CAMION CARTOONS

October 6, 1918

Dear Mother—

Today the war ended!—at least, one of the buck privates read it so. He got hold of a French newspaper, and caused some excitement until one of the boys, who could read the Lingo, commandeered the sheet. At any rate, the Huns are beginning to squeal. Just wait until a few Boche villages begin to get theirs, and peace notes will begin to come over....

Well! I arrived back in camp again after some jumping about France. We got away from Aix without any trouble, but from then on we began to wonder if we would getback into camp for Christmas. The trains over here hate to get anywhere.

It was night when we arrived in Paris, late as usual, and so dark we had to hang on to each other to keep from getting lost. Having been there before, I was elected guide, and I got the gang to the Provost Marshal O. K., where we got our passes stamped, and then I left them for the University Union. Coming back from permission, I was not loaded down with money, but did have enough to see me through one night. The Union was crowded, but I found a place at a nearby hotel—a dandy room on the ground floor, which rather surprised me. During the bombing season, ground floor rooms are the first to be taken.

MY GAWD PEACE!

FRENCH

WHERE?
WHEN?
WHAT?!

The next afternoon I went, with a lieutenant I had met at the Union, to take a look at Napoleon’s tomb. We walked over—the lieutenant’s pocketbook must have been as flat as mine. I will never regret going, and I shall never forget the thrill I got when standing in the doorway of the chapel and seeing that golden light flooding the cross.

That golden light, that living cross, and the pale blue-gray rays falling from the side windows, made me feel miles from any one.

The tomb itself was covered with sandbags. I remember going to the tomb when I was here with you, before the war; but how I could have forgotten that inspiring sight is beyond me.

There was no more time for sightseeing, as I could not take a chance on missing my train.

HOT COFFEE

AN’ I’LL BET FIFTY FRANCS IT’S OVER BY CHRISTMAS!

SAVE YOUR MONEY. THE BOCHE AINT GOT BRAINS ENOUGH TO KNOW THEY’RE LICKED!

Since my return I have heard the news that our company clerk is leaving, and that I am to take on his job as well as have charge of the mess. It will be pretty nice in the winter, but I hate inside work and would much rather ride a camion.

PIE

COFFEE

I’LL BE BACK FOR THE PUDDING AS SOON AS I WRAP MYSELF AROUND THIS LUNCH!!

“KITCHEN POLICE” MIGHT BE WORSE

KIRK. DAY ’17

October 12

Dear Mother—

Today has been another rumor day. Those coming back from convois sure have one hot line from the front. “William the Hun” has agreed, and the Boche have stacked arms and are doing the goose-step back to Germany. Would that it were true! Still, the way the Huns are going now, they haven’t time to goose-step, it’s more of a fox-trot.

I’m enclosing one ticket good for a visit from Santa Claus. Tell him to pack the cigarettes and gum with care. Don’t chase around to get stuff to fill the box—just pack it full of cigarettes and send it along. Don’t put in a Christmas card, it takes up room.

WHAT’S THE RUMOUR?

October 18

Dear Mother—

Once upon a time I went to church and they sang a song about “Rest, rest, for the weary.” When I get home, I’m going to climb into bed and let them sing me to sleep with that song. Weary! Sleep! I could make a hibernating bear look as though it had insomnia.

Did I ever write a letter in which I didn’t say “We have moved.” If so it must have been when little apples were made. We have moved! The way the Huns are going backwards, my next letter should be headed “Somewhere in Germany.” This move has been one for the better in regard to quarters. The Germans didn’t do much hating in this village. No doubt they didn’t have time. At any rate the houses are standing on their own feet and the roofs are pretty much all together.

PINK RUMP JAZZ DAH DEE THUMP DUMP

ZIZZ BURR

DAY DREAMS
SOME WHERE IN FRANCE

KIRK. DAY ’18

Germany is down and out. Everywhere you notice and see it. The French are rubbing the defeat in. Before this wonderful drive you never saw a light anywhere. Now everywhere you see them. Autos go by with their head lights thumbing their noses. In the woods, in the field, in houses, and barracks, there is no attempt to conceal lights.

