Miss Heath Is Now
With 27th at LeBriel, France
LeBriel, France
Jan. 7, 1919
Dear Folks at Home:
I just wish that I could talk with you awhile tonight, for
there are so many things I would like to tell, but fear there is much that I
will be unable to write about for lack of time. Each minute of every day is
absolutely filled and crowded to overflowing with new and interesting
experiences.
The last letter I wrote was sent from Versailles on December
17, then I wrote a card on Xmas night, also a “letterette” on New Year’s night,
all of which I trust are safely on the way across. Many moves have been made
and much has taken place since then, but I am going to do my very best to give
you a fair idea of everything we have done.
Our week in Versailles was a most pleasant one, and yet one
of strain, as we realized that the fatal note of assignment was to be sounded.
Annie Lee and I felt that we had been unusually fortunate to be together all
the while, and cherished fond hopes of at least being sent to the same area,
yet we had become reconciled to being separated, so as not to be too
disappointed. Upon arrival at Versailles, we were much pleased to learn that we
did have the privilege of saying with whom we wished to work. Yu remember that
I have heretofore mentioned the fact of a Miss McDavid of South Carolina being
one of our party—well, she complicated our plans to a large degree, as she
arrived a day earlier than we, and had asked to work with us.
During the mornings, we were busy getting our baggage all
ready, in anticipation, and put in the time storing wardrobe trunk—every
afternoon at 3 we had to attend conference, held in a huge banquet hall at the
Reservoirs Hotel, overlooking the Versailles gardens. Here we received our
final lectures and instructions, and on Friday afternoon, assignments were
read. There were 350 girls and women there, and you may imagine that each and
everyone was keyed up to a high pitch, and all excitement, when the “sentences”
were pronounced. Friends had been assigned together in every instance, save and
except Annie and me. She was to go to a “Leave Area,” and I was to come to the
LeMans area. As Annie had been in bed for a day or two with a cold, so wasn’t
at the meeting, I immediately rushed over to her room to break the news, and
naturally, we were disappointed and down-hearted, but it didn’t require many
minutes for us to arrive at a conclusion as to what proceedings to take. We
together worded a short message to Mrs. Meade, the chief woman secretary, and,
by the way, the same lady who interviewed us in New York, requesting that
Annie’s assignment be changed. It was impossible to change mine, as my movement
order was already in. We exchanged our passports for what is known as a “Red
Worker’s Card,” then a movement order, coupled with a ticket, is given, before
you can leave Paris—more of the red tape of the A.E.F. The latest date on which
I could leave Paris was Monday, December 23. We anxiously awaited an answer to
the important missive, but none came prior to my departure. We were very glad
that we had been at Versailles, instead of in Paris, for the hotel
accommodations were much better, and after the noises and turmoil of London for
two weeks, we relished the idea of a more soothing atmosphere. Then when we had
a few minutes, we could walk out into the beautiful Versailles gardens, or go
to the Y.M. hut, or see the town, and in other words do as we liked. Then too,
trains ran hourly into Paris, taking only about 40 minutes to go, so all turned
out well. I went to Paris on Thursday morning in order to report at
headquarters, for my movement order, and that happened to be the day the King
of Italy was to be there, so I witnessed all the decorations, saw the crowds,
felt the excitement and hear the stirring music, but had to leave the city
before the actual arrival of his majesty.
Miss Merle Weaver, a “Y” girl, from Dayton, Ohio, was also
assigned to the LeMans area, and her dates were the same as mine, so we made
plans together. All day Sunday, the 22nd, we were doing final
packing and saying goodbye and good luck to all of our friends, who were
leaving at all hours of the day or night for their respective places. We had to
arise that Monday morning at 4 o’clock in order to catch a train going into
Paris early enough to check out with the Military Police at station in Paris,
then take the train for LeMans, which passed right through Versailles—more red
tape The question of baggage over here is the biggest one of all, as there is
no real system to the French custom of checking. If you wish to have your
trunks, you must personally manage their whereabouts. The Y.M. volunteered to
assume the responsibility of sending our trunks with us, nor was Miss Weaver,
so we decided to take same along with us, and literally sat on the trunks in order
to keep them. This was a picture for the funny papers to have cartooned—and to,
our parleying with Frenchmen all along the way was indeed ludicrous in the
extreme. We took it time about in taking charge of the hand baggage and baggage
car trunks. There being no dining cars on these trains, we had forethought
enough to have my thermos bottle filled with hot chocolate and to buy some
cakes at the “Y” canteen, so, in the early morning, in between time of
inquiring as to whether we were in Paris, we had lots of fun eating our French
breakfast. No conductor ever comes around for a ticket here—you only use it to
“sortie,” as they express it here (passport), and many people ride without any
ticket. No station master, who goes along the length of the train on a running
board, and closes the doors, locking then, just prior to blowing a whistle, a
signal for the train to move.
