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August 4, 1918
August 13, 1918
Aug.19,1918
Aug. 25, 1918
Aug. 28, 1918
Dear Mother,
I have been in England a very short time and am now crossing
the channel. The Major is commanding officer of all troops on
this ship so I am pretty busy, but am about settled for awhile.
It's been a treat to see what little of England we did. It is
a beautiful country, cultivated every inch, but kept neat and
trim, and its gay with flowers. Hardly a house is without some
little garden - especially pink ramblers, poppies, snapdragon,
purple clematis. The whole countryside is a network of hedgerows;
they fence off every field, and are really the backbone I should
say of the whole beautiful English landscape. There is some little
wheat grown, some hay land, quite a few stock farms - either
cattle or sheep. There is hardly a house that isn't brick; in
fact I don't recall seeing a wooden house. There are many thatched
roofed houses in the country. There seems to be very little scattered
population; the cities are most abruptly set off from the country;
only a few minutes walk from perfect country you will see a whole
town, made up mostly of rows of houses exactly alike - which
is the only thing I don't like in England. Only a few of the
fields have houses - I suppose it's the landlord system.
Bicycles are greatly in evidence and the funny cab-carts are
the limit - look like a close carriage with the c___[note - I
cannot read this word] & all the trimmings off.
The people are delightfully cordial to us, and are most friendly.
The first evidence of that was in an English town we paraded
thru a couple of days ago, on our way to the rest camp. The Lord
Mayor & eminent citizens had a reception for us in an art
gallery - 301st Supply Train & some other organizations.
They had tables spread with cookies, sandwiches, fruit, lemonade,
grape juice, cake, & delicious chocolate birds, and every
one told to help themselves. The Lord Mayor gave the officers
a speech, and his private secretary showed the Major & myself
around the art gallery & museum, a very hasty trip which
I hope I can finish up sometime. All the people in there left
nothing undone to entertain us, & their whole heartedness
& warm heartedness just went to my heart. The little boys
are cute. They come up to you & say, "Hello, Buddy",
want to know where you're from at times, want a penny others.
The dinky railway cars seem very strange. I like the passenger
cars that way; It's so much simpler getting in & out, particularly
when you have troops. Each 3rd class compartment holds 1 squad
of men.
In the rest camp our men lived in galvanized iron huts holding
about 40 apiece. We lived in cement bldgs. much the shape of
our own officers' quarters in Devens, only had larger beds &
larger rooms. Had a little stove over in the corner of the room.
Every inch of the camp is cultivated, with potatoes more than
anything - with lavender blossoms by the way.
A great deal of American money goes there, but one pays for the
privilege.
The way I've started you might think I was on a little whirl-wind
tour of Europe. I suppose we'll be in another rest camp soon,
but many seem to be of the opinion if these are rest camps, they
don't want to go to work. A lot of resting we did.
Please ask Father to look up if he can where in England the Butlers
& Savages came from to America; if I am ever there on leave,
I might get a chance to look them up.
Well, 5 pages is about all England can have, I guess.
Lots of love to all,
Sylvester.
Dear Mother,
I believe my last letter was written the night we crossed the
channel, so shall start from there; in so far as censorship regulations
allow or give a chance for a connected narrative.
About the first greeting we received in France was from the women
and children selling figs and oranges. On our hike to our first
camp after debarkation they would spring up from no where, seemingly,
whenever we stopped, in great numbers.
Our first night was spent in another so called rest camp the
men in tents and we in little huts, 3 or 4 to a hut. We got our
bedding rolls for the first time that night. We ate in a Y.M.C.A.
tent which was running a special officers' mess, and fed on horse
meat most of the time. The camp was full of flower beds, particularly
by the officers' lines. The first impression I had of France
was that it was all flowers.
From that camp we had somewhat of a train ride, the men in freight
cars labeled Hommes 32-40,
chevaux (en long) 8 (Men, 32-40, Horses- the long way 8). We
were in 2nd class coaches. We rode thru country not much unlike
New England - some wheat fields, some grazing land (all cows
pure white, I haven't been able to find what the name of the
herd is), some forest land & swamp. One would never realize
it was such a densely populated land. However the delineation
between town & country doesn't seem quite so distinct as
in England.
The train brought us to this place, a small city of about 18,000,
where we have been ever since, There is no camp here at all,
all troops being billeted. Our men are billeted in a section
of the town near the outskirts, in barns, lofts, attics, and
what-not. They all have bed sacks, which they can fill with straw,
and so are comfortable. The people are most kind to them &
do everything they can to make the men comfortable. The companies
do their own cooking on their field ranges, using government
rations supplimented & varied with fresh stuff gotten from
the inhabitants where they can buy or exchange from time to time.