WAR IS A WORRY FOR SOME.

WHAT SEEMS TO BE THE TROUBLE KID?

TROUBLE!!? I’M WONDERING IF I’LL OUT GROW THAT NEW DRESS SUIT I LEFT BEHIND.

K H DAY 17

October 31

Dear Mother—

I have just finished up with the “Flu.” Believe me, eight days with it is enough for me and I don’t want to see it again. Feel about as useful as a pair of pajamas in the army. The Flu hit me when I wasn’t looking and got me down before I knew what struck me. They took me over to the camp infirmary and put me to bed. When you are once in bed you have no desire to leave. If you do get up you find that your legs are no longer mates, and refuse to work together.

BEAT IT! I’M THRU WITH YOU!!

SPANISH FLU.

Just now I’m back in my old room wondering what it has all been about. I slept most of the time at the infirmary and had some fine dreams. Pushing logs about and driving over cliffs in camions were my favorites. Once in a while I would dream that I was at home again, but every time I was to see you they would make me crank up my camion and go somewhere else. I hope some day I’ll be able to dream without having a camion enter into it. I still don’t feel much like sitting down to any kind of a meal. The first shave I had since I was taken was yesterday. It nearly killed me, and I left my moustache on until my arm gets a little stronger. The camp is shy a barber or I would have let someone else do the job. If we don’t get a barber soon I’m going to start braiding my hair....

WHERE’D YA GET THAT JUNK?

SYSTÈME D!

AFTER THE WAR.

Over here nothing is ever stolen, swiped or pinched. It is always “Système D.” As I understand it there are three right ways of getting things in the French army. Either by Système A, B, or C. If you can’t get what you want through these three channels, you “Système D” it. All sorts of things from coal to pianos have been obtained through this “let not your left hand see what your right is doing” method. Some one said that by the end of the war we would all be first class crooks. There may be more truth than poetry in that. At any rate it’s a safe bet that we won’t starve to death while the war is going on. You would think that “Gott Mit Uns” was made in the United States instead of Germany, if you were to look at the belts. I thought, until I went on permission, that only the boys in the Reserve Mallet wore the Hun belt. As far as I’ve seen practically every “Yank” has and wears one of these belts. Fully as many pants in the United States Army in France are held up by “Gott Mit Uns” as are held up by the regulation belt.

WHERE YA ALL GIT DAT LITTLE RED CAP NIGGER? MAN DAT CERTLY AM SOME COLOR!

NOTE.
THE RED HATS WORN BY THE SENEGALESE ARE GOING TO MAKE OUR COONS GREEN WITH ENVY.

November 9

Dear Mother—

Isn’t the news wonderful! One of the boys drifted in with a French newspaper and translated the armistice terms laid down to Austria. The Allies certainly left out the silver platter when they handed them over. Wouldn’t I like to be there when the Hun comes running out with the white flag to call on General Foch. We are all saying, “When we move let’s take a trip to Austria.” It may be a case like the fellow who said, “Why learn French when we will be talking German in Berlin soon.” Only it will be Vienna if we should roll to Austria. Just think of their being eighty minutes from Berlin by air. Soon the aviation report will be, “So many tons of bombs dropped on ‘Unter den Linden.’” Won’t the Huns yell!

WHO SAID THE WAR WAS OVER?

NACH BERLIN

BROADWAY

One of the boys that has come in since I started this letter has just gone out to get a bottle of wine so that we can celebrate the glorious reports. If we start in celebrating all such news, it will be—“Vin tous les jours.” Italy showed that she had a punch in each hand. Sad news from the front—“No wine.” Some one else must have decided to celebrate....

