Letters, Journal, & Diary Entries Written by
Elsie S. Church of Ithaca, NY to Her Family and Friends from France in 1918 and 1919.
Transcribed by W.C. Atkinson, her son, in 2000
In 1919 my mother was 29 years old.
These letters were originally transcribed to typescript from the hand written by Elsie’s elder sister Edith mainly for the purpose of subsequent publication by the Ithaca Journal in the winter and spring of 1919. Such journal and diary entries as are included are transcribed from the handwritten by W. C. Atkinson.
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Chapter One
En Voyage: New York, France
Journal: November 26th, 1918 [1]
Here I am, finally on my way to France! I am on an English boat, the Grampian [of] about 11,000 tons. At present a calm sea is running and life on shipboard holds out a promise of great peace and enjoyment.
This second attempt to leave the U.S. has been successful. The first attempt was on last Saturday when I was told that there was a chance that I could find a place on the Orduna, a splendid Cunarder. So I was put on the “possible” list and Kate VanDuzer was booked for the same ship as a sure thing. On the strength of this, Kate and I called a taxi at 8:30 A.M. and started on a mad rush from the office to the Customs House where we procured our War Zone passes; to the French Consulate where we parted with $200 and some of our great supply of papers; to the Bank where we spent several moments at the Foreign Exchange window; and finally [to] the boat-landing at least a half hour before the ship was scheduled to leave.
Kate got her stateroom assignment and checked her baggage. I could not do this, so merely contented myself with tagging my bags with my name, and waiting to hear my fate. Suddenly I saw some stupid porter taking all my baggage on board regardless of the fact that they were not checked. This made me a trifle nervous but Mr. Haggerty, the SS agent for the YMCA, was very optimistic and assured me that this mysterious list would soon arrive from the British consulate telling us of available staterooms. Presently stentorian whistlings and wheezings gave warning that the ship was desirous of leaving. At this very moment, the purser arrived with the list which announced that there were three vacant berths and, alas, these were to serve the four of us who were on the “possible” list. This predicament very much resembles the game of “Going to Jerusalem”, one fellow coming out minus a chair. Mr. Haggerty was desperate and, not wishing to be responsible for keeping one of the four of us at home, announced that there was but one thing to do: draw lots. So saying, little papers were torn and we four drew; the long piece falling to the lot of your humble servant. Imagine my feelings! But since Fate had decreed, there was nothing to do but grin and bear it.
But, as I before said, my baggage was on board ship! This meant that it simply had to be procured, so the sailing of the Cunard liner was actually held up on my account. Picture me with Mr. Haggerty clutching one arm, and some other portly dignitary clutching a large chart and my other arm, crossing the gangplank followed by a porter. It is no easy matter to pick three bags and a trunk out of a melee of other bags and trunks which exactly resemble them. As a result all but one of my pieces of luggage were recovered, but this one, a shawl-strap containing my steamer rug, blanket and warm underwear was almost as necessary to my comfort as all the others put together. For a few moments pandemonium reigned and everyone on the ship, I am sure, was conscious of the loss of a certain red-haired canteen worker. Finally its recovery was given up as a bad job and I was deposited on the dock just in time to see Kate’s face smiling at me as the steamer slipped out of her dock.
I shall never forget that vision and just how it affected me. But here more trouble arose. When fumbling in my pocket for change to tip the porter, I suddenly realized that all my money had been changed into foreign currency. I was obliged to borrow from one of the members of the committee in order to get myself and my remaining possessions back home again.
In the meantime word had been advanced to the baggage master on the steamer to see that my precious shawl-strap was deposited in Liverpool whither I was to be sent on the very next boat in hot pursuit…
The pursuit, however, has begun under thermal conditions which would not exactly be characterized as hot. Though the weather is calm, there is a sharpness in the air which penetrates all my layers of extra clothing. Just how I am to fare when the supply becomes exhausted I do not know. I sadly lack my steamer rug and will be forced to keep moving while on deck and do my sitting within doors.
The officers and crew of the boat are very British. Our room steward is a little Scots boy who is very solicitous of our comfort. In a way I should prefer going on a French liner so as to absorb some of the language and atmosphere, but since my luggage has gone to England, the really sensible thing seems to be to follow it up.
P.M. The afternoon passed in a pleasant manner; most of the passengers being seated in their deck chairs. Precisely at 4 o’clock the stewards came dashing up with great trays of tea cups steaming in the cold, crisp air. “Biscuits”, plain crackers to us, were served with the tea and when everyone was finished the same stewards came as quickly and whisked the cups away. Our dinner was served at 7 o’clock. I say “our” meaning the “Y” secretaries and women workers, a few men in khaki, the ship’s officers, and a few civilians. At 6 o’clock the Red Cross contingent have their dinner. There are several nurses and canteen and social workers.
