Letter from R.A. Davis, son of Mr. Joe Davis, to his Sunday
School teacher, Mr. John A. Martin of Mount Airy.
Somewhere in France
“Eventually in Berlin”
Dear old pardner of
long, long ago,
While glancing over some names, notes, addresses and
unanswered letters today, I was reminded of of you and my promise to write.
I am well and seeing lots of interesting things. You see so
many things one often wonders if he is dreaming.
The French women certainly are to be praised. In factories
and everywhere they have taken the place of men. The poor class wear wooden
shoes. The French work their horses in front of each other, single file carts
are used, very seldom one sees a wagon. I am catching on to this French “Lingo”
pretty good. Some of the words are pronounced exactly opposite from the way
they are spelt.
Never will I forget our old Sunday School class nor our
Teacher. Those were the days. I found more real genuine enjoyment during that
period of my life than I ever have before or since. I have often wondered if it
wasn’t the same with the remainder of the boys, my class mates. In imagination
I still see the old Baptist Church, the organ, the two large stoves, Preacher
Smith, Mark Dean with his high standing collar blowing the horn.
Once you gave me a book. The Ghost House, for regular
attendance to Sunday School for six months Those pictures, too! I will never
forget. Such good times we had at the White Sulphur Springs. The games we
played, the boat riding, swings, etc. Last but not least, the good things to
eat. Oh Boy! But wouldn’t I like some of that fried chicken now.
The old class is broken now. All the boys have grown into
men, some are married. Some have probably died doing their bit.
If all have lived close to their mother’s and Sunday School
Teacher’s teachings, the greatest victory of all battles will be won.
Pardon the writing. I had only 10 minutes to write this.
-=-
Letter from Sergt. Eugene Riddle now in France to Rev. C.C.
Haymore.
Dear Mr. Haymore:
I have been thinking for some time that I would write to you
but have been so busy that I have put it off until now. I know you will be glad
to hear from the boys over here. Most of the boys are getting along all right.
Since we were transferred to different outfits, we do not get to see each other
often, but I hear from most of them once in a while and they seem to be doing
well. I think that ost of them have been in the front lines by now, and I have
not heard of one of them being injured. I have just returned from the lines
myself and without a scratch. I think that is a great thing to be able to say.
Mr. Haymore I thank you for the good advice that you gave me in the past, and I
have the little book you have me and reading it is a great past time.
-=-
Extracts from two letters from Sgt. William Graves to his
father S.P. Graves of Mount Airy
American Expeditionary
Forces
Sept. 23rd,
1918
Dear Mother and
Father:
After about two months in the mud of Flanders, in “poor
little Bilgium” where we had “beaucoup” shells and several bombings, we have
had a so-called rest for two weeks.
Now we are back in the thick of it again, and after arriving
in this village called ------ last evening, we were greeted this morning just
at daylight with about 10 r 12 shells. They were all close by, shrapnels, and
burst over the village; some of it rattled on the roof, but no damage was
done—that is to say no one was killed or wounded.
To do material damage would be impossible for it is
literally true when I say there is not a whole house standing in the town.
I saw desolation and destruction in Belgium; it was as
nothing compared with the country I came through yesterday. For miles and miles
not a house standing, cities and towns leveled to the ground, fields literally
honey-combed with dug-outs and old trenches, trees large and small, practically
all dead, some of them twisted off by shells, others had been killed by the
Huns by hacking about the trunks; other vegetation had been injured by gas.
Barbed wire entanglements there were for miles. Along the roadside were crosses
innumerable which marked the graves of friends and Huns alike, with here and
there a Boche helmet stuck on an old rifle barrel which served as a cross.
It is all very terrible to write about, yet what I saw
yesterday and this morning so fills my mind that I have to write of that which I
saw or nothing.
This morning I walked to the church here; it had been struck
by a shell but the interior was not badly damaged. Of course the roof was badly
shattered; tile roofs do not stand shell fire very well. In the church yard one
could easily discern the work of the Hun. Tombstones overturned and many of the
mausoleums broken open, the tops torn from the caskets and the bodies exposed.