All the talk these days is, “When I get home.” I’ve heard what every man is going to eat, wear, and do, when he gets to the other side. Each one has his own taste in regard to food. In the clothing line, anything but a uniform is popular. As for doing—I am afraid the wheels of progress are not going to move very fast. All the boys are going to just sit or sleep.

HAVE A CARE! HAVE A CARE! I DON’T WONT TO GO HOME LOOK’N LIKE THE HUNS HAD SCALPED ME.

DON’ WORRY! FOR THE LOVE OF MUD SIT STILL OR THEY’LL THINK THE BOCHE BIT ONE OF YOUR EARS OFF!

There is now a barber in town—A French one. Although I need a hair cut pretty badly, I think I’ll stay away. From the work he has done on a few of the boys, I have come to the conclusion that I can do as good a job myself. Over here a bald headed man has the advantage. Nothing doing with the clippers, however, once was enough for me with a convict head....

The latest in regard to what becomes of us after peace is declared, is that we will be with the Army of Occupation. That doesn’t sound at all good. It is a good thing that hearing is not believing in most cases or I would be on pins and needles all the time.

I’M GWAN HOME—WHEE

November 10

Dear Mother—

The night before last there was wild excitement in camp. All afternoon we had been hearing the latest news from the front, and the war was finished at least every five minutes. That night one of the boys returned from the mission and said that a Lieutenant told him that there was no doubt about it, Germany had thrown up the sponge. I wasn’t there, being asleep in bed at the time, but they woke me up and told me between—hics—that the war was over. The piano in one company’s house was playing all the war music that was ever written and the air rang with cheers, popping of corks, songs, and whatnot. It wasn’t long before our door was banged open. We were paged and told that the war wasfini, and to come out and join the party. I’m afraid they didn’t get much of a response from us, both of us being pretty tired. Some day they won’t be crying wolf and we are going to miss out on the party. The Frenchmen are just about crazy, and who can blame them? When the end comes, and it’s coming sooner than any of us realize, you in the States will get the all over feeling long before we do. Things will go on for us camion drivers just about as they are going now, and not until both feet are planted on the other side of the pond will theguerrebe really finished for us.

GURGLE AH—SMACK!

HAVE A HEART—DON’T DRINK IT ALL!

HURRY UP FOR PETE SAKE!

SOUNDS LIKE A PARTY!!

HIGH HUM-M—HOPE WE DONT ROLL EARLY!

ZIR BUZZ

THE ARMY WAS MADE FOR SOME GUYS!

THOUGHT I HEARD A FEMALE VOICE?

GESS I’LL GO UP AND SEE IF THE MAIL IS IN.

SOME WILD BOOK!

THERE AINT A THING TO WRITE ABOUT.

KNOCK KNOCK

WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE BOYS....

THE WAR MUST BE OVER!?

MOST ANY NIGHT PROV. CO “A” HAS A FEW MEN IN. THEY LEAD “THE LIFE OF REILLY,” AND NO WONDER THEY DON’T WONT TO MOVE.
CROSS SECTION OF OUR LAST BILLET.

IS’NT THE WORLD SMALL?

I.

NO USE TALKING. THESE FRENCH GIRLS SURE HAVE IT ON THE GIRLS BACK HOME!

I’LL SAY SO! LOOK THIS PETITE FEMME OVER!

II.

DO YOU BOYS KNOW THE WAY TO THE GRAND HOTEL? NEW YORK WAS NEVER LIKE THIS!

?

K H DAY 17

November 11

Dear Mother—

Am I awake or is it a dream. It doesn’t seem possible that the war is OVER. When it was brought home to me that the armistice had been signed, it left me not dancing with joy but numb. It didn’t seem possible and now, two hours after, I’m just beginning to cheer. Think of the millions that are made happy these days, and think of those whose boys will never return. Just about two weeks ago the lieutenant I had in C Co. was killed. He was a fraternity brother of mine, and one of the finest fellows I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. I am glad that I have had the privilege of being one in the great Army of Right. My only regret is that I could not have come over about three years sooner.

U.S.