Our officers are scattered in houses about the town. Major June,
Lieuts. Leviseur & Taylor, and myself are in a very excellent
house, owned by a fairly well-to-do people. It is not occupied
at all at present but the man of the house will probably return
when he has harvested his crops up country. The house is kept
by the proprietor's father & mother, very nice old people,
& their bonne keeps our rooms swept & beds made. The
major and I have feather beds about 2 ft. thick & tapestried
canopies over the top! We often think of you folks back at home
imagining us suffering the horrors of war, after we get buried
for the night. Canopied beds are quite extensively used, even
in moderate homes. The people aren't over particular about sanitation,
don't mind what runs in the gutter, or how near their wells are
to the cow pen, but they do have artistic household appointments
and work hard to keep them up; I haven't seen a scratch on the
beds or chairs or tables and they are all of beautifully grained
wood, in this house at least. We have our organization headquarters
in the kitchen. There is no bathroom in the house and my canvas
bucket & basin have proved to be about the handiest articles
of my equipment.
There are many strange new things, of course, to see and become
accustomed to. All the houses are of stone or cement, & those
not right in town are of one story only beside the attic. They
seem located in such higglety-pigglety fashion, which the prevalence
of high walls only serves to accentuate. The people are most
cordial and welcome the American troops into their homes &
buildings. The men are all trying hard to get the language. We
fortunately have quite a few French speakers. The little French
children are delightful; they are all learning the American salute
and they do like to be noticed. They seem to learn "Good-bye"
quicker than anything else & very often come up to you in
the street, hold out their hand, & repeat that. At the city
where we landed a number of them begged but I don't find that
prevalent here.
We are living reasonably well, though there are lots of favorite
dishes we won't see 'till we get back to the States. The lack
of chocolate is one thing we feel a great deal here. It is absolutely
unobtainable in all stores save one in the city, & even that
is of very inferior grade. And of a great many staple articles
of diet there is a very considerable dearth; shortages &
the prices of necessities here would put a complaining American
in the States to shame. Fuel is exceedingly scarce. Water is
plenty, but is condemned for American troops unless hypo-chlorinated
or boiled; I think after a while we shall have more sterilizing
bags for hypo-chlorination but up to now the available water
has been most limited. The first two or three days seemed almost
unbearable without it, but I have gotten used to vichy, mineral
waters, charged lemonade, & tea & coffee as substitutes
much sooner than I thought I could. There seems to be an abundance
of the various medicinal waters available. I expect they are
pretty good for one, anyway.
There are a number of people around here outside of our unit
whom I know. I met Gabriel to-night for the first time in France.
I haven't seen Tom Beers but know where he is and his regiment
has got a job which I guess is making them all swear.
Our first mail from the States arrived yesterday, which netted
me just one letter, one from Ralph. I expect by the time this
reaches you he's likely to be a 2nd Lieut. It seems strange that
he's still back there when he could have beat me by a year to
this fair country only for the unruly little organ in the alcohol
bottle.[note - this would be referring to his appendix, I assume]
I have a great plenty to do everyday, but guess I can't write
much about that - have to confine myself more to sidelines. Only
I don't want you to forget if I write all about people &
scenery & white cows that I'm not on a Cook's Tour or an
Agricultural Experimentation Board. However I might be a little
nearer to the push which is probably filling the American headlines
& not mind.
Give my love to everybody and keep a whole lot for yourself.
As always,
Sylvester
P.S. I get lots of pleasure at times imagining I have a mouthful
of your huckleberry pie with nice thick cream, & other delicious
things I'll be primed for a few years hence, if I don't get too
used to & fond of canned jam & corned willie, horsemeat,
condensed milk, & hard tack.
S.
My dear Sylvester
I think I never told you that I saw in the paper the birth of
a son to Ruth Wilson. I don't know her married name. I will enclose
a clipping about your classmate Lyman. Everyone has inquired
so frequently whether you had arrived overseas, and all seemed
glad to finally know that you had reached there safely.
The Fritz family, Raymond, Eleanor, Miss Cook, Miss Nemiah &
Mr. Smith all came down from Worcester Sat.P.M., brought their
supper & stopped on our piazza & ate it. I was very much
pleased to see them all, and every one of them was interested
to hear about you. Miss Nemiah staid here all night & the
rest of the party had previously planned to stay at Aunt Elizabeth's
- quite a house full for her. Raymond wanted to show them some
of this part of the country. About eleven Sunday morning, they
all started for the shore, where they lunched, then the Fritz
family went on to Jersey for their vacation and the others went
back to Worcester, except Miss Nemiah, who went to Cheshire.
