TRANSCRIBED FROM THE COURIER INDEX DECEMBER 27, 1918 P. 1
Thanksgiving Day, 1918.
My Dear Bro. McVeigh:
When I went to dinner a little while ago I received the Bulletin of November 3, the first one I have had for more than a month. Yes, I do suppose it is time I am writing you another letter, and now I can tell you a little more than before without going beyond the bounds of censorshipship. It is just as Samuel wrote in his letter, there has been a great deal of interest which we might have written before, but you would never have received it. So I have held back a good share to tell when I get back, for I have always felt as though I was coming back, and now I know that I will, and don’t know that I have cause to think that it will be long now.
When I landed at Brest, France, a large seaport, August 18, I was greatly surprised at the marked difference in the various sights that greeted me there; from what I had been seeing back in the states. We had to stay on board the first evening and night, but from the wharf we could see a great deal. Most of the people in sight were either white or negro American soldiers, who were loading war supplies, etc., on French railway cars. Soon we heard a little whistle such as I have seen on peanut roasters at home. When I looked in the direction of the noise, down a narrow guage track came a French train. It reminded me of Christmas time when I was a small boy, and I would wake up to find a train in my stocking. Their street cars and automobiles conveyed about the same impression. Many of the people I saw walking around there had on big wooden shoes. The next morning we hiked out to the edge of the city and pitched our “pup” tents in a wheat field and prepared for a few days stay in rest camps. I didn’t know anything about an A. E. F. rest camp then, but I learned quite a bit during the next four days. The only way to have been able to figure why the word “rest” belongs to it is because it is there they get the rest of a fellow’s vitality. We were called upon at all hours of a day or night for details to various kinds of work around the ship yards, handling all kinds of freight. It was while on our way back to camp from working on one of these details that I got my first taste of French wine. Our lieutenant had been drinking enough to feel pretty lively, friendly and free hearted, so he brought several quarts of sour grape wine and passed it around. I didn’t like it, so that is the last I have tasted of that kind, though I have, merely for curiosity, tasted their sweet wines, beer and cognac, but one more taste of each was enough for me, and since then I have not touched anything stronger than coffee and hot chocolate. But back to the rest camp before I entirely leave the subject. The following day a small detail of our men were put to work helping some French soldiers store cases of canned goods in a warehouse where hundreds of barrels of wine were laying on their sides with their bung holes open for the wine to ripen or ferment I suppose. Our boys were not in the best sort of humor over the amount of work they had been called upon to do, so they soon invented a nice scheme of getting some of that wine which a Frenchman would not have thought of in ten years. They got some wheat straws and took turns about sucking their fill of wine, while part of the crew were on guard to prevent their being surprised by an officer; the more they drank the bolder they grew, until finally the corporal in charge, an old fireman on the Frisco, told the men that he would whip the man that didn’t get drunk and carry a canteen back to the camp full of the wine that night. Fortunately for the whole outfit a good natured naval officer got wise to what they were doing and sent them to work at another place, probably saving all of them from going to the “brig.” Among the boys that was afterward spoken of as the wine detail. The next day, August 24, we entrained in French box cars, 40 men to the car, and started on our two days trip of about 250 miles eastward to a village in the vicinity of Bourges, a very nice city in central France. That night we slept in our pup tents for the last time. Next morning we hiked about ten miles to the little twin village of Chery-Sury, where our company initiated to life in French billets (hay barns, cow barns, horse stalls, etc.). The first few rays there we came very near having to live on French scenery, air and spring water, owing to the mistake of someone in routing our supplies, but that was only for a few days, and then everything went on nicely until September 29, when our signal platoon was sent over to division headquarters at St. Florent on detached service, where we were putting in telephone, telegraph and electric light lines until November 1 when we reported back to our company. It was at St. Florent that I met supply train boys and others from home. The 16th of this month we were sent here en route to the front as replacement troops, but on arriving here we found that an order had come out checking the movement of any troops from here for ten days, and it was during those ten days that the armistice was signed, resulting in our staying here until now, and probably until we start on the trip homeward, though I have not the least idea when that will be, though naturally it cannot be too soon for me, unless we are yet used as replacements in one of the occupation divisions. I have reason to think that I will see you within the next three months. This is a pretty little valley in the sunny part of France, about 30 miles east of Tours, near the village of St. Aignan. We have had beautiful weather ever since we came here, with the exception of three or four days, and it was so pretty last night when I turned in that I thought we would surely have a pretty Thanksgiving day for our big foot ball game, but it has been cloudy and raining almost all day. It prevented our game and all other outdoor sports, but I suppose we can take the Pollyanna view of the situation and be glad it is rain instead of snow, and also find thousands of things to be exceedingly thankful for. No doubt it will be very near Christmas when it reaches you, so I will close hoping you have a pleasant Thanksgiving day, and with best wishes for a very merry Christmas and happy New Year.
So Dave Woodall reported on the 11th day of the 11th month, and the armistice was signed on the 11th hour. It didn’t take him near as long to win this war as it has me. The Huns must have known then that Dave was coming and, remembering how he slew Goliath in the days of old, concluded to quit.
JESSE G. WILLIS
NOTES: Jesse Gordon Willis was born in Fort White, Florida on December 23, 1895 and died on April 1963. He departed for France from Newport News, Virginia onboard the Huron on August 6, 1918. He was listed as a private in the headquarters company. He returned to the US departing from Marseille, France on March 15, 1919 and arrived in Brooklyn, NY on April 4, 1919. He returned onboard the Roma. He was listed as a private in the Saint Aignan Casual Co. No. 2431 Special Discharge.