FRANCE

MOST ANY DAY NOW

I remember when I first got here, early in July, 1917, how we looked forward to the day when America would have its army in the field. There was no question in our minds about their showing something. When they did get in they showed something all right, they showed more than something. It was a case of “The best is none too good.”

We have moved along twice since I last wrote. To look at the signs in this place you would think you were in Germany. German names for streets and German signs everywhere. This isn’t the first of that kind that we have struck, but it was more so than the others. We are in a huge farmhouse that used to be for Hun officers only. Its roof hasn’t a hole and we haven’t a broken pane of glass in our windows. We have the best room yet, and a fireplace that could take a tree, roots and all. The Boche turned a nearby farm into a bath house and it is a wonder. Showers beaucoup and tiled bath rooms with enameled tubs. They moved so fast that there isn’t much damage done. They did leave their trade mark though. There is a chateau that looks perfectly O. K. from the outside, but inside it is a total loss. They planted a mine and wrecked it. Mines are planted all over the road. Yesterday afternoon two went off. The last blew our windows open.

I

LET’S SEE? I LEFT A HANDKERCHIEF RIGHT ON TOP.

II

AH! HERE SHE BE!

III

MON DIEU! I WOULD’NT CALL THAT A _HANDKERCHIEF_?

IV

WHERE TAHELL IS THE DARN THING??!

V

HAY!! ANY YOUSE GUYS GOT AN UNUSED NOSE RAG?

KIRK. DAY. FRANCE ’18

INDOOR ARMY SPORTS
IS AS BAD AS TRYING TO FIND THAT “HAY STACK NEEDLE” AS TO FIND ANY THING IN A BARRACK BAG—

Understand we are on our way to Somewhere in Germany.

We will be on the move, I expect, for some time now so my letters may be few and far between. Will try and keep them coming through.

GUARD DUTY

BRRR

SHOWER NATURAL

?

B.V.D. & BOCK WEATHER

November 20

Dear Mother—

Wars may come and wars may go, but we go on forever. Believe me! when we heard that the armistice had been signed, you would have thought we had all gone suddenly crazy. It took some time, I’ll admit, for the good news to sink in—but when it did—Oh boy!

We are now on the way towards Germany. It is almost a certainty that we will travel along with one of the French armies of occupation; carrying Ravitaillement (grub for man and beast) to them. Talk about moving, ever since the last shell was fired, that’s all we have been doing. You would think we were a checker game. I can’t say we were tickled to death at the “Army of Occupation” news as we expected to be on our way towards the States within a couple of months.

YES’DAY ZAY SHELL DES PARK ALL ZE TIME. LAS NIGHT ZE SAME TODAY I FEAR YES—

MON DIEU! TAKE ME HOME! LET ME OUT OF THIS!?

“WAR IS HELL”

November 22

Dear Mother—

They say that a tug boat, or some kind of a water animal, is going to brave the dangers and carry mail across to the folks at home. I am therefore stealing a few moments from my soldierly duties to throw a bit of ink. I’d much rather take the place of this letter and let them ferry me across instead, but as we are elected to be a part of the clean-up squad, it can’t be done.

It is sad but true, but we are a part of one of the French armies of occupation and are now “Nach Berlin.” We are making the grade by the instalment plan—stop here today and move on tomorrow. Our job is carrying “Ravitaillement,” and we are just as busy now as we were during the days of shot, shell, and bomb. Just as busy, but it’s a great deal more tiresome without any excitement.

! ?

CAP’N I’D DONE LIKE TO BE XCUSED FROM THIS YER DRILL. MY FEETS AM SO BIG DAT BY DE TIME I GIT DEM UNDER CONTROL DE COMPANY AM WHERE DAY AM WHILE I’SE WHERE I WAS!