After finally getting into the LeMans train, bag
and baggage, we found ourselves in a compartment with four French officers, one
of whom proved to be an interpreter, attached to the Headquarters Company in
LeMans. He could speak English fluently—was much interested in America and
Americans and told us much of interest about France. We passed through Chartres
and were fortunate to see from the window the famous cathedral, which is much
written about and oftentimes pictured, because of its wonderful architecture.
We arrived at LeMans about noon, and again were met by a Y.M. representative,
who took both us and our baggage in hand. Our grips were deposited at
headquarters and we reported there, after having had dinner at the American
Officers Club. Mrs. Koyle, the woman Secretary of this area, was cordial in her
reception, and we liked her from the first, but were disappointed to learn that
it was impossible to send us out to our station until probably after Xmas day.
At first, I just felt that I could not enjoy the holidays unless I could be
where I could install and use all the decorations, etc., and be real busy
trying to make others happy, but then I was anxious to wait and see if Annie
wouldn’t come down, for I somehow felt she would. I told Mrs. Koyle about Annie
and my anxiety to be with her, and she at once promised to assign us together,
but told me then that we couldn’t go to the 30th Division, as all
the places available there were filled.
Miss Weaver and I spent the afternoon getting our hand
baggage over to Madam Fermes, the home the “Y” very kindly referred us to for
our stay. The Madame and daughter were most hospitable and the daughter could
speak some English, which saved the day for us. We concluded that as we were to
spend Xmas there, we would be as much at home as was possible, so got out the
family pictures, which was about all that we could do. Our room was a typical
French guest room—big fat feather bed, one to sleep on and one to cover
with—all bedecked with draperies, linen sheets and embroidered pillow cases. We
were delighted with our home, and it was much like one would read about in a
story. We had a private side entrance up a stairway, that leads into a flower
and vegetable garden at the rear of the house, then we went into a vestibule,
then into our room, where there was an open fireplace, always laid ready to
light.
Monday night we had supper at the Officers Hotel again, which is under
the auspices of the Y.M. Just as we came outside, five boys spoke to us—they
had just come from a school, to which they had been sent when the armistice was
signed. One was with the 30th division, the other with the 27th,
and had been in Flanders all the while, and we being the first American girls
they had seen in about eight months, they stated that they could not resist
speaking to us. Wearing a uniform makes such a difference. We talked with these
boys for quite awhile, then went to dinner with them, enjoying hearing their
experiences in the trenches. By the way, two of these men are here and I have
seen them several times.
Tuesday, the 24th, we volunteered to help
with the Y.M. plans for an open air canteen, also a Christmas tree in the public
square. We helped with the Decorations during the morning, then all the
afternoon, hot chocolate, cakes and cigarettes were given to the French
soldiers and French children—such beaming faces and how happy they seemed. An
American band played and details of soldiers helped us serve. The sun was
shining, so it was an ideal afternoon. From 7 to 9 that night, the same
performance went on, and truly, it was one of the happiest Xmas eves I have
ever had, though, of course, my thoughts were of home and you all and I would
have given lots to be there with you. Just before we left there that night,
Mrs. Koyle told us that two sergeants from a motor transport company had come
to her, asking if two Y.M. girls would be willing to get up early Christmas
morning to be at their breakfast at 6:30 in order to give out Xmas boxes that
had been donated. She said that we came to her mind immediately, as we seemed
so anxious to do something worth while during the Christmas season—we gladly
consented. The boys called for us in the machine at 6 the next morning, and
aside from having a jolly good time with the men, we had the best breakfast
that I have had in France—good crisp bacon, coffee, bread and butter and two
sticks of peppermint candy. After talking with a number of the men, all of whom
seemed to glad to even have a word with an American girl—we had an auto ride
out along the country road. It began to snow and the storm lasted for about two
hours, lending a most Christmassy air to everything. Coming back, we stopped at
the big Saint Julien Cathedral to hear the Christmas carols, and while in there
we discovered that LeMans is quite a historic center—part of the walls of the
Cathedral are of Roman make, Richard the Lion-Hearted of England fought in and
around there and his queen’s home is there, open to visitors, and she is buried
in this same Cathedral. Just after lunch, before reporting to the square to
help in the Canteen, I went to Headquarters and was rejoiced to find that Annie
had come in the night before. We were so happy to be together once again and I
was so pleased when she gave me a fat letter and Xmas card from Mary Crow.
Annie and I were told that we were to be with the 27th Division
Headquarters at Montfort, but couldn’t get out before the next day, so all of us
went up to the square and had the greatest time ever, serving the cocoa, cakes
and cigarettes to American soldiers. We talked with men from everywhere but
most of them were from the 30th and 27th Divisions, and
judging from what I saw, they were far from an unhappy lot of men and their
spirit is wonderful. It gives one a queer feeling to be gazed at as they did
us, but I feel that this was excusable, many of them not having laid eyes on a
girl from home for six and eight months.
