SECTION 3
1918 Correspondence
1918 LETTER #15:
LETTER SUMMARY:
This long letter contains a powerful description of rugged life on the front lines and in the trenches of World War I.
-- Mud, Mud, Rain, Mud
-- "THEY SENT GAS INTO US and a shell took the corner from the building"
-- "Fall out and sleep in a mass of shell holes"
-- We never forget LOST PALS. There are only "about eighty odd old originals left"
-- Experiencing the War with his brother Mil:
"You will never know how close it has brought us."
-- I miss Bob Woods . . .
"They nearly got him with gas twice . . . He is a wonderful soldier, one of the best . . . I would follow him anywhere."
-- A SNORING bunk-mate:
"He tears off more music in one night that Irving Berlin ever wrote."
SOME EXCERPTS FROM THIS LETTER:
2 pages, three (3) typescript copies on deteriorating paper of poor rag content. No apparent extant original letter
Priv. H.W. Chapman
Co. D, 101st Eng.
A.E.F.
Oct. 17, 1918
Dear Ma and Pa:
I don't feel much like writing a letter but I have got to relieve my troubled mind in some way so here goes.
I am soaking wet and covered with mud, its still raining and as it is getting dark i have visions of a flop into a mud puddle for a night's sleep.
Let me relate the last 48 hours I have passed through just as an example of what the S.O.S. (Service of Supplies) is missing and what is to us almost a daily routine. Two nights ago we were billeted in houses and I was with Mil. I knew it was too good to be true. The idea of a hard wood floor in a dry house made me feel years younger.
To be sure THEY SENT GAS INTO US and a shell took the corner from the building, but what of that, we were not laying in mud and the floors were dry. Good things do not last long.
The order came to move at 5.00. We never know where we are going, we ar not supposed to, but we don't care, for the main topic is whether the mud is deeper where we are going than it is where we are.
It started raining when we started hiking and we struck nothing but hills, which has always been the case. Those in the States at our draft camps may feel real put out when they hike six or seven miles to return to a warm barrack, but to hike in rain up and down hill with mud over your shoe tops, I tell you, a man does suffer and his mind slumps with his body as he drags one leg after the other. It is mostly all forced hiking as the objective must be reached before daylight in order to get camouflaged.
We hiked till long after midnight and we were then ordered to fall out to the right and keep out of the trenches. All in, legs weary, mind weary, clothes and body soaked, from you knees down solid mud, and its still raining, one of those cold rains.
Fall out and sleep in a mass of shell holes? It was nothing new so out we fell, with the satisfaction of knowing that daylight would come sometime. It finally came and the rain still stayed and it has not let up yet.
Oh how you can envy the man with the bomb proof job in the rear, but you get fed and when your stomach gets fed your mind becomes satisfied and you wouldn't take a job in the S.O.S. for love nor money. You pride yourself in being a member of a live unit, your hike is forgotten, mud doesn't bother you any longer, the rain cannot hinder your task, and all troubles are forgotten on a full stomach and you thoughts turn to chaining up the Boche as soon as possible.
I say we forget everything when we have eaten, but it takes more than a good feed to FORGET LOST PALS. There is about eighty odd old originals left and you certainly miss the mates who saw everything through with you.
There is joy in camp this minute, though, for the best pal I ever had is back with me. Mil pulled in just now. You always knew how well we got along together, but to see this game though you will never know how close it has brought us. No matter what the trouble was, Bootus could turn to the same old silent Mil and get consolation and comfort.
When Mil was sent to headquarters, I missed him, but I felt that I knew he would be there safe should I get back and in a way it made me feel good. Still, he is at the front again with me and there is joy in camp.
[...]
No, I am not getting homesick and am not afraid to give what I have dodged for nine months. Think of the cause and it is easy to give. "Nuff Ced," I guess.
I miss Bob Woods. They nearly got him with gas twice, but he is at headquarters now. He is a wonderful soldier, one of the best. Through over a year's hardships over here, Bob still has the same smile he went away with. He is a corporal now and I would follow him anywhere.
[...]
I put in an awful night with another bunkie and slept little. After falling asleep he got underway and resembled the buzz planer in the shop. I slept close to a battery of guns but this boy had them all stopped. He tears off more music in one night that Irving Berlin ever wrote.
[...]
Still another was a great Cootie hunter. He was so enthusiastic about his sport that he would get to scratching and I would join in the game for half a night. Well enough for now. Another letter.
Love,
Bootus
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