Private John Beasley
Is with Army of Occupation. . . Has Quit the Road Building as the 56th
Pioneers Are Now Hiking into Germany
“It is my glorious privilege to be a member of the American
Army of Occupation,” says Private Beasley in a letter dated November 29th.
Prior to the signing of the armistice the 56th
Pioneers were engaged in building roads through a devastated section of France,
but are now on the road to Berlin.
It was Private Beasley’s intention to continue is column of
Sketches in The Journal, but on
account of the scarcity of paper and mail conditions this has been impossible.
However Journal subscribers may look forward to a real story of the Great War,
for on his return John will have remarkable experiences to relate. The
following extract is taken from a letter written September 25th:
Imagine yourself in a dimly lighted “Y” hut, filled with
eager-eyed, khaki-clad lads, listening to a fellow picking a rag-time tune on a
piano and you will have a fair picture of how I am spending the evening. If,
however, the picture is too illuminating, remember that the soldier’s life is
not by any means occupied with “Y” huts, music and musings. From dawn to dark
the members of the American Expeditionary Force are put through a severe course
of training and by ‘rest time’ in the evening they are rightly in the humor,
and in need of, the entertainment that the Y.M.C.A. offers. In this connection
let me urge upon you the necessity of supporting the coming Y.M.C.A. campaign.
Their work means so much to the soldiers that one is justified in asserting
that without its aid there could be no war—at least no victory.
Four thousand miles from home—and in France! In these times
of stirring events, when precedents and records of long years’ standing are
broken each day, this statement makes little impression upon those at home, but
to the boys over here it seems larger than the distance from the equator to the
rubicon. If you marvel at the exploits of the Americans on the front you could
understand if you only knew how eager we all are to get back to the States. We
all know that the quickest way home is through the German lines.
A railway journey through part of France is full of interest
even if accompanied with numerous discomforts. Troops, you know, ride in
freight cars. A French freight car is about half the size of an American car,
and the old-time hoboes, if any of the species exist around home, would be
surprised to learn that 32 soldiers ride in a car! On the boat trip over I
heard a sailor who had succumbed to the appeal of the navy poster exclaim:
“Seeing the world through a port hole!” Well, might I add, “Seeing France
through a freight car door.”
French citizens lack the American hustle and spirit. The
people seem to have concluded about 50 years ago that they had done their best,
and have since refused to respond to the lure of progress. In the rural
district, one is surprised to find, France leads. The roads of France, despite
having suffered for lack of repairs for four years, are ideal. In fact, I
haven’t seen a bad road yet.”
The following letter was written November 29th.
Fathers and mothers who have sons in this organization will be interested in
locating them:
“Athus, Belgium, Nov. 29—The war is over—for some—but not
for me, and peace—personally and selfishly speaking—will have little
significance to me until I am once more safely back home. This is the literal
truth. I am so accustomed to hardships that I believe I could endure any amount
of physical suffering. It is my glorious privilege to be a member of the
American Army of Occupation. Shortly after the signing of the armistice we were
relieved of our tedious railroad work and started on the long march—days of
hiking—to the evacuated territory, for four long years held by the Germans. At
this time we are billeted in Athus, Belgium—a little town just across the
French line. The German border is not far away, and one is led to believe that
the Rhine river is our destination. Luxemburg is about 17 miles from here. It
is probably on one of the maps you have, and by referring to one of them you
can get our position.
To get away from the railroad work was quite a relief.
Really, I firmly believe that two or three more weeks of that monotonous work
would have driven me insane. You know how irksome routine work is to me, and
you will probably concur with me in this statement when you learn that we
worked from sunup to dark in all kinds of weather. Then, to cap the climax, we
went to a miserable bed in a little canvas tent, just large enough for one to
crawl in. We were working in a devastated part of France—in a section dotted
with the ruins of fair cities—no civilians, and nothing bearing a semblance of
civilization. Mail very seldom went out, and it was impossible for me to write
often.
It is changed now. This part of Belgium in some miraculous
manner, was spared by the Huns. The people, naturally, have suffered much
during their four years of slavery, but the Belgians, like the French, are a pleasure-loving
people. They are making our stay quite agreeable, and we spend pleasant
evenings in their little cafes.
Yesterday Thanksgiving services were held in a Catholic
church here for our regiment. The service was beautiful and impressive.
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