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Wednesday, October 24, 2018

Letters From France to Mount Airy, N.C., 1918

“Letters of Interest from Our Soldiers,” from the Mount Airy News, Oct. 24, 1918

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.


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