TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SENTINEL RECORD FEBRUARY 12, 1918 P. 8
France, Nov. 8, 1917.
Dear Mother:
Have successfully concealed my bunk from the ever-watchful eye of the first sergeant by means of my overcoat and several other members of my wardrobe, which incidentally are excellent camouflage, I have lit my candle, braced my back against my trunk (which bears the tell-tale label “Huntley and Palmer Biscuit”) and I have entered another chapter of correspondence.
I have received the parcel of necessities, including the Spearmint and Cough drops. The later were satisfactory despite their medicinal taste. I and my next door neighbor ate them with amazing rapidity and have thus made ourselves immune to coughs til the next shipment of supplies. I was delighted with the handkerchiefs, and especially those who the sky-blue effect. I was seriously considering buying another handkerchief, but fortunately you saved me the franc. As for the socks, they are excellent, even more so, since I have observed the price mark upon them. You should see these English socks. They are as thick as puttees, and are the only thing to be used comfortably in these British Brogans. I am still looking for the candy.
This morning early I was sawing some board lengths to be used for bunks when I was told to divest myself of overalls, don my clean khaki and russet shoes, and my gas mask and prepare to accompany the Captain to the front. That was the least expected thing which could have happened to me at that moment, and the most palatable. Unfortunately we did not go as near the line as I wished we might have gone. We walked most of the way under the observation of Fritzy who was sitting in his observation balloon at the head of the valley. We walked---for lories and locomotives are not permitted to come near the line in broad daylight. We passed the reserve trenches and stopped at the base of a ridge on which is situated an antique bulwark built in the days of Caesar’s conquests in Gaul. If we had gone to the top of that ridge the snipers would have picked us off with their bullets. Therefore we stayed at the bottom.
(I just left the hut to see Jerry’s fireworks. He seems to have a grudge at the little slope across the field, for he threw three thunderbolts at it just now.) While I was up the line I saw a lively air battle---four planes being involved.
I did not tell you I visited the battlefield on which Alan Seiger was killed, did I? It is a wierd, deserted place where only the crows fly. I saw the charred sits of his “burning town,” the treacherous fields where the long lines of cruel, tangled wire are strung, and found the bayonets still pointing to the mad frontiers, which ever recede and weaken.
Kathleen, you asken for the name of some lonesome soldier who would appreciate a letter. To be candid there are very few here to whom I would have you write. Those who are worth while are of good families, and are very well supplied with mail. I can tell you of one lonesome Sammy who would like a letter, French or otherwise, very often. His name is HWK. I will keep an eye open though and see. Do not take this as criticism for it is not. I know your motives are as innocent, sweet and patriotic as they could be, but your letters would be more appreciated by someone with some degree of intelligence. I mean this. If it is not explicit, write me for details. I enjoy your letters keenly.
With love,
Hubert W. Kelley.
NOTES: This letter was written by Hubert Williams Kelley.
TRANSCRIBED BY MIKE POLSTON
France, Nov. 8, 1917.
Dear Mother:
Have successfully concealed my bunk from the ever-watchful eye of the first sergeant by means of my overcoat and several other members of my wardrobe, which incidentally are excellent camouflage, I have lit my candle, braced my back against my trunk (which bears the tell-tale label “Huntley and Palmer Biscuit”) and I have entered another chapter of correspondence.
I have received the parcel of necessities, including the Spearmint and Cough drops. The later were satisfactory despite their medicinal taste. I and my next door neighbor ate them with amazing rapidity and have thus made ourselves immune to coughs til the next shipment of supplies. I was delighted with the handkerchiefs, and especially those who the sky-blue effect. I was seriously considering buying another handkerchief, but fortunately you saved me the franc. As for the socks, they are excellent, even more so, since I have observed the price mark upon them. You should see these English socks. They are as thick as puttees, and are the only thing to be used comfortably in these British Brogans. I am still looking for the candy.
This morning early I was sawing some board lengths to be used for bunks when I was told to divest myself of overalls, don my clean khaki and russet shoes, and my gas mask and prepare to accompany the Captain to the front. That was the least expected thing which could have happened to me at that moment, and the most palatable. Unfortunately we did not go as near the line as I wished we might have gone. We walked most of the way under the observation of Fritzy who was sitting in his observation balloon at the head of the valley. We walked---for lories and locomotives are not permitted to come near the line in broad daylight. We passed the reserve trenches and stopped at the base of a ridge on which is situated an antique bulwark built in the days of Caesar’s conquests in Gaul. If we had gone to the top of that ridge the snipers would have picked us off with their bullets. Therefore we stayed at the bottom.
(I just left the hut to see Jerry’s fireworks. He seems to have a grudge at the little slope across the field, for he threw three thunderbolts at it just now.) While I was up the line I saw a lively air battle---four planes being involved.
I did not tell you I visited the battlefield on which Alan Seiger was killed, did I? It is a wierd, deserted place where only the crows fly. I saw the charred sits of his “burning town,” the treacherous fields where the long lines of cruel, tangled wire are strung, and found the bayonets still pointing to the mad frontiers, which ever recede and weaken.
Kathleen, you asken for the name of some lonesome soldier who would appreciate a letter. To be candid there are very few here to whom I would have you write. Those who are worth while are of good families, and are very well supplied with mail. I can tell you of one lonesome Sammy who would like a letter, French or otherwise, very often. His name is HWK. I will keep an eye open though and see. Do not take this as criticism for it is not. I know your motives are as innocent, sweet and patriotic as they could be, but your letters would be more appreciated by someone with some degree of intelligence. I mean this. If it is not explicit, write me for details. I enjoy your letters keenly.
With love,
Hubert W. Kelley.
NOTES: This letter was written by Hubert Williams Kelley.
TRANSCRIBED BY MIKE POLSTON