THIS
MAN'S WAR
by
Charles F. Minder
306th Machine Gun Battalion
Company B
APRIL
DEAR MOTHER, Friday, April 12, 1918
It is nine o'clock and we are on a train, having just
passed New Rochelle, and are headed north, where to, we
do not know, except that we are now on the way to France.
We came over the Hell Gate Bridge. That was a wonderful
thrill. New York looked great, even though it was dark
and you couldn't see very far. New York sure made me
wonder whether I would ever see it again. The fellows are
all singing, Some are playing cards and you would think
they were going off on a picnic to have a good time. I
wish I could be so light-hearted. Poor fellows, they
might as well be as happy as they can, for it will not be
long before they will realize that this is a serious
mission we are going on. As bad as the food was at the
barrack, I missed it tonight on the train, because all we
got was some cold salmon out of cans and some bread and
butter. We stopped for a little while somewhere in
Westchester and some Red Cross women served us hot
coffee. This was a lifesaver as we were cold.
We had our first experience in eating out of our mess
kits. They are made out of aluminum and, after we are
thru eating, we all have to clean them ourselves. This
automatically wipes out the Kitchen Police detail from
now on.
At two-fifteen this afternoon, we lined up outside, said good-bye to the
good old barrack, and the whole Battalion marched off to the station and
got on the train. There was something about that march that gave me a
thrill. It made me feel like a conquering hero. I guess it's the
comradeship with the men that makes you feel that way. We whistled and
sang the popular war songs all the way, and some of the fellows haven't
stopped yet. The Sergeant just told me that I go on guard duty at eleven
and stay on until one. All the corporals have to stand on the platform
of the train and see that no private jumps off, or tries to desert. The
privates have it easy tonight. I don't think there is going to be any
comfortable sleeping tonight. We are in coaches and all have to sit up.
It's pretty tough trying to sleep that way unless you are
dead tired, and when you wake up, your bones are stiff
from the uncomfortable position.
Some of the
fellows think they are taking us up to Canada to get on a
boat there, to avoid the submarines. But I don't see how
that is possible because we are going in the direction of
New England. Good night, Mom Dear, all my love to you and
Mousie.
Affectionately,
CHARLES.
Saturday, April 13, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
We are now on a steamer called the Karoa, an English
ship, with a crew of Malays and natives from India.
There are fully two thousand men on board and it is too
big a crowd for the size of the ship. There are only
twelve showers on board the whole ship and bathing is
impossible. The whole 306th Machine Gun Battalion,
Headquarters and Medical Corps, are on board, also all of
E Company of the 306th Infantry, with their Headquarters
Company, Regimental Headquarters and Supply Companies. It
is some crowd! I was relieved at one this morning after
being on guard for two hours. Most of the fellows were
sound asleep and snoring as terribly as ever. The noise
of the train drowned them out, however. I slept then
until six this morning.
At seven, we arrived at Boston, and immediately detrained
and were marched to the Cunard docks. We had a long wait
on the dock, for it wasn't until two o'clock that we
boarded the boat. The fellows were all ravenously hungry
and ate too much of the meal that the English cooks on
the ship served us.
The crew of this ship are very interesting to watch, but
they are a dirty lot. I don't think they ever bathe. At
five o'clock we put off to sea. It's ten o'clock now, and
I guess we must be about a hundred miles off the coast
somewhere. All the lights on the ship are out. No one is
allowed on deck. They are afraid we might be seen by a
submarine and sunk, so they are not taking any chances.
Well, Mom, I feel I am in the Navy tonight. I have my
hammock all ready to hook up and have been waiting until
things kind of settle down so that I can get to sleep. I
feel all right, not seasick yet. I think the five years
of motor boating I did on Long Island Sound did me a lot
of good because I have good sea legs.
It's a shame
the way we are herded in here. Why, it's worse than the
cattle-pens! I hope this is a fast boat and we get over
quickly because this is going to be terrible. Well,
Mother Dear, I would give anything 'in the world to be
home with you right now.
Your soldier sailor boy,
CHARLES.
