Chapter 4

Dear Mother—

Winter has at last taken the padlock off. The rain that has been falling for the last few days, has now turned to snow and the temperature has moved from its suite half way up to one near the ground floor. Rubber boots and an over coat are very much in style these days—also a red nose.

We are now taking the count in the village of Boulzicourt near the cities of Mézières and Charleville. Sedan is also quite close by. The day before yesterday I took a trip to Charleville: object, a bath. Managed to catch a ride on a truck going over.

P-O-P

THIS IS THE WAY WE FEEL AT TIMES——

After the bath, met a couple of the boys and we hustled around to get things fixed up for supper. None of the cafés or restaurants have started in to serve meals so we went into the market and got some steak and potatoes. The prices are sky high, but one has to eat. These we took around to a small café and had them cooked up. The steak was tough, but the “cuisinier” had cooked it in a most delicious way — with Pinard. The potatoes as usual were French Fried. We had brought along our own wine or we would have been out of luck.

After supper we drifted around to a dance hall. It was crowded, about ten men to one girl, so we didn’t try our luck at the French dancing. All they do is whirl—always in one way and they never reverse. Once in awhile you see someone trying to do the old turkey trot. After sticking around a short while, we started home. No ride this time—no luck at all, so we burnt up the road for the ten kilom’s.

BON

?

PAS DE TABAC

IT IS RATHER A SHOCK TO THE BAR MAID, FOR YOU TO TAKE A CUP OF COFFEE WITHOUT EVEN THAT DASH OF COGNAC.

Yesterday I was over to Sedan. It was raining so hard that I didn’t do much chasing around. Of the two cities Charleville is the more picturesque with its long sloping roofs and its quaint old fashioned French appearance. Sedan looks more modern, more like the States.

The day we moved, five of us got left behind. That is there wasn’t enough room in the remaining camion—the others had pulled out and we thought they were waiting somewhere down the line. The first stop we knew was to be at Boulzicourt, so we started out on foot. All of us were dressed pretty warmly, as we had expected to hold down the front end of a camion. It was raining and soon our overcoats were weighing close to a ton. Up the line about three miles, I discovered that two letters for one of the boys had been forgotten in the shuffle. It was up to me to go back and one of the boys said he’d come along. Back we went and rescued the mail. We got under way again and this time had the luck to jump an ambulance that was going straight through. It was going, it didn’t even hit the high spots. About half way we passed the other three birds riding the back end of a truck. We pulled into Boulzicourt and discovered that the camion had moved on to a place called Flize, which is on the way to Sedan.

SOME HIGH FLYER! JUST LOOK AT THEM TRICKS! REGULAR BIRD I’LL SAY!

I WOULDN’T SAY SHE WAS A HIGH FLYER, AND I DON’T SEE ANY TRICKS, BUT SHE’S A BIRD ALRIGHT! ALRIGHT!

YOU CAN SEE AN AEROPLANE ANY DAY, BUT A FAIR FRENCH MISS IS A RARE ANIMAL

? !!

MOVING PICTURE OF A SALUTE K H DAY

A camion came bowling along so we hopped aboard. Of course it was going to the wrong village, but we didn’t worry—one can always catch a ride. At Mézières the truck pulled up and we jumped off. It was still raining and we weren’t what you would call dry. Hungry and not a thing could be had in the way of food. Nothing in the shops, but we did manage to get coffee. Along towards night, we ran into a Frenchman that set us up to one fine supper with wine and rum. About that time we decided we might as well be setting out for the camp. It was raining great guns and was so dark that we gave it up as a bad job. Instead we got a room over a café. The woman who ran the place came over on the ark. She had remained during the years that the Boche held the town, and, as a consequence kept running in German with her French—something that happens quite frequently in these parts. Our room was a wonder. The bed boasted seven mattresses; reminded me of the fairy story of how to tell a real princess—when a bunch of Janes claimed the crown and to test them out they put them to bed on a stack of mattresses. Underneath was a pea. The fake ones slept like a log, but she of the purple couldn’t sleep at all and, in the morning, she was black and blue from the lump raised by the pea. We either are not of the purple or there was nothing under the mattresses, for we certainly tore off the sleep. Just before we turned in there was an awful banging on Madame’s door, and yells in French, German, and Sanscrit I guess. She had locked herself in. We went out and discovered the key sticking into the lock of her door. We gave it a turn, but the door stayed shut. We gave it a couple of more turns, and tried other combinations—still the door refused to open. In the meantime the old girl was yelling “nicht’s” and “ja’s” and French cuss words. We expected the whole town to show up. Finally Bill had the brilliant idea of seeing how our door worked. We went over to try it out and in fooling with it the door knob came out in my hand. I went over, stuck it into Madame’s door and “Voilà” the caged bird was free. In the morning we set out for Flize.