After dinner, finding no one who cared to pace the deck, I fared forth alone. I hadn’t been out five minutes before the assistant purser joined me. He is a fair-haired Britisher with a nice accent and is very nice. We walked ‘til about nine when I went not up, but down to bed. My two roommates are feeling pretty punk. How long, I wonder, before I [too] shall succumb.
About ten I crawled into my funny little 6×2 berth. It took a long time to get comfortable but finally I realized that it would be impossible to change my position all night-long and resigned myself to my fate.
[1] This date is only two weeks after the Armistice of November 11th when the fighting ended. As a matter of interest: nowhere in the letters or the journal is mention made of the great influenza pandemic that raged from September 1918 through the winter killing 20,000,000 people worldwide and 500,000 in the U.S. (0.5% of the population!). Elsie’s future father-in-law, Prof. G.F. Atkinson, was one of its victims.
Journal: November 27th, Wednesday
Sat on deck all morning, reading, dozing, watching folks pitch rope quoits or play shuffleboard. My appetite has been good all day. After lunch I tried my hand at shuffleboard. It takes more strength than you would imagine to push those disks along.
I miss Kate terribly. I see a good deal of Miss Connable and Hazel Stewart but somehow I don’t feel so much at home with them. Not having been thrown much with them before, “don’t chew know” and all.
Tonight at dinner there was a two-inch rail around the table. It has become quite rough as I discovered when walking on the deck ’til 7 o’clock. The ass’t. purser joined me again. He reminds me of Mr. Putick at Cornell.
I feel so queerly tonight. Is it because I have no kindred spirit around that I can really go to without reserve? I feel very much alone tonight and a little fearful of what’s before me. The year seems to have stretched out interminably [ahead] and I am sure something is going to happen to make me much older before I ever return home again. If only the real work will begin. It is this continual dragging out of the preparation to begin, the mental inactivity, that it entails, is rather getting on my nerves. And yet this ocean voyage is a novel and interesting experience. This is the first voyage the Grampian has made with the deck lights on and with permission for people to smoke there. The glass of the cabin portholes has been covered with a heavy coat of black paint.
Journal: November 28th, Thursday
Hazel Stewart and I were on deck before breakfast. I confess I descended to the dining room with many qualms but, after some good sour fruit and a cup of coffee, I quite relished my breakfast.
The wind is ferocious and the starboard deck is the only comfortable place for steamer chairs. The wind makes shuffleboard impossible. Many people are very ill but as for me, if I keep outdoors I seem to be all right. I sneeze continually, as with a cold in my head, but don’t seem to be particularly uncomfortable. We are gradually getting acquainted with some of the “Y” men. Had a game of bridge with two of them this afternoon.
Thanksgiving on board ship! I can’t think what I did last year, but I don’t think I shall spend another such Thanksgiving as today. Our dinner was at 7 o’clock. It was delicious, including fresh oysters on half-shell and a real turkey and dressing and English plum pudding with wine sauce. I certainly pitied the poor unfortunate who couldn’t eat such a wonderful repast.
It is getting much warmer. They say we are just about in the Gulf Stream. Tonight after dinner we piled out on deck again. The girls wanted to sit but I preferred to walk and was presently joined by my little friend the purser. We had such a grand walk. A mile or more, in the glorious wind with the spray breaking over the deck and the clouds rushing by, disclosing now and then a blurred and fuzzy star. At 9:30 I came in. I am glad enough to go to bed if it weren’t such a nuisance dressing and undressing with two other people in our more than tiny stateroom.
Journal: November 29th, Friday
I forgot to say that Margaret Cornell, formerly of Ithaca, is on board. She is with the Red Cross in canteen work. She and I have had some good walks on deck. Today was so warm that we could play s’board and quoits with our coats off. We are in the Gulf Stream. The water was 60 degrees and the air 40 degrees according to the man who came along and let down a little canvas pail and took the temperature of the water he hauled up.
In the P.M. I walked miles with Mr. Hauley from California. The air was wonderful. Gulls follow the ship all day and all night. They never seem to tire and soar either with or against the wind with the same poise and grace.
The bridge foursome met at 4 o’clock and we played ’til dinner. In the evening I walked again. The girls, Miss Stewart and Miss Connable, are not fond of this walking game. It is such fun gazing over the side of the boat where the water churns and lathers. In the midst of the foam appear phosphorescent lights, sea organisms they tell me, like fireflies.