Sunday, April 14, 1918
DEAR Mom,
We were awakened at seven this morning. I was dead tired
because I had such difficulty in falling asleep last
night. It must have been between two and three in the
morning when I finally dozed off. My mind was wandering
something terrible. I've had a dull headache all day and
feel seasick.
We had a little
excitement this afternoon about five o'clock. The boat
suddenly stopped and everyone went to the rail to see
what was the matter. A hydroplane was drifting helplessly
on our starboard side and there were two aviators in it.
One was standing out on the wing waving frantically. When
he saw the ship stop, I can just imagine his feelings. In
a short time it would have become dark and they would
probably have drifted out to sea. They sure were lucky
that our ship came along when it did. They were from the
fort at Rockaway and their machine had broken down. They
drifted alongside and a derrick was lowered to them arid
they hooked the plane and hoisted it up on deck.
We were all
surprised tonight to see the electrically illuminated
ferris wheel at Coney Island. I stayed up until we
dropped the anchor. We are somewhere in New York Bay,
back to where we started from. Why we took that long ride
last night to Boston on the train is beyond me. What a
waste of time and expense! But that's the way they do
things in the Army. A submarine chaser came alongside,
and we lowered the hydroplane and the aviators down to
the water and they towed it away.
Yours, as ever,
CHARLES.
Monday, April 15, 1918
DEAR MOM,
We are still anchored in New York harbor. What a
temptation to Jump overboard and swim home to you today!
We loafed practically the whole day, with the exception
of a half-hour physical culture drill up on the deck
where the officers are. The soldiers are all down below
and are not allowed to go up with the officers. They have
a wonderful deck to promenade on up there. All we can do
is to walk around the hatches on the front and rear
decks. They also made us stand for a physical
examination. This broke up the day's monotony. There are
a number of other ships anchored here in the harbor and I
think they are part of the convoy that we go over in.
We saw a huge dirigible balloon flying over Staten Island
this afternoon and it sure did look pretty in the
sunshine. They say that the balloon crew can see far out
over the ocean to protect us from submarines. The fellows
are getting used to the crowded quarters and there were
fewer complaints today. The men seem to be in a better
state of mind since the sun came out again.
The food on board is terrible. We have a couple of
cockney Englishmen cooking for us, and it's a shame that
they get away with it, because they cannot cook decently
at all. The coffee is served from a big garbage can.
There probably never was any garbage in it but when you
see them dip the coffee out of it, your stomach turns
just the same. The smoking order has been changed. We are
allowed to smoke below decks now, but under no
circumstances must a light be seen on deck after five
o'clock.
Today, the fellows got their cards out and are gambling
furiously.
One fellow in the company who is a nut on keeping track
of things reminded us that tonight, six years ago, the
Titanic sunk on her maiden trip, fifteen hundred and
eight people out of the two thousand two hundred and
twenty-three passengers drowning. Some of the more
sensitive fellows shouted to throw the crape-hanger
overboard. It isn't a very pleasant subject to bring up
when everyone on board is worried about being sunk by a
torpedo from a German submarine. I slept pretty good last
night, Mother Dear. The ham-mock wasn't so bad after all.
It is beckoning me now so will end this and add some more
tomorrow.
Your homesick
CHARLES.
Tuesday, April 16, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
We left this morning at a quarter of eleven with fourteen
other ships. The Karoa is the flagship of the convoy. We
have Brigadier General Wettenmeyer on board with us. This
morning we lost another officer from our company. He was
ill with appendicitis when we left Camp Upton but
pluckily came along just the same. It was more than he
could stand, so the submarine chaser NO. 425 took
Lieutenant Nachazel and a few sick privates off the ship
and took them over to New York, I guess. Lucky fellows, I
call them.
We had another physical culture drill up on the officers'
deck and another physical inspection. The officers sure
have it wonderful up there. They have a nice dining-room
and private staterooms, while we soldiers are worse off
than steerage passengers. The animals on cattle boats
have better quarters than we. When I walk past the place
where they are cooking the food for the officers, my
mouth waters. This afternoon I saw about fifty chickens
all laid out ready to go into an oven. They had them
tonight. We had beef stew, mostly flour and water to
thicken it. I didn't eat much of it because I didn't like
it, and, furthermore, I do not want to overload my
stomach, because that is what makes you seasick. Well, I
guess you must know by now that we left Camp Upton
because you didn't get any letter from me for three or
four days.