K H DAY FRANCE ’18

That is, it’s more tiresome for the drivers and some sergeants. The clerk’s duties are just the same, although I have been told that I’m to take over the mess and supply sergeant’s jobs along with what I am already doing, which is nothing at all. Guess they decided I was wearing out too many chairs, and drawing too many pictures for a “Soldat deuxième classe.” There was enough yelling with the old mess sergeant and I can see a battle royal ahead of me when I begin to dish up the chow. As for getting clothes, it can’t be done. Some of the men are running around in pants held together with wire, pins, and string.

It is going to be a cold winter, and I hope that those at the other end get a little pep and begin to unwind Mr. Red Tape.

I WONDER WHOSE WIN’EN TH’ WAR THESE DAYS?

CLICK CLANK

PITY THE POOR CLERK! IT’S A HARD WAR FOR HIM.

All day troops have been passing here, going up; part of the army that we are attached to, so I wouldn’t be surprised if we were on the go again soon.

Have seen thousands of returning prisoners, refugees full of spirit, but so pinched and hungry looking, clothed in rags and even in the uniform of the Boche soldier. We fed some at our kitchen one night and they were starved.

In the town I sent my last letter from, the son of the people whose house we had taken over dropped in to look the place over. It was the first time in four years that he had seen his parents’ home. His mother, sixty-four, and his father, sixty-eight, were carried off by the Huns in February. They were expected back almost any day and he wanted to see what there was left. The house was in perfect condition and there were a few sticks of furniture about, but the Boche had taken the meat and left nothing but the bone. His parents were more fortunate than many, having a home with a roof, but even then it’s pretty tough for two old people to return to their home and find it stripped of the things they loved.

STOP A MINUTE I WONT TO HEAR WHAT THE BANDS PLAYING!!

SWOPE LAP-LAP—GURGLE SMACK——GULP

FOR PETE SAKES KIRK ARE YOU PAGING A DEAD MAN!!

STARTED BUT NOT FINISHED.

INJOYING MP SOUP! AR LA FRENCH STYLE

PICK PICK SNAP

LINE OF ACTION.

RIGHT IN MY EYE!

PICKING MY TEETH AT THE TABLE IS A SURE THING.

BLUE→YOU NEVE HEARD SUCH A — — NOISE. WHY THOSE — — OF HUNS — — ETC.

SUCH LANGUAGE!! I FAINT!!

AFTER MONTHS WITH THE BOYS THIS IS SURE TO HAPPEN

THE DEAR BOY MUST BE DRUNK

LOST AN AUTO. TIRE→BANG!!

LOOK OUT FOR THE SHELL!!

SOMETHING LIKE THIS WILL HAPPEN WHEN I HEAR A BLOW OUT!

IS THIS PARIS OR BOSTON??? RIGHT ON THE ARM OF HER CHAIR

PERHAPS I WILL ASK MYSELF THIS QUESTION MANY TIMES

WHEN I GET HOME AFTER THE WAR SUCH THINGS AS THESE MAY HAPPEN!

Kirk Day. Paris 17

From the shooting around here one would think that the war was still going on. Almost every one that has a gun is out banging away, and once in a while a mine will go off and shake the house. The Italians stationed here got hold of some rockets, and every night they dot the sky with red and green lights. Every day is a Fourth of July, but not a “safe and sane” one.

The Italians were life savers in that they had a portable barber shop, first time we have run into a good barber shop in a long time. One of the boys in our company took a hand at the game, but after trying his luck on a few heads, the bottom fell out of his business.

HAY KID! NUMBER 23 ROLLS!!

D—N!

AFTER YOU GET ALL DOLLED UP TO TAKE YOUR TOWN PERMISSION—THIS ALWAYS HAPPENS.

The camions are just about on their last legs. It is to be expected, as they are rolled “tous les jours” and they are not in the camp long enough for the drivers to work on them. Out of our eighteen cars we have about ten that are able to roll. If they keep on going, there won’t be anything left to drive and they will have to send us home.

The American army has forgotten for so long that we, in the Reserve Mallet, are a part of them, we don’t expect them to think of us suddenly in this stage of the game.