Journal: November 30th, Saturday
Rain and mist and slippery decks. Notwithstanding, I walked all morning; first with Anderson of Wyoming and then with [a man] from Cleveland. In the afternoon Mr. Blodgett took me way out over the bow where the big anchors are. It was most awfully rough and every once in a while a wave broke over our heads, simply drenching us. The salt stung our faces and it was wonderful. Presently a little boy came with a message from the look-out asking us to leave: “Ye run a great reesk o’bein’ swawmped”. So back we came. Later, when the wind went down, we were talking to the Captain: “The sea’s away you know. She’s running smoother now”.
I forgot to say that at eleven in the morning the deck steward came ‘round with beef tea and biscuits. He is so deft at tucking people in and making them comfortable. Noting this Hazel remarked to him, “Your wife must love to have you around, you are so handy”. “My wife:”, laughed he, “Her mother isn’t born yet!”.
In evening the Red Cross gave another entertainment. Dr. Bayne, who has been at a hospital in Romania, told of his experiences. Then a Canadian captain in aviation spoke of reconnaissance patrol and bombing maneuvers. Later Miss Stimson, the first girl aviator to loop-the-loop who is going [over] with the Motor Corps told of how she happened to learn to fly. She looped at Los Angeles once at night with fireworks so that her picture might be taken in the darkness…
Journal: December 1st, Sunday
Glorious day. Sunshine and blue-green water with a network of white foam. Church in the dining-room. The minister, in speaking of the fashionableness of certain churches asked how many of them ever took in the outcast or the socially impossible? Wherever you find a congregation that considers itself the “cream” of society you usually find that it’s the ice-cream.
Journal: December 2nd, Monday
Our first experience with a storm. Not a bad one as storms go but sufficient to give the ordinary land lubber a thrill. A howling wind, a fine cutting rain, and a sea that stands the ship’s deck at an angle of 45 degrees [?] and more. Everyone was out, despite the rain, walking. It was most exciting between skidding and hanging on to rails and landing bump against the deck rail. The boards were soaking wet and there was more than one thud as someone sat down and slid down the incline. In faring forth I got soaked by a wave that came clear across from the starboard side (we were all gathered on port). In the midst of the excitement a large Englishman, in trying to cross between hatches, slipped, fell and crashed against a big metal windlass. Four men rushed to his assistance. He was a very pale man as he lay there and when it was found that his knee cap was broken he might well have become paler. They carried him off on a stretcher; the first casualty. After that the Captain forbade us being on deck and it was a very disgruntled group of people that flocked into the small quarters and close air of the writing and smoking saloons. There were very few ports open, but through them you could watch range upon range of water mountains. And how the old ship did ride them! She stuck her nose down into the valleys and pushed right up through, shaking off the foam as a horse shakes its mane. The day wore on, everyone chafing to be inside, but the decks were impossible. The waves washed over them like cataracts.
In the evening the “Y” gave an entertainment. I seem somehow to have developed a soprano voice and took part in both a quartet and a duet. Afterwards everyone hated to go to bed. The boat was pitching frightfully and there was a certain anxiety in the air. There was little rest all night long. It was hard to sleep with the effect of bracing one’s self in order not to fall out of the bunk. Every other minute there would be a sickening roll, a dull crash where the sea hit the wall of your cabin, and the slithering sound of receding water. In the morning we found that two life boats had been lost off the stern and a companionway had been demolished on the upper deck. The barometer, so they said, preceding the storm went down clear off the paper…
I forgot to say that on Sunday Mr. Stone took H. Stewart and me down into the engine room way below sea level. We saw the twin propeller shafts, the great cylinders working, and the big furnaces; seven of them. We also saw the wooden bunks which had been built in the aft saloon for accommodating soldiers when this had been used as a [troop] transport. They were triple deckers of plain, hard boards.
In the evening the ships crew sat out on the hatches aft and sang to the accompaniment of a mandolin. It must have been great to hear them for it was the first time in four years that they have been allowed to gather on deck and make a noise. Among other songs they sang “Ovah theah, so beweah…”. It hardly sounded like the same song.
The purser has just told my fortune. He is the cleverest person at palmistry and cards. His name is Duckham. The deck steward’s is Billington. The evening was devoted to card tricks and fortunes. Mr. Duckham is most interesting and the most obliging person that ever was.
Journal: December 4th, Wednesday
Much planning and committee meetings apropos of the sports that are coming off on deck tomorrow. The wind is still pretty stiff, but it is clear and there is actually a horizon line that is reasonably level. Mr. Connell and I walked and wrote letters during the morning. In the afternoon the usual group gathered around Mr. Duckham in the lower saloon while he taught us some of his tricks. Later Miss Lewis, Mr. Stone, and another man and I got into a game of bridge which lasted until 5 o’clock. Then I came out and walked the deck for some fresh air and it was time for dinner.