Her brother Royal is teaching there. The Roxbury Tutoring School
of New Haven has bought the old Cheshire Academy & are going
to make it into a prep school, and Royal is engaged as one of
the instructors. I should think that he would come in the draft
pretty soon. I hope by the end of the week, we may get a letter
from you. To-morrow we are planning to move up the Furniture
& trunks &c from the attic down home, so then we will
finally have our things together. I think that I will leave your
box of books down there, & the N.Y. Times.
Such glorious weather as we have had for the last five days,
such a relief from the very hot weather. You got out of Devens
just in time to escape the dog-day weather.
Alfred Chalmers is probably on the way over by now. I hope you
will run across some of the friends & relatives in your journeyings
to & fro. We took Aunt Sarah & Aunt Lucy to see Cousin
Fannie Peace & Cousin Mary Penfield yesterday. The latter's
son Raymond arrived just two days ahead of you overseas.
Did you have to have your "snorer" all the way across?
I trust it didn't interfere with your sleep.
I can't realize yet that you are so far away, but glad you were
able to go across, as you so much wanted to. Hope to hear good
news of you all the time until your return.
Lots of Love,
Mother
Dear Mother,
Your two letters postmarked the 16th [note - this would have
been July 16th] were forwarded from Devens and reached me this
week, but I was unable to answer during the week. I got quite
a big mail all at once, your two, 4 from Eva, and 1 from Lucinthia.
It was interesting to hear of Lucinthia's start in the big city,
and I'm glad you took the trip down there with her. When the
second of your letters was written I had left Devens; the first
one probably just arrived the morning after I left. I got a call
from Raymond over the phone about 4 hours before leaving, and
found it a bit hard, my mind being so full of going away, to
say in an ordinary tone of voice that I wouldn't be around on
the next day when he and Aunt Lucy & the Coes might come
up. As an afterthought I added a query as to how long they would
be in Worcester in an attempt to hint I might be back in two
or three days. You might be interested to find out how it worked.
I have been here three weeks lacking 2 days now. It seems rather
tame but I suppose we'll get our chance in time. We most all
of us have something to do, and the Major has been working day
& evening on motor transport work hereabout. He has never
shown up better. I never did hear him say "can't" to
anything anyway, but the things he has accomplished since he's
been here emphasize more than ever a faith I have come to have
that his judgement is always right; and that he can do anything.
One of his mottoes is "You can do anything if you want to".
He surely has tremendous energy and can see into the pith of
a proposition & see just the right thing to do with phenomenal
accuracy.
We have our own mess now in a seldom used restaurant, with our
old cook at the helm. And with only a few exceptions we're living
almost as high as at Devens. The best thing I've struck in France
yet, that is exclusively French, is the canteloupe; they are
a faded pumpkin color & very smooth, lacking all essential
outward appearance to a sweet American muskmelon, but inside
they are surely very sweet and meaty.
There are lots of new things to get used to, some that by now
it would be strange without. For one thing I'm afraid I'll never
be able to sleep without a canopy over me again, so trust you'll
have the spare room prepared. The constant ringing of bells,
for what reason I don't know, is one of the mystifying incidents
of every day life; all kinds of bells with all kinds of sounds
- doubled up on Sundays, church days, funerals & weddings.
They make it seem like an eternal Sunday. These funny little
donkeycarts which plod along are typical of the slow, complacent
manner in which the people work. (Perhaps I'm speaking early,
but I have come to believe that the American has alot more energy
than any European). Men in working around and some women wear
the clank wooden shoes all the time. I wonder if they never give
them corns.
Yesterday afternoon the Major , Fred Leviseur, & I drove
M. Protat (who owns our house) and his little son Maurice out
to the Protat farm, about 12 miles north. It was a strange old
place. It is in very level country which permitted the long straightaway
reminding me of those long straight roads in Jersey. The farm
was quite large, mostly a hay farm at the present time, and some
stock - white cows, sheep, pigs, horses, & geese. The house
and barns surrounded a court yard, three sides of a square with
a wall making the fourth side. Everything was of cement. All
buildings & especially their roof have an aged, bent, uneven
look. The house is 300 years old & the barns about 100. The
entrance is in the center of the wall on the 4th side & opposite
it the human habitation, though in the west corner of it was
the pig-sty. On the left he kept his implements & in the
next compartment his sheep. On the right side were his horses,
cows, his geese & his hay. The stable man sleeps in the stable
room with the horses. He lives just a little worse than the horses,
I should figure, for I presume the latter get a change of bedding
once in a while. He has a big bed over in the corner with two
rumpled, dirty, dusty feather mattresses. Apparently that is
one exception to the canopy rule. The proprietor had his canopy
though, but it was a cheaper sort than those in town. The kitchen
had a dark heavy appearance because the windows were so low.
