TRANSCRIBED FROM THE BENTON COURIER FEBRUARY 28, 1918 P. 2
Health is just fine at present; only have a few cases of mumps; and the little red measles have just about faded.
We don’t have very much to do—we just work from 6:00 a.m. until time to light the glim. The rest of the time we talk about our past and our camp lonesomeness. You may leave a home and mother behind and your sweetheart—the one you love best—and you may leave one place to go to another, but you never leave lonesomeness behind. It is not so bad in the daytime, but when the shadows of night begin to fall and we lay on our cots, we have no chance to sleep, we only think of our past. Down in our hearts we harbor a feeling of lonesomeness; our minds run back to our childhood days when we sat on grandfather’s knee and listened in childish wonder how Washington made us free. Not once did we think while listening to the tales of war that some day we would be fighting to suppress the kaiser and his hellishness; and now as we lay in our camps waiting to be put to the test, into our hearts steals a feeling of lonesomeness. We think of our sweetheart who promised so true that she would be waiting when this war is through. Many many miles lay between you, and many days have passed, and then at last you receive a letter from her—and all the while you have been trying to rid yourself of the camp lonesomeness. But, alas, you read the few lines she has written and a great lump comes into your throat. She says: “Tis best that we part.” And then you go to France with a broken heart. She does not once think of the fact that you are fighting for her. Your place is being filled by some slacker—a slacker and a coward who doesn’t turn his hand to fight in this war for his native land; he stays at home, while we soldiers roam, and steals from us the one treasurer, our sweetheart, where love was only a jest. Our heart is filled with camp lonesomeness.
I remain as ever,
Your friend,
William L. Thompson
154th Inf., Medical Dept.
Camp Beauregard, La.
NOTES: William Luther Thompson was born on March 1, 1895 in Clinton, Arkansas.
TRANSCRIBED BY LINDA MATTHEWS
Health is just fine at present; only have a few cases of mumps; and the little red measles have just about faded.
We don’t have very much to do—we just work from 6:00 a.m. until time to light the glim. The rest of the time we talk about our past and our camp lonesomeness. You may leave a home and mother behind and your sweetheart—the one you love best—and you may leave one place to go to another, but you never leave lonesomeness behind. It is not so bad in the daytime, but when the shadows of night begin to fall and we lay on our cots, we have no chance to sleep, we only think of our past. Down in our hearts we harbor a feeling of lonesomeness; our minds run back to our childhood days when we sat on grandfather’s knee and listened in childish wonder how Washington made us free. Not once did we think while listening to the tales of war that some day we would be fighting to suppress the kaiser and his hellishness; and now as we lay in our camps waiting to be put to the test, into our hearts steals a feeling of lonesomeness. We think of our sweetheart who promised so true that she would be waiting when this war is through. Many many miles lay between you, and many days have passed, and then at last you receive a letter from her—and all the while you have been trying to rid yourself of the camp lonesomeness. But, alas, you read the few lines she has written and a great lump comes into your throat. She says: “Tis best that we part.” And then you go to France with a broken heart. She does not once think of the fact that you are fighting for her. Your place is being filled by some slacker—a slacker and a coward who doesn’t turn his hand to fight in this war for his native land; he stays at home, while we soldiers roam, and steals from us the one treasurer, our sweetheart, where love was only a jest. Our heart is filled with camp lonesomeness.
I remain as ever,
Your friend,
William L. Thompson
154th Inf., Medical Dept.
Camp Beauregard, La.
NOTES: William Luther Thompson was born on March 1, 1895 in Clinton, Arkansas.
TRANSCRIBED BY LINDA MATTHEWS