[In the evening] three very good talks in the dining saloon. One on Russia and the frightful conditions there, one on English munitions workers—both by a very cultured English woman—and one by Major Walkley of the British Army in telling of his experiences in London…
Journal: December 5th, Thursday
Clear weather still. Mr. Hauley and I walked at least a mile on deck. The sports have been given up. Too windy and pitchy. In [the] afternoon Miss Stewart and I were allowed into Mr. Duckham’s office. We had a lovely time adding up columns for him. He showed us pictures of his six sisters, lovely looking girls. Three of them have been working in munitions factories without a salary since the war began. Later he took three of us all around the ship. Saw the six-inch gun on the stern and the smoke arrangements that put a black screen between a following submarine and a fleeing boat. We saw the big rudder that is worked from the wheel on the bridge. If this breaks there is an electric rudder, and if this fails there is a big hand wheel taller than a man.
In the evening Miss Dadds and I walked the deck and then I wrote letters.
Journal: December 6th, Friday
We are in sight of the Welsh coast, but it is so misty you can hardly see a thing. Mr. Hauley, Miss Dadds and I took a trip up to the bow to watch the waves. Then I did my packing. There is doubt as to whether we will get off the boat but will be in Liverpool tonight.
P.M. Had a foursome at bridge. Early dinner. Walked with D. and Mr. Hauley. We landed about 11 o’clock. Miss D. and I watched the pilot come on and all got so interested that we stayed on deck ‘til midnight when it came to the point of a tug towing us in and ropes being thrown to make us fast, etc. Alongside of us were several great liners which loomed up out of the darkness.
Journal: December 7th, Saturday
But the loveliest sight of all was those same liners in the early morning, purple against the ghostly mist with orange lights shining in their portholes.
They got us up early enough, but the customs man didn’t come on board ‘til 9:30. We hated to say goodbye to our nice little stewardess, Mrs. Stewart. It happened that, by some mistake, she had lost six handkerchiefs of mine yesterday. She felt so badly about it and came to me with a little parcel with such an appealing manner that I accepted it! Inside was a pongee collar that she had made and embroidered herself. I was so sweet of her and will be a nice thing to remember my voyage by.
After going through customs formalities we got on the pier about 11:30. Had to wait for ages ‘til our trunks could be recovered. While we were standing around, about frozen, who should come along but one of the little deckhands all dolled up in civilian clothes. He was so tickled to be free for a week.
Finally all was set. The YMCA Sec’y. who had us in charge lined us up and marched us along the RR tracks under the “Overhead” to the nearest station. The cars of the O’head are dinky and not very comfortable. We got off at the main square of Liverpool and walked to the Hotel Crompton on Church St. Miss Dadds and I are rooming together. I found Kate VanDuzer’s name on the register and can hardly wait to see her. After we got settled I went with Misses Stewart and Lewis to tea at the Midland Adelphi. Kate came in while we were there. They had an exciting voyage. The Orduna rammed into another ship in the fog, killing seven men. We had a grand old talk and then I went out to dinner with her and two other girls at the State restaurant. It was a regular place like Churchill’s or Murray’s, very gay, good music and delicious eats. Saw lots of uniforms of all kinds. Our dinner was only five shillings and was marvelous. We were there ‘til 9 o’clock and when we got back just fooled around.
Journal: December 8th, Sunday
I slept very late. Saw Kate off for London. Had a solitary lunch at the Crompton. Afterwards Helen Heffron and I went to help serve at the American Officer’s Inn. It was so homelike. Met a lot of nice men, gave them tea, and later served supper. Worked with two very sweet young English women. I love to hear them talk. “Are you shuah?” with a regular Pennsylvania Dutch twist to their inflection. “You’re right”, “Right oh”, “I’m sorry”, “Oh it’s quite all right”.
Liverpool, Dec. 8 1918
Dear Family:
This will have to be just a short letter merely informing you that we have arrived in Liverpool [after a steamship crossing] and may be held here a day or two. The London office [YMCA] is congested and they can’t accommodate us yet. This is a mighty interesting place to be interned in, however, and I guess we won’t care only so long as we can spend Christmas in Paris—I have set my heart on that.
We landed yesterday morning and walked two-by-two through muddy streets to the Overhead R.R. Station where we took a car to the main square and then walked to the Hotel Crompton. After getting settled there we went to tea (it was 4;30 by that time) at the Midland Adelphi, the finest hotel in England. There we saw many interesting uniforms and people. There, also, I saw Kate VanDuzen whom I had to leave so abruptly at the steamship wharf [in New York] that fateful Saturday. I went out to dinner with her at the “State” restaurant; a very gay place where we had a wonderful turkey dinner for only five shillings. Then I saw her for about one hour to-day and she was shipped off to London where I hope to follow her soon.
