TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SPECTATOR FEBRUARY 22, 1918 P. 1
A lot of the articles I read and the letters I received have convinced me that the people 'over there' have at last awakened to the war. I woke up before I enlisted, and I realize just what we are facing. This is going to be a real fight, and all of peace talk is camouflage. One minute I let that stuff get the better of me and figure that I will be home on such and such a day, and then when I look it squarely in the face, I realize we might as well adjust ourselves and take things as they are. There isn't one man in ten in this company who takes this war seriously, not even after they visited the big city close by and have seen the legless, gassed and maimed soldiers.
Our barracks would make good cattle bans if they had floors we have fixed them up, patching here and there, putting on new tar paper and installing little French stoves, until now they are fairly comfortable, we have no floors, just the old French sod for which we are fighting, and believe me, when you hop out of bed at 6 a.m. and stick your nice warm foot on that ice cold sod, you which the Kaiser had extended his drive to this part of France.
I was a little homesick Christmas Day, but the postman cured me of that. There are so many good points to army life they over-balance the other. When I stop to consider how much Uncle Sam is doing us. First, the pay: I get as much as I did in civil life, considering board and room and clothing. I am saving twice as much I did in America, and I always have money in my pocket. Then there was the trip over: It was wonderful. Imagine being on a transport with hundreds (can't say how many) of khaki-clad soldiers aboard. The whole thing seems like a dream, one which I will never forget.
Probably the most interesting thing of all is the comparison between the way the American does things, and the way of Frenchman. Sanitation is fifty years behind time, farming is twenty. But while the American goes at things quicker and with more determination to get something done, we Americans must not get into our heads that we are superior to the French. The fact is, we don not understand. Taken for instance, our friend M. Guilon, the electrician, who ate Christmas dinner with us. At first I thought he was a poor, lousy poilu, as one writer calls them. Then I gradually got his lineup. He is from a wealthy family. The Guilons have a home in Paris, another home in Gavaire, and a country home in Southern France. They have an automobile, and M. Guilon is an expert on airplane motors, and expert jeweler, an elctrician and an American, off-hand, with so many accomplishments. He told us the other night of his army experience.
First, he fought in Belgium where he lost a brother, down at Verdun, and finallay in Macedonia with the French expeditionary army. He described the first charge he saw at the beginning of the war and he waved his hands dramatically. He told us how he was taken sick with typhoid, carried to Saloniki in an American ambulance, and how the disease had left him unfit for service for nineteen months. He recovered finally and was tansferred to this camp. He said he had done his bit. On the home a Turkish airplane dropped bombs at him, and a German subarine tried to get his ship. This is a type of the French poilu, probably a little above the average.
Germany never will win this war because of the Frenchman is a beter fighter because he has a purpose, or something to fight, because he must fight. The French like the Americans immensely. They say we are big-hearted democratic, and they think we will make good soldiers. Our marksmanship has astonished them, and the way we go at things almost stung them but what we will do when we face the real thing is guess work. It is a good guess how ever, that we will be the last straw on the Kaiser's back, and when we get in a position to hammer the Hindenbing line, or whatever line we are sent against, we will not stop until we have won.
The man who does his work the best he can, and does not kick and grumble at everything, will get along in the army. I am trying to do the best I can in the department I am in, and while I never expect to wear a gold hat cord, I expect to be of service to my country, and not a burden.
NOTES: The author of this letter was not disclosed in the newspaper.
TRANSCRIBED BY LAEL HARROD
A lot of the articles I read and the letters I received have convinced me that the people 'over there' have at last awakened to the war. I woke up before I enlisted, and I realize just what we are facing. This is going to be a real fight, and all of peace talk is camouflage. One minute I let that stuff get the better of me and figure that I will be home on such and such a day, and then when I look it squarely in the face, I realize we might as well adjust ourselves and take things as they are. There isn't one man in ten in this company who takes this war seriously, not even after they visited the big city close by and have seen the legless, gassed and maimed soldiers.
Our barracks would make good cattle bans if they had floors we have fixed them up, patching here and there, putting on new tar paper and installing little French stoves, until now they are fairly comfortable, we have no floors, just the old French sod for which we are fighting, and believe me, when you hop out of bed at 6 a.m. and stick your nice warm foot on that ice cold sod, you which the Kaiser had extended his drive to this part of France.
I was a little homesick Christmas Day, but the postman cured me of that. There are so many good points to army life they over-balance the other. When I stop to consider how much Uncle Sam is doing us. First, the pay: I get as much as I did in civil life, considering board and room and clothing. I am saving twice as much I did in America, and I always have money in my pocket. Then there was the trip over: It was wonderful. Imagine being on a transport with hundreds (can't say how many) of khaki-clad soldiers aboard. The whole thing seems like a dream, one which I will never forget.
Probably the most interesting thing of all is the comparison between the way the American does things, and the way of Frenchman. Sanitation is fifty years behind time, farming is twenty. But while the American goes at things quicker and with more determination to get something done, we Americans must not get into our heads that we are superior to the French. The fact is, we don not understand. Taken for instance, our friend M. Guilon, the electrician, who ate Christmas dinner with us. At first I thought he was a poor, lousy poilu, as one writer calls them. Then I gradually got his lineup. He is from a wealthy family. The Guilons have a home in Paris, another home in Gavaire, and a country home in Southern France. They have an automobile, and M. Guilon is an expert on airplane motors, and expert jeweler, an elctrician and an American, off-hand, with so many accomplishments. He told us the other night of his army experience.
First, he fought in Belgium where he lost a brother, down at Verdun, and finallay in Macedonia with the French expeditionary army. He described the first charge he saw at the beginning of the war and he waved his hands dramatically. He told us how he was taken sick with typhoid, carried to Saloniki in an American ambulance, and how the disease had left him unfit for service for nineteen months. He recovered finally and was tansferred to this camp. He said he had done his bit. On the home a Turkish airplane dropped bombs at him, and a German subarine tried to get his ship. This is a type of the French poilu, probably a little above the average.
Germany never will win this war because of the Frenchman is a beter fighter because he has a purpose, or something to fight, because he must fight. The French like the Americans immensely. They say we are big-hearted democratic, and they think we will make good soldiers. Our marksmanship has astonished them, and the way we go at things almost stung them but what we will do when we face the real thing is guess work. It is a good guess how ever, that we will be the last straw on the Kaiser's back, and when we get in a position to hammer the Hindenbing line, or whatever line we are sent against, we will not stop until we have won.
The man who does his work the best he can, and does not kick and grumble at everything, will get along in the army. I am trying to do the best I can in the department I am in, and while I never expect to wear a gold hat cord, I expect to be of service to my country, and not a burden.
NOTES: The author of this letter was not disclosed in the newspaper.
TRANSCRIBED BY LAEL HARROD