G-O-S-H KID I SURE WAS POUNDING MY EAR! LETS STAY HERE ’TILL THEY SEND FOR US!

HURRY UP WE’VE GOT TO SHOW SPEED TO GET BACK BEFORE DARK!

NEW YORK—DAMN FINE! GO TO HELL! GOOD NIGHT! YES—MOVING PICTURES—VOTES FOR WOMEN!

THATS RIGHT KID! ONE MORE LESSON ’ND YOU’L TALK JUST LIKE A’N AMERICAN.

It was still raining and we didn’t get a ride. We walked and walked and no sign of camp. My coat was soaked through, my rubber boots were raising the devil with my feet, and my labors had given me a turkish bath. We pulled into Flize, with nothing like a camp in sight. While we were deciding whether to wait around for a ride to Sedan, where the Mission was, or to look for quarters, one of our trucks came panting along. The camp was at Boulzicourt. They had come over near Flize, had stayed two hours, and had gone to Boulzicourt. A staff car came flying along, we got a ride and here we are.

This town is quite large. Our quarters are very comfortable. We are billeted in a French house. Four of us have a front room, and if the sun ever comes out, we should get our share of it. Our fireplace is working all the time and we are kept busy getting wood to keep the home fire burning.

YOU SIMP! WHEN D’A SARG’ PUTS YOU’SE ON A DETAIL KICK! SEE WHAT YOU’VE DID BY NOT RAIS’IN A GRIPE!

?

GIVE ME AIR!

PITY THE POOR SERGEANT.

Madame had us in for coffee the other afternoon. She was here while the Huns held the town. Naturally she has no love for them. What they couldn’t steal they took, and she’s just about left high and dry. Her son was captured at Verdun, but is now home.

The town hasn’t come back to life yet. When it does there are enough cafés to feed and drink us all. Two dance halls with these player pianos are open. Ten centimes sets the music going. They have a total of nine tunes among which is the Merry Widow—you can see how up to date the music is. At nights these places are crowded with the French troops and Italian road workers. All told I’ve seen three girls, all at once, in these places.

EYES RIGHT!

Yesterday my Christmas box showed up. The cigarettes came at the right moment, as for three days I’d been using a corn cob. The “Y” had run out of smokes, and they hardly ever visit us nowadays. The knife was a wonder—too good to use.

The other day some of our trucks hauled champagne. They came through here and stopped for supper, and then went on. They left a few cases behind, so water isn’t very popular just now.

There is a chance of our getting back inside of a year—just a chance. Hate to think of another winter over here. Guess by the time I get back there won’t be anything going on in the states, the war will be a dead issue then.

WHAT DO YOU KNOW! RED SOX START WITH A BANG! GOSH! HOPE I’LL BE HOME FOR THE WORLDS SERIES—

SOAP

December 26

Dear Mother—

Of course we had a big feed. The army didn’t come across with any extras, but by scouring the country for miles around our company, and all the companies for that matter, had some meal served up. Here’s our line up—celery soup, roast beef, mashed potatoes, macaroni with cheese and tomatoes, a salad, cake, prune pie, celery, and cocoa. Besides the Red Cross sent cigarettes, candy, and crackers.

[Artilery shell]

In the afternoon we took a ride by camion to Sedan where the “Y” was putting on some kind of a show for us. After much cheering, and not missing a single bump we arrived and found that the show was going on—movies were being run off—French movies, a nice long drawn out thing in six or seven parts on Nero, his love affairs, his fiddle, and Rome. I for one wasn’t at all mad when they cut the picture short and started in on some live stuff. After a Lieutenant got a couple of stories off his chest, the ball started. Some real American coons from a near by outfit were the live stuff. They sang by fours, threes, and twos, and when they got tired of that they gave us some A No. 1 clog dancing. Believe me! they could sure shuffle their feet. The “Y” had decked them out in some paper caps which added to the hilarity. They were the whole show and it was worth the trip to see them.