This afternoon Helen Heffron and I served both tea and supper at the “American Officer’s Inn” near this hotel. We met some nice American men and the place was so homelike with a coal fire burning in the grate and flowers on the tables. We worked with two attractive English women.
I love to hear them talk; their inflection is so funny and they mouth and twist some of their words but otherwise don’t seem so different.
Liverpool doesn’t seem much different from an American city. The railroad coaches and engines, of course, look like toys and the double-decker trolleys are funny, but the shops and buildings look very natural. There is a Woolworths “3 d. and 6 d.” store near by and Charlie Chaplin is to be seen in “Shoulder Arms” at a cinema ‘round the corner. To-morrow we are going out to Chester to see the Gothic church and the old Roman walls.
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Journal: December 9th, Monday
Miss Dadds and I shopped around. She is a very earnest, and interesting girl and I like her better all the time. In the afternoon we rode on top of a tram out to Knotty Ash where there is a debarkation camp for American boys. The camp was very dismal on that rainy afternoon. Row on row of barracks with mud puddles in between. It always rains in this “rahwtton town, ye know”. Well, we found our way to the “Y” Hut No.6 and relieved the girl there who was making and serving cocoa. We worked all afternoon and then stayed to dinner at Officer’s Mess. At 7:30 the “Y” girls from town came out and they cleaned the cement floor and we had a dance. A dusty, fatiguing dance it was, but it certainly was worth it when you think what it meant to the boys. Some of them hadn’t danced with an American girl in eight or twelve months. The “Y” here won’t let them have dances with the “limey” girls as they call them. And they were, most of them great dancers too. Only, one man, a rancher from Texas, couldn’t dance well and [he] asked if I would “learn” him. He was the one who, in the afternoon, had shown me photo’s of his two sisters and offered me a postal picture of President Wilson. The dance broke up about 10:30 and we piled on the trams and came home.
Journal: December 10th, Tuesday
Bright and early Bess Dadds, Helen Heffron, and I caught the train for Chester. We missed connections at Rock Ferry and were on the town for ¾ hour. In our walk down the street we found a messy little florist’s shop. But what attracted us were the bunches of flowers in the window. They were like everlasting, but in all sorts of beautiful pastel shades: rose, violet, orange, blue, etc. Since they were unfading and packing couldn’t hurt them, we had some sent to our respective families for Xmas.
Chester at last! And oh, the ride was fascinating! Little red brick houses with tiles or moss covered roofs and chimney pots and steep gables were clustered in the most charming little groups. But Chester! There is nothing to compare with it on our side of the Atlantic. It breathes age and quaintness. Moss and lichens peep out of every cranny and everything is covered with glossy English ivy. Holly trees grow in neatly trimmed rows, their cheery berries dripping from the last rain which was never very long ago. But how green everything is even in December. The place we sought out first was St. John’s church outside the walls. One end is a mass of ruins of such a picturesqueness! The stones are rounded with age and the outlines of masonry softened with ivy. In the crypt are fragments of old Saxon pillars, crosses and vault bosses. In the nave are the three styles of arch, the lower tier being Roman and round headed, the second more pointed, and the third early English [Gothic?].
From St. John’s we went into the town proper, had lunch at Blossom’s Hotel, and went to the Cathedral. My first cathedral! All dim, pointed arches, rich colors from shafted windows and a vista down the apse of marvelously carved choir stalls. We started with the old abbey, the abbot’s rooms, the cloisters, the refectory, etc. An old man in a black robe showed us around. He was well versed in the history of the place and made things very interesting. The cathedral shows two periods of architecture, the early Norman and the English. The latter is again subdivided, the vaulting of part being Gothic or perpendicular where the lines springing from the vaulting are carried up to the boss unbroken, the other being the decorative early English where the lines are broken by cross lines and distracting traceries. The decorative also had a water line at the base of the columns while later practice smoothed that down to a water shed[?]…
Out on the streets again we made our way to the Roman wall that surrounds the town. On the way we met two flocks of sheep and a very recalcitrant cow that kept two men chasing all over the block. Just as we reached the wall the rain, which had continued all day, stopped and the sun streamed out over the tiled roofs and the glossy shrubbery. We walked all around the town on top of the wall. I was simply lovely. At intervals there were towers and arches all of stolid Roman architecture and all half hidden with green ivy. Everything is surprisingly green for December.