CHARLES.
DEAR Mom, Wednesday, April 17, 1918
The sea was just a little choppy but nobody is sea-sick
as yet. No one has been since that terrible first night
on board. The 306th Infantry band was playing for a while
today and it sure was great. It was just what we needed
to chase the blues away. We had some more calisthenics
and physical inspection today and loafed the rest of the
time.
The steamer Philadelphia, on our starboard, almost
collided with us tonight, coming within one hundred and
fifty feet of us. The Captain of our ship put up the
starboard light for a moment and the Philadelphia headed
off again in a different direction. These fourteen ships
in our convoy keep pretty close together, and how they
avoid hitting each other is beyond me. At night, you
can't see the other ships at all, and this morning when
we awoke, even tho it was foggy, they managed to keep
together. I hope this keeps up all the way across or
we'll be bumping into one an-other.
The moon and stars are out tonight and it looks promising
for some good weather. I was up on deck tonight, looking
up at them and wished I was living on another planet
instead of on this mad world. I was swinging a little
last night in my hammock and fell asleep while dreaming
of you, Mother Dear.
Your
CHARLES.
Friday, April 19, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
The weather was good and bad today, mostly bad. We had
another boat drill today and the usual physical culture
drill and physical inspection. Nobody is sick as yet. The
Karoa is riding the waves very good tonight, and the sea
is a little calmer than it was this afternoon. It is just
a week tonight that we left Camp Upton and it seems like
a year. How quickly the time passes! We have all been
thru something this past week and the worst is yet to
come, I think. The ships in the convoy are all staying
together nicely and nothing exciting happened today.
The officers
had a wonderful looking lot of fish to eat tonight. I saw
them as I walked past their kitchen today. They opened a
lot of cans of salmon for us, heated it, and poured a lot
of thick creamy gravy over it. We were hungry and it
tasted good. They served us some rotten English tea
tonight and the fellows let out a yell. They want coffee,
even though it is served out of a garbage can. Sleepy now
so will climb into my hammock. I have a nice quiet spot
all by myself over in one corner.
CHARLES.
DEAR MOTHER, Saturday, April 20, 1918
We shoved the clock fifty minutes ahead today, according
to the ship's clock. A sailor strikes the bell every
half-hour so that's the way we tell. There is a sailor up
in the lookout on the front mast all the time looking out
over the ocean, and if he sees anything that looks
suspicious and might be a submarine, he gives the alarm.
One little
Italian fellow in our company turned actually yellow
today. He is terribly seasick. The surprising part is
that we haven't had any big waves as yet. I'll never
forget the big waves we ran into the time we all went
over to Germany when I was a little boy. At that time, I
thought sure the waves would go right over the ship. I
still remember that we were all ordered below decks for
two days. Do you remember? It was very windy, cloudy and
cold today, which made it very unpleasant. I think I will
sleep with all my clothes on tonight.
Good night, Mom Dear,
CHARLES.
Monday, April 22, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
Tonight we entered the danger zone and everybody is on
edge. We are getting near to the coast of Europe and the
German submarines are in this vicinity. The moon is
shining brightly and the ships are easily
distinguishable, and we make excellent targets for the
enemy to shoot at. I can see all the other ships in the
convoy tonight and it is a very pretty picture. The
farthest one is about two miles away on our port side. I
wonder how many men there are on the other ships! They
are all larger boats. The one we are on is just a little
freight ship. The two thousand men crowd it something
awful.
It's wonderful, when you think of it, how we are getting
all our soldiers to the other side. The Germans never
thought that we would be able to. There are almost a
million of us in France now and more coming. When the
Germans see this crowd, they are going to drop dead, I
think. There aren't so many of them left, you know. I
read that they are putting all the kids in the Army as
soon as they reach eighteen. Isn't it awful when you
think of it? Just think of all the widows there are going
to be after the war is over!