Permissions are still going on and no one seems in any hurry to get back. Those who were in Paris at the time of the signing of the armistice have wild tales to tell.

GET OUT YOUR TOW ROPE!!

AH OUI SARG!

WHEN I BLOW THE WHISTLE GIVE HER ALL SHE’S GOT!

GESS WE’LL HAVE TO GET THE JACK OUT!

UP TO HER NECK

SUPPOSE WE’LL HAVE TO UNLOAD THE BOAT!

LOOKS LIKE AN ALL NIGHT JOB.

THAT GUY IS ALWAYS TRYING TO BURY HIS CAMION!

THE MECHANIC

ANY DAY IN THE M.T.C. RESERVE MALLET.

November 27

Dear Mother—

The lid is off, at last we can come out of the trenches and go over the top in our letters. Old Man Censor has had his whiskers cut and we can throw the ink from bottle to paper without a worry.

As you know, I jumped from the minor league (American Field Service) into the major (U. S. Army) on October 1st, 1917. After taking the leap we were sent to Soissons (Aisne) which was to be our home for some little time. Soissons was some town! The Boche had been there before us, but had left a great part of the city standing. With its hotels, cafés, tea rooms, stores, and bath house, we led the life of Riley.

WHY MAN, IF THIS WAR AINT OVER BY MARCH, I’M A LIAR! IT STANDS TO REASON THAT—ETC.—ETC.

STATUE OF LIBERTY

WE HAVE THIS KIND AND—

Our camp lay just on the edge of the city on the bank of the Aisne river, and in the camp I had my first lesson in ditch digging, kitchen policing, drilling, rock breaking, and a few other like things.

Things went along pretty smooth for us until March 21, when there came the grand finale as far as Soissons was concerned. Up to that date we had had a few air raids, which would start the twins barking and us running for abris. The twins were a pair of “seventy-fives” in a field right behind camp.

On March 21 things began to pick up. All the morning I had been hauling rock and more rock, and along towards noon I was tired, dirty, and didn’t much care if school kept or not. I walked into our barracks and started some water boiling to remove my rock hauling makeup (as far as I know, that water is still boiling). Was lying on my bunk when the word came that we were to pack up our stuff and be ready to move at any moment. It was like a bolt out of a clear sky. “Be ready to move,” and we thought we were settled for the rest of the war!

?!?

TAKE IT FROM ME KID IM RIGHT! WHY A FRENCH GENERAL TOLD MY CHUM THAT IF 30% OF THIS BUNCH WAS IN ON THE FINISH WE SURE WOULD BE A LUCKY CREW—ETC.—ETC.

THESE CRAPE HANGERS

KIRK DAY. 17

It did not take long to roll up my blankets, to dump my stuff into my barracks bag, and to lug it all down to my truck. Started to roll my blankets after I got them to the camion, when there came a whistle, a bang, and a shower of dirt, stones, and twigs. A shell had landed on the other side of the river. Before I had time to collect my thoughts there came another whistle. This time I was under the truck ahead of the bang,—more dirt, rocks, and twigs. No wonder they were moving camp! There was a bridge dead ahead of me, about forty yards away. These two shells had just missed the end furthest from me, and I could see that if the bridge was the attraction I didn’t want to stick around. My blankets were still unrolled and I started at them again. Another whistle, another dive, and this time a regular downpour. This shell had landed on my side of the river just off the bridge. Right on its heels came another, and this one saw my exit. I started for camp on the run, but didn’t get far before there came a bang. The concussion floored me and when I picked myself together, saw a bunch of the boys gathered around something under a tree that had been hit.

WHANG

HOME WAS NEVER LIKE THIS.

The something was one of the boys wounded, in the leg. Why no one else was wounded, or no one killed, is a miracle, as that shell hit where every one seemed to be. No doubt hitting so high up the éclat was thrown over our head. The boy who was wounded is now in the States. His leg is now O. K., but he will always be lame.