We got home from Chester at suppertime and then started out for Knotty Ash to dance with the U.S. soldiers there. It was lots of fun and we felt as if our presence was really appreciated.
Journal: December 11th, Wednesday
More shopping. You can buy wool and linen so cheaply here that collars and hosiery are the great temptations. Got some lovely blue stockings for three and six. In the evening dined at the State restaurant and then went to another dance at Lincoln Lodge for the enlisted men.
Journal: December 12th, Thursday
Word received that we are to leave for London today! Much packing and getting of baggage downstairs. Got to the station and into our train by eleven. Traveled in 3rd class coaches but very comfortably, six of us in a coach. Lunch on the train. Little meat pies that you had to eat your way through to find the meat. It was a glorious day and the country was beautiful. Little villages clustered in the valleys, sheep standing in vividly green hills, brooks with stone arched bridges crossing them with here and there a gray castle, or a thatched roof.
Arrived in London after dark. Taxis met us and rolled us to the Thackeray Hotel near Russell Square. In the register I found the name of Ruth Skinner from Holyoke, Mass [1]. I wonder if I’ll meet her. Also Grace Bird is just ahead of me; and will I ever catch up with her? Hadn’t been in London an hour before I ran into Kate VanDuzer in the hotel. Gee, but I was glad to see her! She was with Belle Richards. Arranged to meet her for dinner and where did we go but to the Savoy Hotel where we trod upon velvet carpets and saw many stunning uniforms. In fact, Axel, Prince of Denmark, passed by, as we were sitting in the lobby.
We felt a little out of place when we were ushered into the dining room where women were in evening dress. But the waiter stowed us away in a corner, a little too far from the music to suit us. While we were there two other “Y” girls came in but they did not notice us. Belle wrote a note and sent it over [to them] by the waiter and we awaited developments. The note said, “The two officers in the corner want to know what you would like to drink”. After the meal was over we joined them, they showed us the note and really seemed to [have been] taken in. They even pointed out the men, much to our amusement. When we came out through the long dining room we had to rescue Katherine [Kate] who was making for the kitchen. Afterwards we tried to get into “Hello America” –with Elsie Janis—but the whole house was sold out.
[1] An old friend.
Journal: December 13th, Friday
Started out early to Westminster. Wandered through the cloister where little boys in broad white collars and mortar boards were hurrying in to service. We attended a service near the high altar at 10:30 and then a guide took us around. There was so much to see. The tombs of the Kings, the wax effigies, the Poet’s Corner, etc. The Coronation chair with the Stone of Scone was much less resplendent than I had imagined. There is also another chair with a rather broad seat built especially for William and Mary. I won’t even begin to describe all we saw. I’ll try and keep it in my mind.
After we’d finished (or rather just begun; for you could spend a week there) we walked past the Parliament Buildings towards the Thames. Then we walked on the Mall to Buckingham Palace. Saw airplanes and guns that had been captured from the Huns. Then Miss Druderdale and I did some necessary shopping and it was dark and time for dinner. We sought out a little place called the Chanticler in the Soho district. We got a delicious dinner for three shillings. Came home, packed for our departure for France tomorrow.
Journal: December 14th, Saturday
My birthday! [29yrs] A wonderful way to celebrate by going to France! Such a time as we had getting off! Pouring rain and a dense fog. I began catching a glorious cold but there was nothing to be done but to go on. Bess Dadds and I registered our trunks and came back to the hotel, walking both ways. Had a late lunch and got back to the station for the 4 o’clock train. And such a journey, but it wasn’t a circumstance to what was in store for us the next night as we discovered later. We arrived in Southampton about 6:30 and stood in line for ages in a stuffy little station. We were labeled “aliens” and had to give our pedigrees for about the s’teenth time. Finally we got on the channel boat. There was a damp fog and the lights in the harbor were beautiful. We slipped out about 10:30 and the passage over was very calm comparatively speaking. The night was rather uncomfortable, as four of us had to sleep in one small cabin. The berths weren’t even made up as it’s not meant to be a night boat really.
Journal: December 15th, Sunday
Arrived in Le Havre early in the morning. Piled out of the boat and into a great big army van to come to our hotel. We must have looked like immigrants. The “Y” Sec’y. who met us had more pep and organization that any we have yet encountered. Miss Woodruff, Bess Dadds and I took a lovely walk up the waterfront to the fort on the hill where you can look out over the harbor.
The street is lined with the most beautiful little summer villas each with its little garden. We had our first experience with French cooking at dinner. The hors d’oeuvres are so nice and surprising and they certainly know what to do with meats! In the afternoon we walked through the city trying out our french on shop keepers etc. Met a 1st Lieut. who was in the army of occupation. He said the German people were just fine to the men.
