Souilly – February 1st

Dear Dad,

Although this is but the first of the month, the remembrance of your birthday coming on the 28th prompted me to write you my congratulations, so that they may come to your hands in due season. And with this remembrance comes others equally enjoyable; how the day before, Mother would make one of the matchless cocoa-nut cakes and other dainties, and how Red, Spencer and I used to clamor for the privilege of licking the frosting plate; then how anxious we would be to have you come home early, and when you did arrive and supper was finished: the “Big Surprise.” I can see your face light up with delight as the cake was brought in, and also hear us kids hollering as the cake was cut, all demanding the biggest piece, after yours, of course.

Although I shall not be with you this year, I hope my absence will not take away from the joy you will all derive from the day. I hope nothing but the best and most sincere of wishes for the day to send you, and these come from the bottom of my heart, being prompted by the deepest filial love and devotion. It is with the hope that the next year will find me home with you all to enjoy and participate in your next birthday that I leave you with the best wishes of the day.

Bois de Ravigny – February 3rd

Dear Mother,

Thirty-four and five arrived yesterday so full of news, and I enjoyed them so much. Package #3 also arrived a few days ago. I find myself very much handicapped in my attempts to write thank-you notes by this absence of addresses. You very thoughtfully stated in one of your letters that Miss Curtin’s address was W. Delavan Avenue. For some unknown reason you left out the number. In order to get around the obstacles, I have written notes that I have placed in envelopes addressed to you with the idea that you will address the envelopes from home. I do hope the package containing Marind’s picture will arrive safely.

We have moved again since I have last written. On the first of February, we packed up, and leaving Souilly, made our way northeast along the road to Dugny until we hit a large rest camp located in the Bois de Ravigny. This is a typical camp that one finds located in the various wooded areas throughout France, especially near the front. It is composed of numerous standard shacks, or barracks, some a hundred feet long and thirty feet wide, made of wood and containing bunks for about fifty men. They are hidden as much as possible under the trees in order to avoid their being spotted by enemy avions. They are used as rest places for the troops who are at the front. When a division is at the front, the whole division is never at the front at the same time. Part occupies the front trenches for about a week, and then they return to the rest camps, and are relieved by the other part of the division. So, they alternate while the division is at the front, the part at the rest camps always being in reserve in case that anything unusual turns up.

This makes the fourth change since the third of January. Looking back over the month, I find it full of varied and interesting experiences. From the first to the third of January we were at our old posts at the Montzeville sector. Moving on the third, we went about forty miles back into the country, to a little town of Velaines, where we spent six of the coldest days of the year. Retracing our steps, we arrived at the town of Savonnières, in the suburbs of Bar-le-Duc, where we enjoyed a week full of good times, settled in warm and comfortable quarters. After a week here, we moved again, on the seventeenth, to the village of Souilly, this time to do evacuation work for the Army. Here in comfortable quarters we stayed another ten days or so, enjoying the work and having the advantage of being cantoned quite near the quarters of a company of American engineers, who were running the chemin de fer in the sector. Then, on the first of February, we moved again to this cantonment. Such is our life of varied moves.

The next thing to look forward to is the Spring Attack. We hear almost every day that the first of the Americans will finally take over a sector of the front for the first time. They have been in training all the winter and are at last expected to take a definite part in the next attack. We also hear that there is a great deal of friction between the French General Staff and the American Headquarters over the policy of employing the American troops. It seems that Pershing insists upon keeping the Americans intact, with the idea of forming a complete American Army, and taking over a complete sector. The French and the other Allies, on the other hand, seem to feel that the best way to employ the American troops is to treat them as reinforcements for the various Allied divisions that are already operating at the front. It will be interesting to see how this difference will come out. Personally, I think that Pershing is right on insisting on keeping the Americans intact, and making preparations to operate as a complete American Army unit.

The arrival of the fellows from college has done so much to make my life happier. You cannot imagine how wonderful it is to sit around the stove and live over again the good times we enjoyed at college. It seems that we never reach an end, one recollection leads to another, and they have such interesting news as to the fate of most of the boys.

I am still in good health and the best of spirits. Hope that this finds you the same and that I hear from you soon.

Bois de Ravigny – February 8th

Dear Folks,

I have been very, very busy and find myself quite fatigued at the end of the week. I have practically finished the complete overhauling of my machine. It was quite a job and I am glad it is over. The whole car was taken apart and put together again. It is practically a new car now and runs like a sewing machine. It is a matter of self-protection for a driver to keep his car in the best condition. It would be unhealthy for one to break down on some of the roads between the posts and the front. These trips must be no stop trips, that is if you do not want to be compelled to get an entirely new car.

We are still en repos but it is rumored that we will go up in a short time. Getting terribly tired of this life. If I could only get home and see you all, even for only one day. I would then be glad to come back over here and enter this life again with my usual enthusiasm. But here I am over here now for over eight months, practically isolated in a strange country, amid strange tongues and faces, with no variation to the dull monotony of this dreary life. I am getting restless; restless beyond control.

