TRANSCRIBED FROM THE MENA WEEKLY STAR JUNE 27, 1918 P. 2.
May 20, 1918.
M. B. Legate,
Dear Homefolks:
Were I a painter my little self could desire nothing more fascinating than some of the pictures that were painted for me by nature. These I would copy and send you. I wish that you might have gone with me on a recent weekend.
A friend and I found ourselves in a beautiful village on the sea late Saturday night. The hotel-was a popular resort before the war days. It still has enough patronage to keep going but all the froth and foam is absent. It is a delightful, restful spot, hedged about by the beautiful flowers of England. A spacious lawn and then the sea.
Friend—a typical westerner from California—and I spent the morning on the beach. You would hardly call the spot a typical beach altho it has many of the ear marks. Rather than lack it abounds in beauty. The familiar sand is missing. Instead are small stones—pebbles—about the size of marbles. They are clean and polished. It was my first day off in months and also my first bake in England’s sun. For hours we lolled and basked. The great English Channel was full of boats and vessels of all size and descriptions. In the surf a hundred yards away the W. A. A. C.’s were sunning or reading, wading or writing. At 6:30 we attended the village church. We would call it a typical Episcopalian service. There was more chanting of long Psalms than I had observed in America and the prayers for the King and the Royal family were of course unique features. A company of young sailor lads—12 to 18—added a touch of the patriotic. We closed by singing four verses of “God Save the King.”
And that reminds me. All our Americans are amazed by absence of flags. I have talked to several Britishers and have gotten this reaction. The Emblem, or symbol, or embodiment of Empire, is not the flag as it is with us, but is the king. Therefore as we are loyal to the flag they are loyal to the king. One thing I have not come fully to understand is how far they mean empire when they sing “God Save the King.” Suffice it to say that these good people are not wedded to, or do not idolize the king as an individual as my American training would lead me to infer.
Back to my story: We were quietly settled in a cosy corner for the last chat of the day when, bang—bang—boom! And we were sauntering out to see what was happening. It was nobody, just Fritz. He is causing a lot of disturbance over here and last night was no exception. The fireworks broke loose before the first Gotha had crossed the channel. You would have thought it was the Fourth of July, Xmas and earthquake all vieing with one another for your attention. The channel was a blaze of fire. I pity the Fritz who tries to play hide and seek in the channel these days. Then there was the barrage fire on the coast of England and all the way to London. As tho this were not sufficient to gratify the romance of any man the boys over in France added their wee bit. It was like a distant thunderstorm on a dark night, the play of searchlights and the blaze from heavy guns and the bursting shrapnel like the bursting of a great skyrocket. The stage was set and even my poor eyes and dull ears were bringing home to my heart and mind that the most awful battle in history is being staged and the first skirmishes are already distracting our attention. You will probably know the outcome before this letter reaches you. We are yet to pay a heavy price. We must wade thru blood and over death. The Hun will probably know still more temporary successes but we will surely win. We must, we can, we will.
I have been in England four months today. I know something of the price these good and heroic people are paying.
I close with a passing word on the Y. M. C. A. It is a wonderful organization and we are doing some things for the boys tho not as much as should be done. We need men. Thank God a few are coming to England and now we need more men. In proportion our troops are coming much faster than “Y” secretaries. When someone tells you the kinds of men and the approximate numbers you will have a new thrill for the work in the little island.
Good night,
Ray.
NOTES: Ray Holme Legate, secretary of a Y. M. C. A. in England was born on July 23, 1877 in Illinois and died on October 5, 1952 North Carolina. He is buried in the Pinecrest Memorial Park at Mena, Arkansas. His father, M. B. Legate, had moved his family to Polk, County by 1900. Ray Legate became interested in the Y. M. C. A, while a student at the University of Arkansas. He became secretary of the “Y” at Clemson University in 1905. When war was declared he was secretary of the “Y” at the University of Mississippi. He became associated with the War Work Council of the “Y” and was sent to England. He was described as being of medium height and build with blue eyes and brown hair.