Orders to leave came at 7:30. We piled into the van again, bag and baggage, and piled on a stuffy train where seven of us had to be in one compartment and try and sleep. Such a night! Without exception the worst I have ever spent, but our sense of humor saved us. At first we tried sitting up. Then Isabel (with us were two maiden ladies, i.e., Mary and Isabel from Maine) remembered that sailors on these trains sometimes slept in the baggage net. So up she got and disposed herself leaving only six below. We six piled all the luggage between the seats and prepared to lie down. But, alas, suitcase handles are not the most comfortable things to find in one’s mattress and sleep was not. Presently Isabel’s arm went to sleep (lucky arm!) and down she popped off the baggage rack making us seven again. Well, somehow or other the night wore on. We had a lunch at 12 o’clock consisting of cookies, jam, fruit, and olives. The latter were stowed away after the repast in the rack above my head, and all night long kept dripping down my neck. “Isabel, don’t push as you’re hurting my arm, etc., etc. Mary and Isabel usually purr at each other but once in a while the claws will out! Towards dawn, Kate and I in desperation disentangled ourselves from the mess of luggage, capes, shawl-straps and human beings and went to the end of the car where we could watch the country. The train just crawled and stopped every fifteen minutes but we finally reached Paris at 5:30.
Journal: December 16th, Monday
Waited until almost 11:00 A.M. in the station. Many interesting sights. Saw a pitiful Belgian woman who was going back home to begin over again, having lost three sons near her old home.
At last the “Y” came for us in Ford cars. We flew out to Versailles, as there is no room in Paris. The ride out was indescribable. I have never seen such woods as the Bois de Boulogne. And the avenues and l’Arc de Triomphe. It took my breath away with its beauty. The trees in the Bois are completely covered with the most wonderfully vivid green moss. It makes the whole place look like fairy-land.
At Versailles, they put us up at the Hotel Vatel which is a charming place all glass and mirrors and gold and white paneling. Kate, Bess Dadds, Edith Woodruff and I are together. We have a bath (grand bain) and an apology for a register[?] which makes us feel like millionaires. The dearest little maid brings us de l’eau chaud in the morning. Her family was driven from Soissons, her brother killed in the war, her little girl injured and later died. Her husband, however, is still living; they don’t know when he will leave the army.
Right off there was a conference and we met Mrs. Meade. She had separate interviews with everyone and is charming. If it weren’t for this darn cold I have contracted, I should be the happiest person alive— to think I am really in France! And at Versailles where, just a block from the hotel is all the magnificence of Louis XIV.
The cooking here is wonderful; I shall continue to stay fat I’m sure.
-o0|0o-
Le Havre, le 16 Decembre 1918
Dear Family:
We were shot right through London, spending only a day there, for which we were glad in a way since it brings us nearer Paris; but there is so much to see there and we had to pass it by, all in the dark as it were. But then we’re not here for sight-seeing and we are so thankful to have had even a morning in Westminster Abbey. To think that I have stood over the very place where Dickens and Browning and Tennyson are buried! The place is so full of tablets, busts, and memorials that you really cannot take it in all at once. You need a week to browse around. There are the tombs of the kings, the Coronation Chair, the wax effigies of Queen Anne and Elizabeth, Nelson, Pitt, etc.—all clothed in their original garments. You wonder how the lace has held together, how the gilt ornamentation is no blacker than it is. There is the grave of Ben Jonson on the North side of the nave. He said before his death that he wanted but 18 inches in Westminster Abbey so they buried him standing up in a floor space exactly 18 inches square.
The cloisters and choir school are part of the old Abbey and date back to Norman times. While we were there a service was held which we attended but there was no music, for which we were very sorry as they say the Abbey choir is one of the best in London. In the afternoon a beautiful London fog settled over the city and all we took in was Buckingham Palace. The Horse Guards at the gate in their resplendent gold, black, white, and red made us realize that we were in a monarchy with some of the attendant splendor about us.
Journal: December 17th, Tuesday
Today more conferences. I went to see the doctor and he told me to go to bed for a while; which I did. The maid comes up and talks French to me. Her name is Yvonne.
Journal: December 18th, Wednesday
Nice day. Got up and walked through the Jardins and Parc de Versailles. Went the length of of the longest lagoon and back. The glimpses you catch into the deep of the damp woods are fascinating. You might almost expect a satyr to jump out. Almost got lost in the glades and avenues but finally made my way to the Petit Trianon. There I found Kate and Edith Woodruff. The Petit Trianon is darling; we couldn’t get inside. Came back to the little inn by the main lagoon and had a delicious lunch. Roast meat and fried potatoes and confitures. Later were shown through the Chamber of Deputies where they elect the President every seven years.