The “Y” also were there with the Christmas tree. We rang the bell for chocolate, cigarettes, a cigar, and cookies.

SHALL I RIGHT-ABOUT OR CONTINUE THE MARCH???

The other day I went over to Charleville again. Ran into a place that had real pies—chocolate and apple. Also had cakes. The prices were near the top, but we bought a few notwithstanding. The girl behind the counter could have sold us ice at the North Pole—she was a peach. Two of us told the boys to break away and we would show them something better—and we did. There was a girl in a small café that we had discovered on our last trip. We took the boys along in and they agreed that she wastheclass. Here we ate the pies and cakes and the girl behind the bar came in for a share. It was a good thing that we were riding in the Ford and not walking, or we would never have got back to camp. Those pies went fine but we ate more than our share I’m afraid.

Last night and today it snowed again—just enough for snow balls. This afternoon we were throwing them with the French kids. They can peg them as well as our boys, but I guess they forget how to use their wing when they get older.

SHOVE HER ALONG KID!

NOW WE’R GOING!

DRINK TA’ME OWN-LY

W-H-E-E!

SOME SONG!

W-O-U-G-H!!

OH YOU KID!

YOU-HU!

AW! WAIT!

Y-I-P-P, O—U!

!?

LES AMERICANES! OU LA LAR!

There are two kids that drop into the office three times a day for their cigarette allowance. The oldest is sixteen and the youngest thirteen. I made the mistake of giving them one the first day and they now take it as a matter of course. Guess I’ll start them to work sweeping out the place on their next visit. That may break them of the habit—like offering a tramp work when he asks for food.

I don’t know if it will work, however, as there are a couple who hang out at our kitchen. They lug all the water, and do all the odd jobs. They are a great help to the K. P.’s—in fact our kitchen police, since these kids came along, live the life of Riley and as for the kids, they eat to their hearts’ content.

EVEN THE KIDS DONT GET ME! MY FRENCH MUST BE STRICKLY FOR BAR ROOMS ONLY !!

?!

Saw Les. Herrick yesterday. He’s looking fine. We went over the feed we had last Christmas night—it was a wonder. One of the boys reminded me that last Christmas eve we were pulled out of bed eleven times on account of air raids. The Boche did their best to put one over on us, but we fooled them. I’ll never forget those raids. First you would hear the guns barking in the distance. Then the bark would get nearer and nearer. Next the twins would let out their war cry. Finally the Lieut. would stick his head in the door with the words, “I want every man to go to the abri at once.” Then would be the hunt in the dark for shoes, tin derby, gas mask, and coat. Then a few bombs. Then the dash for the abri. Then the standing around wondering how long it was going to last. Then another bark from the twins. Then a few more bombs. Then the dying away buzz of the planes. Then the grand return, only to do it all over again a few minutes later. It was a great life. The Field Service sent a wallet to us for a Christmas present. On the inside there is printed in gold letters “Dernier Noël de la Guerre en France.” Translated literally that means, “It is more blessed to give than to receive.” Understand that they were also going to give us some kind of a medal but they weren’t finished in time and that later on they will come through.

GO’WAN DER MR. HOS! DIS COON AINT A G’WAN TO ABDICATE AN DER AINT G’WAN TO BE NONE OF DEM ARMISTICE!

So another Christmas came and another Christmas passed in France. It was a pretty good Christmas at that, but if it’s all the same to all those concerned I’ll take my next at home.

NOW, IN THE FIRST PLACE—IF WE _DO_ GO WITH THE ARMY OF OCCUPATION WE WONT GET HOME FOR—SAY—EIGHT MONTHS—

YES! YOU CRAPE HANGER. AND IN THE _SECOND PLACE_ IF YOU DONT DRY UP YOUR GOING TO GET _CROWNED_!

January 6, 1919.

Dear Mother:

We have slid into the New Year almost without knowing it. We did, however, have a small celebration New Year’s Eve; but as there was no ringing of bells or tooting of horns at midnight, we had nothing to remind us just what this party was all about.