At first, the new surroundings and the drastic change from my former quiet life made me feel enthusiastic for this new adventure, but soon the monotony of it all began to have a deadening effect on me. Now I seem to be living without a worry. Even the dangers that confront us have lost their zest. We have become philosophical about it all, realizing that we have no longer any command over our destinies, are in fact, mere pawns in a game of such gigantic proportions that we as individuals count no more than so many horses, guns or bullets. In this drugged condition, we seem to be living without a worry. It isn’t natural. Even the poundings of the guns and the material noises that at first used to make me jump and take an interest in things, have become a commonplace thing. It seems as though my greatest and only worry is that my car will not run right.

I do hope that we will go up soon and have some real hot work like we had in August. Probably that will change things and give us a new interest in life. Anything but this deadly monotony. This army life becomes tedious to one who has been used to doing things. Everything is provided for the men, even brains. You become one ever so small, a part of a stupendous machine. Nothing counts but the ability to obey commands. Of course, that is as it should be. Without this unity and harmony of movement, the machine would be useless. But it is very, very trying on me. I do hope that it will not last long.

This may seem to you a very discontented spirit for a soldier of the U.S. to have, but I assure you that it is just a momentary spell that will soon pass, as have thousands of others. I have no reason to complain—good health, good eats and good quarters. Everything is fine, but do let me hear from you soon.

Bois de Ravigny – February 17th

Dear Mother,

Another week has passed. The days go slow, but the weeks and the months seem to fly. We are still en repos. Nothing happens to relieve the monotony. The nights are clear with “beaucoup d’étoilles et une grande lune.” How do you like my French? This of course, means aviators friendly and hostile. The dull roar of the engines is almost always overhead. An accustomed ear can distinguish between the Boche and the French by the noise of the motors. The French are steady and rather high pitched, but the Boche are lower pitched and throbbing.

Both fly so low that it is necessary to take every precaution to keep lights from showing. Occasionally a dull roar and the shaking of the earth and the barracks tell us that the Germans have dropped a torpedo. We all hope that they won’t drop one of their calling cards on our little settlement, nested as it is in the middle of a wooded valley protected by large trees that tower high overhead.

I haven’t very much to tell you. I am as well as ever and contented. My permission will come pretty soon, and I will be darned glad when it does arrive. Remember me to everyone and love to all.

Bois de Ravigny – February 24th

Dear Mother,

I have had a very lucky week. Received two of your letters, but I notice that the two before them have been probably lost. Are many of my letters missing? I have found a way in which to elude my lieutenant as a censor and also the necessitated shortness of my letters. I have found out that we are allowed to send a few letters of sensible length to the base censor. We enclose them in a large blue envelope, which is sealed and cannot be molested by our lieutenant. This is ever so much better as I don’t like the idea of having one with whom I come in such close contact each day having an insight into my personal letters.

Today being Sunday, the cook has promised us a feed. We have just finished peeling and paring three enormous pails of potatoes. These the cuisinier has promised to make, as only a Frenchman can, into pomme-frites, or French-fried potatoes. In addition, I have espied 10 large rabbits, a favorite dish over here. The French raise rabbits as we do chickens. Every farm house has its hares. We really eat very well now of late. You know that we have a new French cook.

The old cook, who came out with the section, proved to be quite unsatisfactory from the very first. He was always very antagonistic towards us boys, and in addition, we found that he was in the habit of selling our sugar, coffee and other scarce rations to the civilians. We finally persuaded the lieutenant to have him changed, and the new man has proven to be a dandy—one of the good natured fellows who never can do too much for a man. He has an agreeable voice, and he uses it to advantage, teaching us many of the catchy airs that are now holding sway in the Paris Bohemian cafés. He also has that smiling face, small black mustache curled up at the ends, shining black hair and neat, proficient air that we see in the cartoons and movies at home, and he does know how to cook. He was, before the war, a chef de cuisine at a grand hotel in Nice. Truly, we are lucky in acquiring him.

The fellows at the beginning of the alphabet have commenced to return from their permissions. My turn will come in about two weeks. I am ever so anxious to be off. All the boys are returning with such wonderful tales of Paris, Nice, Biarritz, Aix-les-Bains, and other brilliant watering places, that I can hardly wait to be off. I have decided on Nice, by way of Paris, Tours and Marseilles. Bud Lewis, who just came back yesterday, has generously given me a letter of introduction to certain English and French families of his acquaintance, who are at present spending the winter season in their châteaux.

It seems that Americans are feted extremely at the resort, so I am looking forward to an endless round of teas, auto and yacht rides, and happy parties like a trip to fairyland. Dreams of luxurious hours spent in viewing the beautiful châteaux, palaces, gardens and the fascinating life of the casinos of Nice and Monte Carlo, and even a trip now and then to the snow-capped Italian Alps, which rise abruptly from the blue stretch of the Mediterranean, fill me with expectations, and help me pass many of the loathsome days of repos.