riding searching the roads, went thru two towns where they dropping them pretty lively, and finally returned to our Base. There it developed that he had been sent out on a long run; had been carrying gassed men and it was necessary to take them to a distant Hospital and have his car fumigated.
That settled, I got into one of the fellows cars going to a Post about a mile from the one I had charge of. This place was still being shelled, but we got there successfully and beat it into a cellar. After about an hour, during which every window in the house was broken, things grew quieter and I started to walk to my Post just beyond another village. They exploded and tore big holes in front of me, behind me and all around. For the next half hour I hugged the earth and wondered just how soon they’d have to send one of our ambulances to pick up what was left.
As per usual, the Bosche had to take a breath and the shells became less frequent, so I up and did the other half mile in record time: by the time I reached my dugout my breath was coming in short pants.
Here it was almost as bad, maybe they were shooting at us or maybe they were missing where they were shooting at, anyway came close enough to cave in a few, so we beat a temporary retreat around a little hill. There we sat in a little group, contemplating the situation about 15 yards from the road. Another crash and we saw the road go up–the thing that saved us was a big tree standing there which was pretty well splintered. The road was of concrete on a bed of solid rock; in spite of it the shelled tore a hole about 14 ft. in diameter and 6 feet deep.
We retreated further back and after a time it was more quiet again. I started for the ambulances to see if they were still OK. Had nearly got there when whizzz-zz- I dropped flat on the ground. Thank goodness it was a little bugger and landed about five yards away. The concussion must have lifted me a foot off the earth. Then followed another, a third and a fourth in rapid succession and almost as near. I did another sprinting exhibition and after I was breathing calmly again we all started back for our holes. The cars may be needed and it would never do to have wounded men wait for a driver.
Hardly had we got in our dugout when the bombarment started again; this time coming so near that the best thing to do was to lie low and hope there would be no direct hits. After that slow up I had each man start his car and we evacuated, where there had been no orders to move, but in actual practice, common sense is expected to supercede red tape. Later I got in communication with the various Headquarters and made the necessary arrangement.
I thought I had the thing fixed for the night so we could work efficiently; imagine my dismay when I discovered that we were right upon a big camouflaged explosive and ammunition dept, which if it is ever struck will make Paris shake in it’s shoes.
Another move was made and the night passed without mishap except that the soup wagon failed to arrive about 10:30 p m which is not at all in accordance with my idea of tea time.
That about covers the story one day: some are more interesting, some less, but we’re still going at em strong. The fellows are getting fed up and the daily question is when do we go on repost, Sarg?”
The work is a bit trying, but they tell me I’m getting fat: I know I feel like a wild hon, and after a few close shaves I feel safer.
My best love and greetings to all of you,
Lovingly, son and brother.
NOTES: This letter was written by Lieut. Frederick Held to his brother L. E. Held of White Hall, Arkansas in Poinsett County.
TRANSCRIBED BY MCKENZIE MOORE