The dining room is in the same place & M. Protat entertained
us at supper. His old housekeeper had made some omelettes and
had brought down one of the huge round loaves of bread hanging
up in the rack in the corner. There is of course no table cloth,
but their tables are always very smooth and shiny. There were
no serving dishes except for the omelettes & 1 fork. M. Protat
cut the bread with his jackknife, very artistically; you can
remember the workers with their lunches they used to bring up
to the farm. The omelet was first rate and the bread pretty good.
I expected to have the cheese forced on me by our host but he
skipped me & I didn't even need to say "Pas de fromage,
merci. Je ne peux pas le manger", which I had all saved
up. The flies were as thick as on a loaded tanglefoot but I'm
sure the old boy didn't even know I noticed them. They bothered
the Major somewhat, who amused himself by tracing a direct air
route between the barnyard piles & the already well-worked
cheese. It was surely an interesting experience, and I wouldn't
have missed it for anything. Our host is a generous, good-hearted
man, and is very fond of the Americans. Fred does most of the
talking with him, for he talks French pretty well. He's been
amusing him to-night telling how good Luty is at the lassoo rope,
with illustrations, because of the wild indians he has around
his western home.
I expect that by the time this reaches you Ralph will have gotten
a pair of golden bars, perhaps just about be home for a little
leave. I haven't written him from here yet, but shall try to
this week. I haven't written anyone except you and Eva, but will
try to get a little time off & send a few cards one of these
fine days. I know anyway that you will be letting my letters,
such as they are, go the rounds.
I'm feeling very kipper & am as fat as in my palmiest days,
I should judge; and hope everyone at home is as well.
With lots of love to you and all,
Sylvester.
Dear Mother,
Do you see that F above? Well, I had started to write "Cromwell,
Conn." absolutely inadvertently. Perhaps it's because I
just happened to look at some of my snapshots to-night. [note
- the F of France obviously started out as a C]
My second batch of mail came last night, with your letter written
the 26th July and the Sunday before. Also one from Lucinthia
addressed to A.E.F. sent as late as the 30th.
Some of your questions first - 1)with some others we were the
last unit out of Devens. 2)Lucinthia did not see me. 3) I don't
think I sent more than one bundle home just before we left. Perhaps
Raymond told you I left some other things with him. And there
are several others I wish I hadn't taken along. Unless you have
already done so, please don't give any of my letters publication,
as it is forbidden in orders. (You spoke about Mrs. Alling).
And in addressing me, don't use the division no. I guess that's
enough don'ts for one letter.
This week is much cooler and more comfortable than last, which
was a scorcher. We have had no change since last I saw you. I'm
riding a French bicycle around, now. They're frail, slender things,
with correspondingly slender tires. They have no pedal brake
but you can stop, in fact reverse the pedals at will, just as
you can turn the stem of a watch the wrong way. The brake is
operated from the handle bars - a convex metal piece over the
front tire; quite effective, too, only rather hard to get used
to. I paid off in francs for the first time 7 or 8 days ago;
the size of the payroll was 52,000 francs which made it seem
like a big one. With the franc the unit of value, you always
think you have about 5 times as much as you actually possess,
until you come to spend it. These pink & vari-colored art
gallery 50 & 100 franc notes are quite imposing, but not
made for an American pocket book.
I don't believe I told you our exact location. I never expected
to be able to, but under certain conditions it may be done, which
conditions are here present. Look at the center of the map of
France - Paris, down thru Bourges to St.
Amand-Montrond, a little town in the Department Cher, and
you have my location. Only I hope it won't be by the time you
are reading this letter. Of course the name of this town should
never be used on an address. We've been here long enough now
so that I know it a lot better than many towns in Connecticut.
A year ago to-day you and I took our trip to Worcester &
the bungalow, the night before I went to Devens. So it's a year
on active service to-night, though our active service counted
from the 15th. Two years ago to-day I left home for Pleasantville.
There has nothing happened to-day to make the day continue to
be eventful. Perhaps it's holding over a year.
Lucinthia says Ralph expected to be finished by the middle of
August, so probably even now he has his commission. I'll be sending
him along a letter soon, addressing it home for forwarding.
Good-night, and lots of love to all.
Sylvester.
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