TRANSCRIBED FROM THE WASHINGTON TELEGRAPH JUNE 6, 1919 P. 1
Hdq. 3rd Army Rep. Depot, A.
P.O. 930, West Frier, Germany.
My Dear Mother:
As you know, this is “Mothers “Day the world over, so I’m making this a special privilege to write to you today.
Your boy is well, happy and strong and is expecting to sail for home very soon. We are having some pretty, sunny days over here now, which is a very uncommon thing.
Just think, one year ago (the 27th of this month) I left you sitting on the old front porch watching me disappear toward the station. Mother, we have heard it said that people do not know what is going to befall them tomorrow. Well, I’ll have to differ there just a little. In a way they do not, but we can sometimes feel something telling us, yet we doubt that feeling and dare not utter it to anyone for fear of criticism. When I told you good bye on the morning of the 27th of May, 1918, something was telling me that I would not get to see you again before I crossed the Atlantic, yet that same something was telling me I was going to the front and coming back to you after victory. Well, let me tell you, I have seen the time when I doubted that feeling very much, for machine gun bullets, shrapnel and steel was whizzing so thick around me I couldn’t see my way out, but that something was talking to me far away. I remember one day when I doubted again—I was lying flat on the ground as the machine gun bullets were whistling so fast, and when I did get up I had no pack or rations; it had been shot into strings on my back. But I’m here yet; suppose they did not have my number, mother, for they sure did try to get us all. I’m one of 17 left out of 256 of our company that went to the front together.
Well, mother, I know you are longing to see me, and I’m longing to see you, too; but let us be patient and I will soon be coming back to you a better man than when I left you. I weigh some more and am twice as strong.
I have seen a big portion of the world and can talk a little bit in three tongues, English, French and German. I have seen some of the history I used to study, too. I have seen “Joan of Arc’s” birth place, Napolean’s birth place and his grave, and St. Peter used to live right here in this city. I have visited his headquarters, where he used to make the laws that governed the old Romans here many centuries ago. I am a chauffeur and in this capacity I get to see most of this locality, so will have much to tell you when I return.
Be patient, mother, and don’t worry, for your boy is all right.
Your loving son,
David Williams.
Notes: This letter was written by Pvt. David L. Williams of Ozan, Arkansas. He was serving with the Army of Occupation in Germany.
TRANSCRIBED BY STEPHANE LECOINTE
Hdq. 3rd Army Rep. Depot, A.
P.O. 930, West Frier, Germany.
My Dear Mother:
As you know, this is “Mothers “Day the world over, so I’m making this a special privilege to write to you today.
Your boy is well, happy and strong and is expecting to sail for home very soon. We are having some pretty, sunny days over here now, which is a very uncommon thing.
Just think, one year ago (the 27th of this month) I left you sitting on the old front porch watching me disappear toward the station. Mother, we have heard it said that people do not know what is going to befall them tomorrow. Well, I’ll have to differ there just a little. In a way they do not, but we can sometimes feel something telling us, yet we doubt that feeling and dare not utter it to anyone for fear of criticism. When I told you good bye on the morning of the 27th of May, 1918, something was telling me that I would not get to see you again before I crossed the Atlantic, yet that same something was telling me I was going to the front and coming back to you after victory. Well, let me tell you, I have seen the time when I doubted that feeling very much, for machine gun bullets, shrapnel and steel was whizzing so thick around me I couldn’t see my way out, but that something was talking to me far away. I remember one day when I doubted again—I was lying flat on the ground as the machine gun bullets were whistling so fast, and when I did get up I had no pack or rations; it had been shot into strings on my back. But I’m here yet; suppose they did not have my number, mother, for they sure did try to get us all. I’m one of 17 left out of 256 of our company that went to the front together.
Well, mother, I know you are longing to see me, and I’m longing to see you, too; but let us be patient and I will soon be coming back to you a better man than when I left you. I weigh some more and am twice as strong.
I have seen a big portion of the world and can talk a little bit in three tongues, English, French and German. I have seen some of the history I used to study, too. I have seen “Joan of Arc’s” birth place, Napolean’s birth place and his grave, and St. Peter used to live right here in this city. I have visited his headquarters, where he used to make the laws that governed the old Romans here many centuries ago. I am a chauffeur and in this capacity I get to see most of this locality, so will have much to tell you when I return.
Be patient, mother, and don’t worry, for your boy is all right.
Your loving son,
David Williams.
Notes: This letter was written by Pvt. David L. Williams of Ozan, Arkansas. He was serving with the Army of Occupation in Germany.
TRANSCRIBED BY STEPHANE LECOINTE