TRANSCRIBED FROM THE DAILY ARKANSAS GAZETTE NOVEMBER 10, 1918 P. 16
This time I am in the office of the Division Quartermaster. You never can tell what is going to happen to you in the army. But I have no kick coming. I like it over here, get plenty to eat and have a nice warm bed, so what has a fellow to worry about?
Sometimes I hardly know just what to do, bray or bark. When I first landed I slept in a pup tent, and since, I have been quartered in a barn; I wear a dog tag (identification tag) around my neck. I usually compromise and come trotting out of my domicile. This afternoon I traveled over some of the prettiest roads in the world. I can understand why rich Americans used to come here to motor about.
We have read much of the beauties of France and her hospitality. My expectation was even surpassed. Every available square foot here is made to yield its maximum of foodstuffs. Hand in hand with utility goes beauty. Passed through a town this afternoon in which is located an ancient castle once inhabited by a king. This whole section is filled with traditions—especially of Jean d’Arc. Statutes perpetuate her memory, and the hearts of the people are constantly stirred by her acts of patriotism and heroism.
I hope that you have read the full report of the speech made by the prime minister of France, M. Clemenceau. He paints with a vividness possible only with a Frenchman’s heart to fight the war to a finish—for a complete victory of justice, over the cunning selfishness, brutality and conscienceless force which Germany has imposed.
Germany thought us a nation of bluffers, they did not dream we would fight. Now that we are in it we propose to follow the advice of old Polonious in Hamlet when he says, “So to carry on that henceforth our adversaries will beware of us.”
Give my friends my address and tell them when they find time to write me. I will appreciate it very much, to hear from them. Lots of love,
Frank.
NOTES: Frank Wright was writing to his mother, Mrs. F. S. Wright. He was born in July 1891 in Arkansas. By 1910 he was living in Arkadelphia, Arkansas. He was the son of Frank S. and Lucy Wright. He was a student at Henderson-Brown College in Arkadelphia.
TRANSCRIBED BY CAROLYN YANCEY KENT
This time I am in the office of the Division Quartermaster. You never can tell what is going to happen to you in the army. But I have no kick coming. I like it over here, get plenty to eat and have a nice warm bed, so what has a fellow to worry about?
Sometimes I hardly know just what to do, bray or bark. When I first landed I slept in a pup tent, and since, I have been quartered in a barn; I wear a dog tag (identification tag) around my neck. I usually compromise and come trotting out of my domicile. This afternoon I traveled over some of the prettiest roads in the world. I can understand why rich Americans used to come here to motor about.
We have read much of the beauties of France and her hospitality. My expectation was even surpassed. Every available square foot here is made to yield its maximum of foodstuffs. Hand in hand with utility goes beauty. Passed through a town this afternoon in which is located an ancient castle once inhabited by a king. This whole section is filled with traditions—especially of Jean d’Arc. Statutes perpetuate her memory, and the hearts of the people are constantly stirred by her acts of patriotism and heroism.
I hope that you have read the full report of the speech made by the prime minister of France, M. Clemenceau. He paints with a vividness possible only with a Frenchman’s heart to fight the war to a finish—for a complete victory of justice, over the cunning selfishness, brutality and conscienceless force which Germany has imposed.
Germany thought us a nation of bluffers, they did not dream we would fight. Now that we are in it we propose to follow the advice of old Polonious in Hamlet when he says, “So to carry on that henceforth our adversaries will beware of us.”
Give my friends my address and tell them when they find time to write me. I will appreciate it very much, to hear from them. Lots of love,
Frank.
NOTES: Frank Wright was writing to his mother, Mrs. F. S. Wright. He was born in July 1891 in Arkansas. By 1910 he was living in Arkadelphia, Arkansas. He was the son of Frank S. and Lucy Wright. He was a student at Henderson-Brown College in Arkadelphia.
TRANSCRIBED BY CAROLYN YANCEY KENT