At three o'clock all the non-coms were assembled and we
had an hour of school and examination on almost
everything we have already learned. It's surprising how
quickly you can forget. All of us were rusty and the
Lieutenant made a remark to the effect that we must do
better than that if we want to hold our jobs. I'm still
acting corporal, haven't received any chevrons as yet,
and am getting the pay of a first-class private only. I'm
working cheaply for Uncle Sam. He has lots of expenses,
at the moment, so I don't mind, and will help him along a
little. I can't ask him for a raise as I would do in
civil life.
The gamblers are still playing poker, black-jack, and
banker and broker. This boat is another Yukon gambling
dive. The smoke is thick from the fellows smoking and the
gamblers wager recklessly. The fellow who has been
winning so consistently added another hundred and ten
dollars to his winnings and now is four hundred and ten
dollars to the good. He would have to be in the army for
over a year to earn what he has in the last week. Well,
Mom, that's about all for today.
Love to you both,
CHARLES.
Thursday, April 25, 1918
DEAR MOM,
We had some calisthenics this morning, and it did us a
great deal of good. We did double-time, running on one
spot. This kept up for about fifteen minutes, so I guess
we ran about two miles, jumping up and down on the one
spot.
One of the fellows from upstate, a healthy red-cheeked
fellow, by the name of Anderson, rebelled today. He has
been complaining about the food a lot. He became so mad
that he threw his whole mess kit full of food on the
floor. The Top-Sergeant came along and saw it and told
him to clean it up. Anderson refused, saying it wasn't
fit for dogs, and so forth. The Top-Sergeant left and
shortly came back with the Captain of our company.
Everybody stood at attention while he bawled us out,
telling Anderson that it was downright mutiny to carry on
in that way, and that he could be court-martialed for it.
Anderson told the Captain that if he could get the same
food that they were feeding the officers, there would be
no mutiny. Evidently Anderson has been walking past the
officers' kitchen, where I have been strolling each day.
I saw pies) puddings and steaks, and I told you about the
fifty chickens I saw.
The Captain was stumped and couldn't answer for about a
half a minute. He is fair and square, and down in his
heart, he knew about the different quality of food the
men were getting in comparison to the officers. He made
Anderson clean up the mess and left. Tonight there was a
great difference in our meal, the best we have had since
we got on the ship. The cooks went thru a little more
trouble and made a farina pudding for us just smothered
with a nice vanilla sauce. This is the first dessert we
have had on this ship. I am beginning to think that we
have been entitled to dessert at every meal, but somebody
has been holding back on us. We had a nice piece of roast
meat tonight. Up to now, I guess they have been cutting
it up and dumping it into a big pot and just making a
rotten stew out of it. Slum is the name the fellows give
it.
Anderson was all smiles tonight. The fellows were all
kidding him and thanking him for having put up the kick.
No one else had the nerve to do it. I wish he would have
started to boil ten days ago and all the rotten meals we
had would have been avoided. Now we are almost over. It
pays to kick sometimes. Well, Mom Dear, guess that's all
for tonight, will add some more tomorrow.
CHARLES.
Friday, April 26, 1918
DEAR MOTHER)
The sun came out in all its glory today, and life was
worth living again. I had a wonderful sunbath this
afternoon and kind of dried myself. Four more destroyers
joined our convoy this morning, and we are sailing
merrily along and have plenty of protection now. I don't
think any German submarine will come near us. We still
have our life preservers on and haven't got used to them
yet; I don't think I ever would. They took all our
hammocks away from us this morning, and we thought sure
we would land some time today. Here it is ten o'clock,
and we are still on the ocean, and I don't know where we
are going to sleep tonight! The things they do in this
Army! I think they're all crazy. Our packs are all made
up, and it is some job to undo them to get our blankets
out. No one seems to know what to do. If we unpack them,
we might be called in the middle of the night to get off
the boat. If they would only tell us that we land tonight
sometime, we would know what to do. The officers are well
off. It makes no difference to them, because they have
private staterooms and bunks in each one of them. There
is much more room down below now that they took the
hammocks from us, and it will be easier to get out in
case of accident.