GOTT STRAFE AMERICA!

JA, STRAFE THEM! THEY BLUFFED US INTO BELIEVING THAT THEY WERE BLUFFING.

PERHAPS WILLIAM—PERHAPS.

That noon while at lunch two more shells landed in the river, side of the dining room. It seemed as though they were following us. Later on when we turned the trucks around and ran them by camp away from the bridge, the shells began to land up at that end. That night, however, the Huns raised their guns and began to send the shells over our heads towards the railway station. All that night we would hear the whistle of the shells passing over head and the bang in the distance of their landing.

The next day we moved out of Soissons onto the “Route de Paris.” We were just outside the city and all night and most of the day it was bang, bang, bang. The Huns certainly were throwing the shells into the city, and it didn’t make you feel “in the pink,” when you had to go into it for water, and to the storehouse and railway station for supplies. All the time we were there it was “beaucoup” work. We carried a great many troops from one front to another and miles of shells. In fact it was work from then on.

WHAT DA’YA KNOW? “TROOPS NINE DAYS OVER HERE AND SAIL FOR THE STATES” THE ARMY WAS MADE FOR SOME GUYS!

After a short stay here we carried on to Villa Helon, which is about two kilometers from Longpont. This town was a gem and it certainly was tough when we had to leave. The day we left, May 28, I believe, the town roads were crowded with incoming and outgoing troops.

We moved at about midnight and the Huns gave us a farewell in the shape of a bombing. The French were setting up their famous seventy-five guns in the rear of the chateau as we pulled out. That wonderful chateau is now, no doubt, a heap of ruins.

Refugees were everywhere. Wagons loaded with their goods, people on foot, in carts, on bicycles, all moving towards Paris, crowded the roads.

’AND TO THINK I USED TO KICK AT THE PRICES THE LAUNDRY CHARGED!! NEVER AGAIN!

From Villa Helon we pushed on to Barcy, stopping over night a couple of times at some towns. Barcy lies just outside the city of Meaux and is right where France turned the Germans back in 1914.

While in this town we carried shell after shell to those points where the heaviest fighting was going on. It was at Chateau-Thierry that we first saw the American troops in number.

What a changed Chateau-Thierry it was when the Boche were driven out! It wasn’t as badly shot up as I expected to find it, but it certainly had been mauled.

A GUN MAKES A FINE CLOTHES HANGER.

IF THEY’D LEVE ME BE—I’D MAKE OLD RIP VAN—LOOK LIKE A PIKER!

AT THE END OF A’ _PERFECT_ DAY

GAMBLING!?

READ ’EM AND WEEP

COME YOU SEVEN! BABY NEEDS SOME SHOES

UNDER A CAMION IS A GOOD PLACE TO HIDE. BUT——

THERE ARE TIMES WHEN I’D GIVE MY RIGHT EYE TO “PARLEZ-VOUS” THIS LINGO. THIS IS ONE OF THEM TIMES.

SUZZANNE VOUS ARE SOME BIEN KIDDO! SAISIR DEUX BOTTLES VIN BLANC—

OUI MONSIEUR

NOTE.
ALL FRENCH GIRLS ARE NAMED SUZZANNE, AND ARE PRETTY.

A LITTLE FRENCH, EVEN IF NOT O.K., IS BETTER THAN NONE AT ALL.

IF ONE OF THEM BIG BRASS THINGS IS TWO CENTS AND ONE OF THEM SILVER THINGS IS TWENTY CENTS, I WONT GET FAR ON THIS.

THE NEW ALUMINUM FIVE AND TEN CENTIMES COINS DONT MAKE MUCH OF A HIT WITH SOME OF THE BOYS.

KIRK. DAY FRANCE ’18

From Barcy we moved to Hardivillers. This small town lies between Breteuil and Crèvecœur-le-Grand, not far from Amiens. In the latter place and beyond, we saw our first of the British. It was in and around Amiens that bombs were the thickest. The country was so open that a night convoi was always an invitation for a bomb. Between Moreuil and Hangest they took twelve shots at us without a hit. That same night, however, they got another section and wounded a couple of men and killed another.