In this village all the wells, save two, were filled with
manure and old empty cans; mines were left everywhere and diabolical tramps of
every kind. An innocent looking piece of piping in the building we are in was
the trigger of a mine. Only last night a transport company while picketing the
horses set off a mine and—well out of five, three were killed outright. I
haven’t heard from the other two.
To exaggerate a description of the destruction and work of
demolition would be impossible. Dante’s Inferno would be a puny description of
some of the places I have seen.
* * * * I am well and am taking as good care of my health as
conditions permit; just at present I am sleeping in a cellar, a pretty
comfortable place. I usually manage a bath and get my clothes washed, it looks
as though I’ve got to do a week’s washing however this week. * * *
Sept. 27
Dearest Mother:
This is to be just a note for we are awfully busy just now.
I wrote a letter to you and father, jointly, about three
nights ago, I fear it sounded rather dismal and depressing—that’s why I am
hastening to write you again so that I may correct any suggestions of
depression my letter might have created in your minds. It was hastily, crudely
written; I was so impressed by the ruin and desolation I had seen all day that
it dominated my thoughts.
We are “carryin on” now in dead earnestness; our fellows are
doing splendidly and all the war news is good.
My work is difficult but less difficult as I learn more of
it I’ve never told you, I believe, that our Ordinance and Quartermaster branches
are consolidated in the area I am now in, and have been in. I am in charg e of
the Quartermaster group. I say it keeps me busy, but there are some good,
congenial fellows in the bunch, and when we have a bit of time off things are
very pleasant. Then there’s the excitement of the thing which keeps us all
going. Since we have been here we have had to be double careful about lights. Every night Jerry over dropping his
bombs; he hasn’t put one in the ruined village we are in since we got here. He
has spent most of his evenings bombing an ammunition dump about a mile away. He
was shelling the place this afternoon.
On the railway about one mile off (as I write) a big Naval
gun is letting the Hun have tremendous shells with great regularity.
We are whipping them and Germany will soon be howling for
peace, but no one who has seen the country, cities, towns and people I have
seen will wish to enter into any peace negotiations with her until she has
tasted some of her own medicine. I hope the allies will adopt the policy of a
town for a town. Unless they do so, Germany, seeing she is beaten, will
devastate Northern France, demolish cities, destroy industrial plants and
economically ruin France. With French industries crippled, her own factories
and towns intact, she will be able to resume her manufacturing long before
France can hope to make more than a start. But I digress terribly. * * * * *
I am well and going on well to use the formulae of the
‘British Field Post Cards which you received from me.
With the prayer that you are all well, and with love for you
every one.
-=-
Letter from Albert S. Allred to his sister, Mrs. R.S. Cox,
Mount Airy, N.C.
My dear Sister:
I feel ashamed to write you now as it has been so long since
I wrote you but don’t feel bad, because I have so much to think of and do I
can’t write every time I want to. I suppose you know about me any way thru the
home folks. I am getting along fine and am having very good health. The weather
has started to get cold over here now, but not enough to make a fellow put on
more clothes yet. The last letter I had from Nan said she thought that Sam was
on his way over, but thought he would go to Italy. If he would let me hear from
him I would be better satisfied. I have written him several times but he has not
answered any of my letters. I would be glad if you would get his address from
Papa and send it ot me in the next letter. If he is in France and I can locate
him, I might get to see him over here. They say Edd Cox is over here too, and
lots of the other boys that I know, but I have never run up with any of them
yet. If we should ever get back alive we can tell you all a big story. We will
have a meeting I suppose and take a turn about telling what we know.
-=-
Letter from Jesse G. Jarrell to his mother, Mrs. Jennette
Jarrell, of Sutherlin, Va.
On Board Ship
Dear Mother:
I will write you a few lines to let you know that I am well.
This is the 11th day out and you know I am getting anxious to see
land one more time. I want you all to write me often for I always love to hear
from home. Will write more when we land.
No comments:
Post a Comment