The sun came out just after lunch, so
the afternoon’s experience of an open air canteen was a complete success.
Judging from Christmas day in a French town, their quiet way of observing the
occasion is most impressive and quite in contrast to home. It may be because of
war for four long years, but there was practically no noise, no blowing of
horns or ringing of bells; but with the American band playing, and looking into
the hundreds of faces of our soldier boys, was enough to make my Christmas 1918
a most happy one, and one that will ever dwell in my thoughts.
This LeMans area is the area of embarkation for the A.E.F.
and at least three-fourths of the American army will pass through here on the
way home. There are various camps within a radius of 50 miles—a Forwarding
Camp, Casual Camp, Belgium Camp, etc., then too, other troops are quartered in
the many many tiny villages that are so near one another—only a few kilos
(five-eights of a mile) apart. There are now 200,000 troops in this one
area—all of them momentarily expecting to go home.
We had a real American Christmas turkey dinner, it was too,
at the Y.M. Officers Hotel. We met many officers of the 30th
Division, but none that we knew personally. The 30th Headquarters
are at Ballou. We spent Christmas evening serving in the canteen again. We were
tired and weary and besmirched with cocoa, and ready for our soft French bed,
and I imagine that we not only felt but looked much like a real soldier as they
were being relieved from the trenches. On Thursday morning, Annie and I had
time to talk matters over, and I will admit that there was a tinge of
disappointment at not being sent to the 30th Division, our home
Division, but now we are as happy as two larks and as contented as any two Y.M.
workers in France, and we are glad to have the opportunity of doing our share
and to meet soldiers who hail from other parts of the United States.
With trunks and bags loaded into a “Y” camionette, we
climbed into the front and started for the wilds of France, knowing then that
we were to be with the 27th Division, which you know is composed of
New York National Guards and who were trained at Camp Wadsworth, Spartanburg,
S.C.
Mr. Ward, a Y.M. secretary, who has control of all canteens
of the 106th Regiment of the 27th Division, had asked for
two young ladies. Our first stop was at Montfort, the headquarters of the 27th,
also the Y.M. headquarters. There we reported to the Divisional Secretary, Mr.
Barnes, and off again we started for Thorigne, headquarters for the 106th
Infantry, the three battalions of which are located in the immediate vicinity.
Both of these are quaint small villages. From Florigne, Mr. Ward operates the
four canteens of this regiment. We learned about Mr. Ward before getting out
here—he was a real Y.M. Sec.—was with the 106th Regiment up at the
front, and acted as stretcher bearer, for which he is to have a Distinguished
(Service) Conduct Medal. We feel that we are most fortunate to be working with
a man of his type and record. I think that we descended rather unawares upon
Mr. Ward, but he handled the situation admirably. He was undecided as to just
what would be the best place to send us, so kept us in Thorigne until Saturday
the 28th about noon, while he visited the various battalions.
Fourteen hundred men could have access to this canteen, and a convenient room
was being vacated by a machine gun battalion, moving out of LeBriel, so the
decision was made. While at Thorigne the headquarters men did all kinds of
things for our comfort. There was not an available room for us to occupy and
Mr. Ward had planned to have us use his room, just back of his canteen, but
Lieut. Cleaver insisted that we use his room, a lovely one in the Chateau of
the village. We ate the Officers Mess, located in a peasant home. The two old
maiden ladies were dumbfounded and refused to believe that we were American
women, in fact, shook their heads, refusing to speak to us. When finally
convinced of our reality, they couldn’t do enough for us; gave us huge fresh
linen napkins of hand-woven material at each meal, then insisted that we use
their foot warmers—small rectangular metal boxes with a handle attached—hot
coals and ashes deposited inside. Here too the bed was all draped in lace and
hand-made spreads and heavy hand-woven linens. Their sheets are about half as long
again as ours, the extra length being used to roll around the big cylinder
shaped bolster. I will never forget the expression on the servant’s face upon
finding us in Lieut. Cleaver’s bed, when she came in to bring water—while out
that day however, she “dressed up” the bed even more, in our honor, I suppose.
We are certainly curiosities to these French people, especially these out in
the rural villages, where an American girl has never been before.
While in Thorigne, we made Mr. Ward’s canteen our headquarters,
for there we had the opportunity of seeing the workings of the shop, and a
chance to talk to the boys as to our prospective work. Practically none of the
men in this outfit have seen American girls, because of having fought in the
British sector, and to have two “real American girls,” as they say, drop down,
as it were, out of a clear sky, is almost too good to be true. At first, when
the boys came in, they seemed confused, but not for long as all seemed so
pleased, even to hear us speak, and, naturally these New York men asked numbers
of questions about the Metropolis.