This afternoon I went up to the front of the ship and
looked down at the water and two great big fish were
racing along with the ship. They must have been at least
five feet long and looked like sharks to me. I became
dizzy, looking down at them, and continued on my walking
trip back and forth. An hour later I took another look
and they were still there racing along with us. The
fellows are still playing cards and only stop long enough
to eat and sleep. I see a bundle of bags over in the
corner and am going to lie down on them and get a little
rest.
Good night,
CHARLES.
Saturday, April 27, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
Well, we got over safe and sound. The funny part of it is
that we are in the harbor outside of Liverpool, in
England. I thought we were going to France and what we
are doing way up here is beyond me. It is now twelve. We
dropped anchor twenty minutes ago and it looks like we
stay here for the night. Our packs are still made up, and
I wish they would have let us keep our hammocks so we
could sleep decently.
I had a terrible time for sleep last night. I was up a
number of times. The fellows were sprawled around
everywhere on the hard floor, using their packs for
pillows. Some were sitting on the benches at the mess
tables with their heads on the table fast asleep. There
were four others with me trying to sleep on the bundle of
bags. We froze all night. At six o'clock this morning I
went up on deck and we were still out on the ocean. We
had a physical culture drill this morning. The fellows
were half dead from the terrible night. Then we had
another physical examination.
This afternoon we lined up and signed the pay-roll. I
guess our next pay will be in foreign money. We had the
first sight of land this afternoon at three-thirty. How
the fellows shouted! Everybody was up on deck. Surely the
joy of Columbus, when he saw land, had nothing on us. It
was the Holly Head of Wales that we saw. It was just a
mass of rocks and looked like Gibraltar. It was spotted
with white houses on the orange and purple rocks. It was
a wonderful sight with the Philadelphia on our starboard
side silhouetted against the mass. The water is called
the Irish Sea, and it is well named, for it has a
wonderful green color, a light Zinnobar Green. At night
it turned to a more milky green. We saw no more land
after passing that point until we dropped anchor. We can
see the lights of Liverpool very dimly. The boat is
steady now and I am glad the trip is over. We changed the
time forty-five minutes today, making a total of four and
a quarter hours difference from New York time.
The coolie crew brought out some musical instruments
tonight and played some weird music. They cook their own
food in the stern of the ship and it sure does smell
terrible. I don't know how they can eat that kind of
food. The smell is enough to knock you over. On this trip
they walked about, doing their work barelegged with just
a white sheet around their bodies. The soldiers were all
bundled up in overcoats and freeking, and these devils
didn't seem to mind the cold at all. The English officers
of the boat shout at them something terrible. They all
speak the India tongue, and it sure is a strange sounding
language. I guess it's the bundle of bags over in the
corner for me again. Why they ever took those hammocks
away from us, I don't understand. Well, Mom, guess I will
close this one and perhaps will get a chance to mail it
tomorrow.
CHARLES.
Sunday, April 28, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
It's eleven-thirty, and we are on an English train
somewhere in England going South. We stopped at a town
called Rugby for fifteen minutes at eleven o'clock and
some English Red Cross women gave us all some hot coffee.
It was a life-saver. We are on a train that has five
compartments, holding eight men in each. The doors are on
the side of the train, not at the end, like the American
trains are. Quite a novelty these trains. This morning,
when I went up on deck after another restless night, our
ship was away up on the Mersey River, having moved up
during the night as the tide rose. All morning we worked,
helping in bringing all our supplies out of the hold and
placing them on deck. About two o'clock a tug pulled us
over to the shore, and we all got off. It did feel good
to get on land again.
We were fifteen days on the Karoa. The harbor was very
picturesque and interesting. I wish this was a pleasure
trip so I could go sightseeing. The dock was fenced in
all around and we could see nothing of the town. I was
disappointed.
