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Tuesday, March 5, 2019

Lura Heath Writes of Her Work With Troops in France

From The Monroe Journal, March 4, 1919

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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