Each village, where soldiers are quartered, has a “Town
Major,” chosen from among the officers. He attends to all matters in connection
with billeting the men or any dealings with citizens, such as settling claims
for stolen goods, etc. We spent some of our time in the Town Major’s office,
where there was a big coal fire. We made friends with quite a few of the boys,
one a cook in another mess, who invited us to breakfast—eggs, hot chocolate,
battercakes and an apple pie when he left. If you could just see how these boys
go into French homes and adapt themselves to surroundings, you would marvel
that they manage as well as they do, especially as to cooking facilities. Of
course, each company has a field kitchen outfit, but for the various officers
mess, other arrangements have to be made. After Mr. Ward’s visit to 106th
Infantry, Independent Battalion, here in LeBriel, and had been assured that
everything would be ready for us, we were sent for about noon on Saturday. We
came in the Battalion mess cart, a queer looking two-wheeled vehicle, an
English one by the way, used at the front but closely resembled all the French
carts about here—haven’t seen even one carriage nor French auto—even these
officers here have only worn out horses for transportation; however, we
thoroughly enjoyed our jaunting ar ride out to LeBriel, and needless to say it
was with anxiety, curiosity, and fear to a degree, that we landed in this small
foreign village, all inhabited by natives and American men.
With our arrival here on that memorable afternoon, and the
reception as well as the warm welcome we received, a new chapter begins and
words are inadequate to tell all about it, but will try to give you the best
possible idea. I know, to begin with, you will all be happy to know that we are
delightfully and comfortably located.
We reached here about lunch time, and as it had already been
decided we were to have meals at the Major’s mess, we were ushered right in,
all the men there, headquarters staff, are masters at the art of camouflage if
they were not genuinely glad to see us. The Regimental band was giving a
concert in the hall to be used for our canteen, so Major Button seized the
opportunity of introducing us to the assembled crowd, after which, we came up
to our home-to-be, about which we had learned that there had been much ado.
“Billet” is a strange place of abode in military parlance. One officer always
comes ahead of the troops, searching out all available places, and then assigns
officers and men—in this village, to private homes, factories, barns, and in
one company a farm house and its outstanding buildings, such as barn, pig
house, chicken house, storage rooms, etc. It is most remarkable to see that
1,000 men are “billeted” in this tiny village, but it is done and comfortably so.
The streets in these villages are not marked in any way, but now they have
American titles, and as you walk around you see X-I-O or X-2-O marked in black
on the door facings, meaning that one or two officers are quartered there, or
you will see Co. C-30, etc., meaning that 30 men of Company C was quartered in
that particular house. Everyone wanted us to have the very best billet in town.
The two doctors of our mess live at the home of the French village doctor. When
they spoke of our coming, Madame Gothiere was very much interested and
regretted she could not have us, but asked to have the privilege of finding us
at home. She has taken us under her chaperonage and explained to the natives
the purpose of our being here. We feel that our acceptance in the village is
assured, for Madame Gothiere is THE lady of LeBriel. Our billet is one of the
most pretentious homes in town, where an elderly lady, her husband and daughter
reside. The Major’s mess is also in this home, which makes it more convenient
for us.
The members of staff, Major Button, the Adjutant Lieutanant
Brennan, Doctor Rowan, Doctor Cleaver (medicos), Doctor Masten the Battalion
dentist, and Lieutenant Fenty, Transport officer, are all charming people and
heartily in sympathy with our work, co-operating in every way, all of which
makes our life here more interesting. Maj. Button, a middle-aged man, a
resident of New York City for a number of years, is a gentleman to the heart,
and this welcome and co-operative spirit of the commanding officer means so
much in this game. Mr. Ward knew all these men, and after being at the front
with them, they all commend him highly. We are doubly fortunate in being with
Mr. Ward and with a Major who is doing all their power for our comfort and show
such interest in all our plans and schemes—all these men continue to tell us
what a pleasure it is to have us, until I fear we will soon begin to feel
“important” and too much appreciated.
Our canteen was formerly the village dance hall, rectangular
in shape, with a gallery around second floor, furnished with tables and
benches, and just what we needed for writing purposes and playing games. The
dust of Caesar’s and Napoleon’s days was all about so our first job in
canteening in France was one of house cleaning.
Haven’t time for more now, will continue as soon as
possible. If my letters are delayed, don’t be alarmed, for remember we are
about 10 miles from a railroad, and mail has to go by courier, through three or
four places before ever reaching a post office.
I hope you are all well. Your letters have come through very
promptly, I think, and I can never say just what they mean to me, and how much
pleasure news from the homeland gives me. I really don’t realize how far away I
am, and I know that it is best that I should not. Until next time, much love
and best wishes for 1919,
Lura
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