At a quarter to seven this evening, after waiting around
on the dock all afternoon, we boarded this train and soon
after started on our way. The scenery on the way was
beautiful, everything was in bloom. A wonderfully kept
hedge is on both sides of the railroad tracks all the
way. I swear it must be hundreds of miles long, because
we have been riding for almost five hours and the hedge
is still here. And what a difference between this and our
railroads in America! This is scrupulously clean. There
is no junk alongside the tracks in this country. I think
I would like to live over here just for the pretty
scenery. We also stopped at a place called Creve for a
few minutes at nine o'clock. The train is shaking too
much for writing, so will close, Mother Dear, and hope I
get a chance to mail this soon. These seats are soft, so
it won't be so bad sleeping, but it will have to be
sitting up. Will add more to this tomorrow.
CHARLES.
Monday, April 29, 1918
DEAR MOM,
At four-thirty this morning, we were awakened by a great
deal of noise and shouting. The English conductors of the
train were shouting, "Change!" Over in the
States, they holler, "All Out! Last Stop!" So
we changed. We were lined up, counted off, and started to
march over cobblestones. These cobbles must have been on
these streets for hundreds of years. It was very
interesting marching through the city so early in the
morning. Everybody was still asleep. So there was no
cheering like we got when we paraded on Fifth Avenue in
New York. We finally ended up at a rest camp in the city
of Folkestone.
We are billeting in mansions sacrificed by rich people
for the soldiers. The Birchfield Mansion is directly
opposite us and is crowded with doughboys. This
Birchfield must be some English Duke or something from
the appearance of his home. There are ten of us in the
room I am in. Straw mattresses are on the floor. We each
have two blankets and I had a wonderful sleep all
afternoon.
This morning after giving us a good breakfast, we were
told we could visit the town if we wanted to from nine
until eleven. We are enclosed by a six-foot fence al
around. As sleepy as we were, all took advantage of the
two hours of freedom, and we passed out thru the gate and
walked around the town. It was great. What a wonderful
little city! I hope to go back here some day and do some
sketching. The buildings are all low and old. A wonderful
quaint town it is. The English people were all very
polite and kind. They sure are glad to see the
"Sammies," as they called us.
We had a lot of
fun in the stores buying things. The money is different.
When we asked how much something cost, they would answer,
"Tuppence ha'penny" and "Shilling
thripence," or something like that. All the soldiers
were bewildered and wanted to know what that was in
American money. I have a bunch of English coins now that
I got in change when I gave them my American money, which
they took gladly. I don't, know exactly what I have now,
and I can just imagine how foreigners must feel when they
come to the United States.
This city was bombed from the sky recently. A German
zeppelin came over one night and dropped bombs on it. You
should see some of the houses. One of them was completely
cut in half, as if you had taken a knife and sliced it
off. Some of the houses were altogether smashed away,
nothing left but huge piles of stones. Many people were
killed and injured. That's another thing I can't
understand, why they have to come over a city like this
and drop bombs on the women and children? There are no
soldiers here. Why don't they do their fighting at the
front? Killing these poor civilians won't get them
anywhere. The world is mad, Mother. All the lights go out
at nine in this town. The windows are all draped with
black cloth. There are a number of searchlights off in
the distance tonight illuminating the sky. They are
searching for enemy aircraft. I saw my first sight of the
battle front tonight across the Channel. The Tommy told
me that it was Ypres that we were looking at. Even though
it is about thirty miles away, I heard the faint sound of
artillery firing and saw the flashes of the guns over
here in Folkestone. Mind you, across the Channel from
France! We are pretty close to it now. Well, Mother Dear,
I guess I'm in for it now. I will close this long letter
and mail it to you in the morning. Good night, God bless
you. All my love to you and Mousie. How I wish I were
with you!
Affectionately,
CHARLES
DEAR MOTHER, Tuesday, April 30, 1918
You'll get a surprise when you get this letter. We are
now in a rest camp sixty miles behind the front-line
trenches on the north coast of France. We can hear the
bombarding going on all the time. Tonight, we can see the
flashes of the artillery very plainly. It is all so very
interesting. I don't know where to start. It is just like
I read about, but when I used to read the war stories a
couple of years ago, I never thought that some day I
would be in it. And here I am now, a soldier, and I guess
there will be just as much adventure ahead of me as the
other soldiers went thru who have gone on ahead.