Our next stop was Bus, the town of no roofs and German dugouts, with the nearby woods that sported the German huts. Bus is between Montdidier and Roye. The former city is the worst shot up of any that I have seen. It lies on the top of a hill and is just blown to dust. Not a wall or a tree standing. One could live in Roye without a great deal of rebuilding, but there are only walls left. Ham wasn’t shot up, but burned. While at Bus my permission came through and I left the bunch not knowing where I would find them when I came back.

GOOD NIGHT!! JUST LOOK WHAT THEM HUNS ARE DOING.

YOU POOR FISH! THATS A REPRINT OF THE 1915 BATTLE FRONT!

KIRK. DAY FRANCE ’18

Port-à-Binson was where I found them. No doubt you read how the Germans tried to get into Épernay on account of its being a centre for supplies. Port-à-Binson is not far from Épernay, lying on the bank of the river Marne. Here it was I took up the duties of clerk—something I’ll always remember.

When we moved again it was to Jonchery, between Fismes and Rheims. While in the Field Service I had often gone through Fismes; you wouldn’t know it now, ruins is no name for it. From there we rolled on to Malmaison. Here we got the news that the armistice had been signed. Since leaving that town, we have stopped over night in a few other villages until we struck here.

SOME COAT! SOME COAT!! YOU WOULD THINK I WAS TWINS THE WAY IT FITS!!

YOU SHOULD TALK! TAKE A LOOK AT THE STRAIGHT JACKET I DREW!

?!

WHY DONT YOU BIRDS CHANGE COATS?

YOU SAID SOMETHING—WE NEVER THOUGHT OF THAT!!

KH DAY 18

This account is more or less a bunch of names. I haven’t said much about the work, which has been carrying shells most of the time. Nor have I given much dope on some of the excitement that we have seen. Believe me, we have had a little excitement in the way of bombs, and once in a while, shells.

I wrote about the Boche and their camouflaged plans. That took place at Chézy aux Orxois between Chateau-Thierry and Mareuil sur Ourcq. On that day we were carrying shells and my car being the last had the fusees. You can see that underneath my car was no place at all to use as an abris.

I’m enclosing a bit of German propaganda, some of the bunk that they used to drop from planes. They certainly must have been in a pipe dream if they expected any one to fall for that stuff. Their minds work in a queer way.

INSPECTION MORNING

SOME SHINE—IF MY SHOES DON’T GET BY I’M A LIAR

MIGHT JUST AS WELL BE BLIND AS TO TRY AND SEE THRU THIS BARREL

HOW IN THE DEVIL AM I EVER GOING TO CLEAN THIS COAT?

HOW DO I LOOK KID?

WHO T’HELLS GOT A RAZOR?

SAY! THE BACK OF YOUR NECK LOOKS LIKE A COAL HEAP

I SHOULD CARE—A’M GOING TO CAMOUFLAGE IT WITH TALCUM POWDER

GESS I’LL HAVE TO WEAR GLOVES AFTER ALL!

K. H. DAY ’18 FRANCE

One of the men who used to work in the atelier when we had French workmen, came in to see us the other day. He had just got back from his permission and from seeing his wife and son who had been prisoners. The Huns had cut the forefinger from each of his wife’s hands. That was mild compared with some of the other things that they did.

The other night we staged a party. The result is my drawing of Monsieur Light Wine. Never again.

Rumors are flying about. The latest is that all men will return to their original companies. That’s all right, but what becomes of the Field Service men? If it’s all the same to those higher up, I’ll take home.

JUS’ ONE MORE CHANCE?

MONSIEUR LIGHT WINE

—AND I THOUGHT YOU HARMLESS! “ALLEZ”! NEVER LET ME SEE YOU AGAIN.

December 19

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