TRANSCRIBED BY LINDA MATTHEWS
Thanksgiving Day, 1918.
My Dear Bro. McVeigh:
When I went to dinner a little while ago I received the Bulletin of November 3, the first one I have had for more than a month. Yes, I do suppose it is time I am writing you another letter, and now I can tell you a little more than before without going beyond the bounds of censorshipship. It is just as Samuel wrote in his letter, there has been a great deal of interest which we might have written before, but you would never have received it. So I have held back a good share to tell when I get back, for I have always felt as though I was coming back, and now I know that I will, and don’t know that I have cause to think that it will be long now.
When I landed at Brest, France, a large seaport, August 18, I was greatly surprised at the marked difference in the various sights that greeted me there; from what I had been seeing back in the states. We had to stay on board the first evening and night, but from the wharf we could see a great deal. Most of the people in sight were either white or negro American soldiers, who were loading war supplies, etc., on French railway cars. Soon we heard a little whistle such as I have seen on peanut roasters at home. When I looked in the direction of the noise, down a narrow guage track came a French train. It reminded me of Christmas time when I was a small boy, and I would wake up to find a train in my stocking. Their street cars and automobiles conveyed about the same impression. Many of the people I saw walking around there had on big wooden shoes. The next morning we hiked out to the edge of the city and pitched our “pup” tents in a wheat field and prepared for a few days stay in rest camps. I didn’t know anything about an A. E. F. rest camp then, but I learned quite a bit during the next four days. The only way to have been able to figure why the word “rest” belongs to it is because it is there they get the rest of a fellow’s vitality. We were called upon at all hours of a day or night for details to various kinds of work around the ship yards, handling all kinds of freight. It was while on our way back to camp from working on one of these details that I got my first taste of French wine. Our lieutenant had been drinking enough to feel pretty lively, friendly and free hearted, so he brought several quarts of sour grape wine and passed it around. I didn’t like it, so that is the last I have tasted of that kind, though I have, merely for curiosity, tasted their sweet wines, beer and cognac, but one more taste of each was enough for me, and since then I have not touched anything stronger than coffee and hot chocolate. But back to the rest camp before I entirely leave the subject. The following day a small detail of our men were put to work helping some French soldiers store cases of canned goods in a warehouse where hundreds of barrels of wine were laying on their sides with their bung holes open for the wine to ripen or ferment I suppose. Our boys were not in the best sort of humor over the amount of work they had been called upon to do, so they soon invented a nice scheme of getting some of that wine which a Frenchman would not have thought of in ten years. They got some wheat straws and took turns about sucking their fill of wine, while part of the crew were on guard to prevent their being surprised by an officer; the more they drank the bolder they grew, until finally the corporal in charge, an old fireman on the Frisco, told the men that he would whip the man that didn’t get drunk and carry a canteen back to the camp full of the wine that night. Fortunately for the whole outfit a good natured naval officer got wise to what they were doing and sent them to work at another place, probably saving all of them from going to the “brig.” Among the boys that was afterward spoken of as the wine detail. The next day, August 24, we entrained in French box cars, 40 men to the car, and started on our two days trip of about 250 miles eastward to a village in the vicinity of Bourges, a very nice city in central France. That night we slept in our pup tents for the last time. Next morning we hiked about ten miles to the little twin village of Chery-Sury, where our company initiated to life in French billets (hay barns, cow barns, horse stalls, etc.). The first few rays there we came very near having to live on French scenery, air and spring water, owing to the mistake of someone in routing our supplies, but that was only for a few days, and then everything went on nicely until September 29, when our signal platoon was sent over to division headquarters at St. Florent on detached service, where we were putting in telephone, telegraph and electric light lines until November 1 when we reported back to our company. It was at St. Florent that I met supply train boys and others from home. The 16th of this month we were sent here en route to the front as replacement troops, but on arriving here we found that an order had come out checking the movement of any troops from here for ten days, and it was during those ten days that the armistice was signed, resulting in our staying here until now, and probably until we start on the trip homeward, though I have not the least idea when that will be, though naturally it cannot be too soon for me, unless we are yet used as replacements in one of the occupation divisions. I have reason to think that I will see you within the next three months. This is a pretty little valley in the sunny part of France, about 30 miles east of Tours, near the village of St. Aignan. We have had beautiful weather ever since we came here, with the exception of three or four days, and it was so pretty last night when I turned in that I thought we would surely have a pretty Thanksgiving day for our big foot ball game, but it has been cloudy and raining almost all day. It prevented our game and all other outdoor sports, but I suppose we can take the Pollyanna view of the situation and be glad it is rain instead of snow, and also find thousands of things to be exceedingly thankful for. No doubt it will be very near Christmas when it reaches you, so I will close hoping you have a pleasant Thanksgiving day, and with best wishes for a very merry Christmas and happy New Year.
So Dave Woodall reported on the 11th day of the 11th month, and the armistice was signed on the 11th hour. It didn’t take him near as long to win this war as it has me. The Huns must have known then that Dave was coming and, remembering how he slew Goliath in the days of old, concluded to quit.
JESSE G. WILLIS
NOTES: Jesse Gordon Willis was born in Fort White, Florida on December 23, 1895 and died on April 1963. He departed for France from Newport News, Virginia onboard the Huron on August 6, 1918. He was listed as a private in the headquarters company. He returned to the US departing from Marseille, France on March 15, 1919 and arrived in Brooklyn, NY on April 4, 1919. He returned onboard the Roma. He was listed as a private in the Saint Aignan Casual Co. No. 2431 Special Discharge.
TRANSCRIBED BY LINDA MATTHEWS