The night before last the French troops in town put on a show. Stage, scenery, and orchestra were very much there, even a spotlight. The acts were mostly singing ones; sad songs, glad songs, and every old kind of a song were dished up. There were also a couple of monologues thrown in for good luck. They talked so fast that I wasn’t able to get what they were all about, but from the laughs and cheers they must have been not only good but spicy. To wind things up, there was a one-act play. There were two women parts, both taken by French soldiers. They were right there with the looks and form divine. I was able to follow the play and as they say at home, it was rather broad.

AH TAKE A CHANCE _DIC DONC_!

J’AI SI FROID MONSIEUR!

SENTINELS GENERAL ORDER N^O 7

TO TALK TO NO ONE EXCEPT IN LINE OF DUTY.

KH DAY 17

Today was qualification card day. An officer sits at a table with a card, that has more questions on it than a questionnaire and shoots question after question at you. You are asked everything, from who your favorite actress is to how old is Ann. One question was, “What branch of the service would you choose, if you had to do it all over again?” Guess everyone answered that question the same: “Anything but this.” After all was said and done, it was still a question of when we would get home.

THERE’S ONE PIPPIN OF A GIRL! WONDER WHAT LINE OF GOODS THIS JOINT CARRIES?

MANY A SALE HAS BEEN MADE THIS WAY IN FRANCE

Went over to Charleville the other day. Same old reason—to get a bath. The bath house was closed, however, there being no water. Going over you came pretty close to collecting on my insurance. We got a ride on a truck, the driver of which would be a wonder as a tank jockey. After missing a few pedestrians, he ended up by trying to do a Brodie off a bridge. Some German prisoners were ahead of us on the bridge, pushing a field range along. There was a space left about big enough for a baby carriage to squeeze by, and “dauntless Harry,” seeing an opening, tried to see if his truck would fit said opening. It didn’t, and the first thing we knew the camion had crashed through the railing and the front wheels were dangling in space. The drop wasn’t a great distance, but if we had taken the fall no doubt we would have been found with the camion resting on the back of our necks.

KIRKLAND

HIS COMING-OUT PARTY

January 20

Dear Mother:

This week has been full of ’most everything from M. P’s. to Colonels.

Today the Inspector-General gave us the once over, only he isn’t a General, just a Colonel. You never saw such a scrubbing, brushing, and general cleaning up, as went on. Our quarters looked like a livery stable when we started in, but at the finish the Board of Health would have presented us with a blue ribbon. Clothes were folded up and placed on bunks, shoes shined to a white heat, faces washed and shaved, nails cleaned, and guns dusted off. At two o’clock the curtain went up. Down to the field we marched where we were to be looked over and to look over. We were all curious to see just what kind of an army bird an Inspector-General was. Judging from majors and colonels we had seen, we expected someone who would scare us out of seven years of life when he asked a question. However, this colonel was O. K. and for once an inspection was almost a pleasure. After being given the up and down we marched back to camp where we fell out to stand by our beds for a barracks inspection. We stood by our beds, on which were laid out all our A. E. F. possessions. Being in the company office, and being company clerk, I expected to have all sorts of questions fired at me in regard to service records, reports, and all that goes to make the life of a clerk anything but a joy. However, I didn’t have to open my mouth.

WHAT YOU SAY BOUT EATING DOWN STREET THIS SOIR? WITH MY PERFECT FRENCH AND YOUR BANK ROLL WE OUGHT TO HAVE SOME MEAL!

?

—NOTE—
NEVER COUNT YOUR CHANGE IN PUBLIC.

THE ROLL

KH DAY 17

THANKS FOR THE INVITATION

DO’NT YOU SEE HIM?

NO I DO’NT SEE HIM NOW—I’M WAITING FOR ’IM TO COME OUT OF HIS DUGOUT

MUST BE A BOCHE COOTIE

The inspector said that the French had spoken very highly of us and our work. In fact the French M. T. C. have said that their American Groupes have done more work, rolled more cars, and kept their camions in better conditions than any French section. That if the French had had the camions that we did, the cars would have been in the junk pile long ago.

Our Groupe commander received the Croix de Guerre last Sunday. He says it’s for the work done by his men at the front when they hauled tanks. It was at the time when Lieutenant Edwards was killed.