TRANSCRIBED BY CAROLYN YANCEY KENT.
May 20, 1918.
M. B. Legate,
Dear Homefolks:
Were I a painter my little self could desire nothing more fascinating than some of the pictures that were painted for me by nature. These I would copy and send you. I wish that you might have gone with me on a recent weekend.
A friend and I found ourselves in a beautiful village on the sea late Saturday night. The hotel-was a popular resort before the war days. It still has enough patronage to keep going but all the froth and foam is absent. It is a delightful, restful spot, hedged about by the beautiful flowers of England. A spacious lawn and then the sea.
Friend—a typical westerner from California—and I spent the morning on the beach. You would hardly call the spot a typical beach altho it has many of the ear marks. Rather than lack it abounds in beauty. The familiar sand is missing. Instead are small stones—pebbles—about the size of marbles. They are clean and polished. It was my first day off in months and also my first bake in England’s sun. For hours we lolled and basked. The great English Channel was full of boats and vessels of all size and descriptions. In the surf a hundred yards away the W. A. A. C.’s were sunning or reading, wading or writing. At 6:30 we attended the village church. We would call it a typical Episcopalian service. There was more chanting of long Psalms than I had observed in America and the prayers for the King and the Royal family were of course unique features. A company of young sailor lads—12 to 18—added a touch of the patriotic. We closed by singing four verses of “God Save the King.”
And that reminds me. All our Americans are amazed by absence of flags. I have talked to several Britishers and have gotten this reaction. The Emblem, or symbol, or embodiment of Empire, is not the flag as it is with us, but is the king. Therefore as we are loyal to the flag they are loyal to the king. One thing I have not come fully to understand is how far they mean empire when they sing “God Save the King.” Suffice it to say that these good people are not wedded to, or do not idolize the king as an individual as my American training would lead me to infer.
Back to my story: We were quietly settled in a cosy corner for the last chat of the day when, bang—bang—boom! And we were sauntering out to see what was happening. It was nobody, just Fritz. He is causing a lot of disturbance over here and last night was no exception. The fireworks broke loose before the first Gotha had crossed the channel. You would have thought it was the Fourth of July, Xmas and earthquake all vieing with one another for your attention. The channel was a blaze of fire. I pity the Fritz who tries to play hide and seek in the channel these days. Then there was the barrage fire on the coast of England and all the way to London. As tho this were not sufficient to gratify the romance of any man the boys over in France added their wee bit. It was like a distant thunderstorm on a dark night, the play of searchlights and the blaze from heavy guns and the bursting shrapnel like the bursting of a great skyrocket. The stage was set and even my poor eyes and dull ears were bringing home to my heart and mind that the most awful battle in history is being staged and the first skirmishes are already distracting our attention. You will probably know the outcome before this letter reaches you. We are yet to pay a heavy price. We must wade thru blood and over death. The Hun will probably know still more temporary successes but we will surely win. We must, we can, we will.
I have been in England four months today. I know something of the price these good and heroic people are paying.
I close with a passing word on the Y. M. C. A. It is a wonderful organization and we are doing some things for the boys tho not as much as should be done. We need men. Thank God a few are coming to England and now we need more men. In proportion our troops are coming much faster than “Y” secretaries. When someone tells you the kinds of men and the approximate numbers you will have a new thrill for the work in the little island.
Good night,
Ray.
NOTES: Ray Holme Legate, secretary of a Y. M. C. A. in England was born on July 23, 1877 in Illinois and died on October 5, 1952 North Carolina. He is buried in the Pinecrest Memorial Park at Mena, Arkansas. His father, M. B. Legate, had moved his family to Polk, County by 1900. Ray Legate became interested in the Y. M. C. A, while a student at the University of Arkansas. He became secretary of the “Y” at Clemson University in 1905. When war was declared he was secretary of the “Y” at the University of Mississippi. He became associated with the War Work Council of the “Y” and was sent to England. He was described as being of medium height and build with blue eyes and brown hair.
TRANSCRIBED BY CAROLYN YANCEY KENT.