On our right is a camp of Chinese coolies. They sleep in
tents and are boarded in by a large fence. They are
playing strange music over there, and it sure does sound
as if we were somewhere in China. There are all kinds of
soldiers in this camp, English Tommies, Canadians,
French, and some negro troops from Morocco. Gee, but it's
interesting! Lots of activity around here, too. Supplies
are piled high. Everybody rushes around real businesslike
and it sure does look like war.
I saw a bunch of German prisoners working over at the
railroad station. They looked at us American soldiers
with surprise. We seemed to interest them a lot. I guess
we must have been the first American soldiers they saw.
Their expressions seemed to ask, "Where did they
come from?" They have always thought, no doubt, that
their submarines would keep us away from Europe.
I must tell you about how we got here today. I woke this
morning at seven, after having ten hours of good solid
sleep and felt bully after it. We all packed up and
marched away from the Folkestone rest camp and marched to
Shorricliffe near by, and left there on a train at
ten-thirty-five. The crowds along the way cheered us and
made us feel good. They shouted, "Good luck,
Sammies!" Some of the young children hollered after
us, "Give 'em. 'ell, Sammies!" They don't sound
their h's' and it sure does sound funny to our ears. It
made us laugh.
My impression of England was nothing but women, children
and old men. The young men and middle-aged ones must
either be at the front or have been killed off already.
We had a nice ride on the train and arrived at Dover at
one-thirty. They gave us a quick bite, and at two-twenty,
they put us on boats and we left England. The trip across
the Channel was quite rough and a couple of the boys
almost got sick again.
We arrived at Calais on the northern coast of France at
three-forty. It only took an hour and ten minutes to
cross and at exactly four-thirty-five, I stepped on
French soil. What a thrill it was! We all feel like
veterans and we haven't seen any action as yet. The
French people cheered us with great enthusiasm. They feel
that we are going to help them win the war, I guess. I
saw lots of women with tears streaming down their faces
and shouting, "Viva la' Merick!' and a lot of other
things in French. I wished I understood French. It was
very touching.
The crowd consisted mostly of women and children. The few
men whom I saw were old and feeble. They had wonderful
smiles on their faces, these old birds. It made you feel
like a conquering hero, and we all marched on with chins
high and chests up. After a short march through the town,
we got to this rest camp and we are in barracks with bags
full of straw for mattresses to sleep on the floor. We
are going to stay here for a few days, the Lieutenant
told us, to recuperate from the ocean trip.
There are dozens of aeroplanes flying overhead all the
time. They are real military fighting planes with the
insignias on the bottom of them. How I looked up at them
and envied them! I tried so hard to get into the Aviation
Corps back in the States, but had no luck. I don't know
whether I'm better off in this Suicide Club or not.
The English soldiers and the Canadians are all very
congenial fellows and it is interesting to listen to the
Tommies talk. There are French girls here in the Camp.
They attend to the handing out of food and do the
cleaning over where we eat. Tonight, they gave us a
ticket. We get on line with our mess-kits, hand in the
ticket, and they fill it up with food. These checks are
counted, I understand, and the bill for each meal is paid
by Uncle Sam. Lieutenant Krell lectured to us tonight on
hygiene. This I am very much interested in, as I only had
one shower bath on board the ship. I haven't had a decent
bath for almost two weeks. I smile when I think of how I
used to take a bath every morning when I was home. Those
days are over.
They gave us a couple of blankets apiece tonight so I am
looking forward to another night of good sleep. The
Chinks are still playing their flutes or whatever they
are. The moon looks pale and yellow and I feel I am in
China somewhere. That's the impression it gives me.
The planes above us are still humming away as much as
ever. The Tommies told us that the planes are going over
the German lines tonight, dozens of them, to
"strafe" them. Well, I hope they don't fly over
German cities and kill civilians, like they did to the
English people over in Folkestone.
With all my love to you and Mousie. When you write me
again, address it, 306th Machine Gun Battalion Company B,
77th Division, American Expeditionary Forces. I will get
it then., no matter where I am.
From Your soldier boy who misses you,
CHARLES.