I’ve been to Luxembourg. Our Lieutenant gave us his permission and Ford to make the trip. Last Saturday at noon we started out. We got to Luxembourg at seven and three of us went into a hotel to get rooms and see about supper. The other two went out on a hunt for a garage. We got the rooms (you never saw such beds), arranged for supper, and then went out to the corner to wait for the return of the jitney jockeys. We had no sooner started waiting than two M. P.’s (military police) gave us the glad hand. Wanted to know what we were doing and if we had passes.

ABSOLUTELY BLANK

WHEN IT COMES TO WRITING MY MIND IS JUST ABOUT BLANK.

We told them we were waiting for two boys who had gone to stable a flivver and that our pass was with them. That didn’t seem to please the M. P.’s. (They are always hard to please.) They wanted to know just what our business in Luxembourg was and just what kind of a pass we had. We told them we were in Luxembourg for pleasure only, and that our pass was a red auto pass signed by Major Mallet and countersigned by our Lieutenant. That answer didn’t make the M. P.’s feel any more friendly. Instead they told us in no polite terms to come with them. We went!

HALT! WHO GOES THERE?

A RABBIT! LETS SEE YOU CATCH ME!!

GET SOME SALT MR. SENTINEL

KH DAY 17

The three of us were marched to the city hall where our names, number, and A. E. F. address was taken, everything but finger prints. The room where this third degree took place was no doubt the club room of the Luxembourg police, as three or four of them were scattered about the scenery. (Their uniform is good enough for any general, if brass buttons count.) After getting our pedigree, an M. P. picked up a very businesslike looking key and invited us to come with him. We went. We were taken to a six by four cell which was already inhabited by two other law breakers. Just about this time we woke up to the fact that we were arrested and questions came thick and fast. The questions didn’t get us anywhere, so we asked to see an A. P. M. officer. There wasn’t any but at twelve o’clock we could see the sergeant of the guard in another jail. Good night! One hundred and fifty kilometers—to be pinched!

DO’NT I WISH I WERE BACK IN FRANCE!

I BET THEM FRENCH GIRLS HAVE NOTHING ON ME.

HERE COMES A SOLDIER.

I MUST GET ANOTHER LIBERTY BOND TODAY.

I JUST KNOW THE TRNCHES ARE FULL OF WATER.

MUST SEND THOSE SMOKES ACROSS RIGHT AWAY.

I SHALL WRITE JOHN IN REGARD TO LIGHT WINES AND BEER.

WHEN WILL IT END?

I MUST GET A LETTER OFF TO FRANCE TO-DAY.

I HOPE PAPA GETS THE SOCKS I MADE.

WISH I WAS A SOLDIER.

WHAT ARE THEY THINKING ABOUT IN THE STATES?

All the time we were wondering what had become of the other two. In about an hour we heard the door out front open and then heard voices in the club room. It was they! The pass was no good, to be good it needed only a General’s scrawl. The gate opened and in they came.

At twelve o’clock we were pulled out and lined up with the rest of that night’s haul. About twenty of us, I should say. We were then marched to the other side of the river to the railroad station. Through the waiting room and upstairs we were taken. A very heavy door was opened and we were pushed into a room. In this room were gathered the round-up from all the smaller jails. There were about fifty of us, and the room was overflowing. No chairs, bunks or pictures, just a dirty floor and a blank wall. The gathering was a rummage sale.

[Taking a photograph]

About six o’clock the corporal of the guard came in. He looked the room over and asked where the five men were who had the French pass. We spoke up and were told to come with him. We went and were told that our pass was no good, that we could go but would have to leave town at once.

Luxembourg, from what I saw of it, is a wonderful city. Street cars, electric lights, cafés, hotels, stores and at least one good-looking girl, were a few of the things we saw.

No doubt you have noticed that each division has some sort of shoulder insignia. Ours is a yellow trumpet on a green background. It is the coat of arms of the Mallet Reserve. If ever you see on the left sleeve right where it joins the shoulder the yellow trumpet on the green background, you will know that the Mallet Reserve is on its way.

KIRKLAND

WE’RE GETTING THERE! IT’S A CINCH THEY’LL SHIP US ACROSS SOME DAY!

SURE THEY WILL! BUT WHEN?

FINIS

NACH HUNLAND

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTESTypos fixed; non-standard spelling and dialect retained.Retained spelling in the cartoon captions.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

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