Journal: December 19th, Thursday
More conferences. At noon hour went through Versailles Palais. It is too gorgeous to write about. The egotism of the great monarch is exemplified everywhere. He is pictured in all his martial and peaceable pursuits on all the walls and ceilings of all the rooms. He likens himself to Apollo and everywhere you see the great Sun with its surrounding rays. The interwoven “L”s are in the door panels and the windows and even in the stained glass of the chapel. The color of the paintings and the brightness of the gold leaf do not seem to have paled with the years. The chapel was one of the most marvelous parts of the building. The arched windows have a stained glass border and the leads are decorated with gold work [ormolu]. It looks more like a theatre than a chapel to me.
More conferences, then a delicious dinner at the Vatel. All went to bed early, partly because the room was cold and partly because we had had a very strenuous day.
Our struggles with French are very amusing. One of the girls who had had her breakfast in bed wanted some “dessert”—fruit, etc. She told the maid about it and presently [the maid returned] with two fresh eggs and a puzzled expression asking how to have them cooked. “Dessert” vs. “deux oeufs”! Alas, my dictionary is in my duffel bag—everything I want is in my duffel bag and it has not appeared yet. In the meantime I shiver around without my bathrobe, my slippers, etc.
Versailles, Dec. 19 1918
Dear Family (continued):
Had a break-off at Le Havre so took a walk all around the waterfront. It is lined with summer cottages and villas, some of them of the most beautiful architecture. It was like a continual picture book. At the end of the street was an old fort looking out over the harbor. Everywhere were the most resplendent uniforms and on a few of the children we saw little black pinafores that were made in the United States for refugees. We practiced our French on the chambermaids and shopkeepers and found that we could get along pretty well from our side, but you just have to strain your ears to understand what they say.
Between Havre and Paris we spent the funniest night I ever expect to experience. The train left about nine and we had to sit up all night; seven of us in one compartment. We tried just sitting for a while on the two seats facing each other, then we conceived the brilliant idea of piling all the baggage between the seats making one continuous bed. There we disposed ourselves, half sitting and half lying, and awaited dawn. But dawn never seems to come in these grey North countries and we certainly thought it was never coming this time. Katharine VanDuzer (by the way I met her again in London, and we have been together ever since) [and I] were next each other with our heads on each other’s shoulders. There were two little old ladies with us from New England who almost convulsed us all night long. One of them had heard that sailors, when spending the night in such cramped quarters, simplified matters by climbing up into the luggage rack to sleep, as in a hammock. Therefore the first thing we knew she had clambered “en haut” and disposed herself in the net [1]. All went well for ten minutes, but she soon found that one arm went to sleep and that she was unable to turn over, so down she popped and there were seven of us again in search for comfort. How we ever lived through that night I don’t know except that our sense of humor saved us; and also the knowledge that people in real war time have undergone discomforts a hundred times worse.
Kate and I wandered to the back of the corridor about 2 A.M. and watched the country, I was going to say “fly” by, but since we just crawled and stopped every fifteen minutes that would hardly be the proper word. We bumped into Rouen and having heard there was a cathedral there and tried to imagine we could see it through the feathery trees. At 5 o’clock we rolled into Paris and got tidied up as best we could without any lights or room to move about and were dumped, bag and baggage, on the platform. (Speaking of baggage, the steamer-roll that I lost on the Cunard ship I found waiting for me in Liverpool.) We waited in the station for a long time but it was most interesting to see the people. One poor little old lady in black was sitting in the midst of her luggage. We talked to her in French and found she was going back to Belgium, where she had lost three sons, to try and begin all over again. Finally a lot of Ford motor cars came for us to take us to Versailles, as Paris was too congested with Wilson’s party, causing much excitement.
It was a shame to be right here and not see the President, but there was no time to linger in Paris. And the ride out to Versailles! Never have I seen anything more wonderful. We passed under the Arc de Triomphe and then rolled into the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne. It was just like fairy land! The tree trunks are covered with a brilliant light-green moss, the most vivid I have ever seen, rows upon rows of them stretching off into a blurry distance of interlacing branches. The ground is covered with leaves and mossy stones and low evergreens and there are traily vines everywhere. The houses along the road were so picturesque and stolid with their tiled roofs and long French windows; in fact, everything was so new and wonderful that I simply couldn’t grasp it all at once.
Our hotel here is on a street running at right angles to the avenue leading to the king’s palace. Last night I walked by moonlight to the palace court and stood under the statue of Louis XIV and tried to remember all I had read about the “Sun King” and his court. We have been having lectures and conferences again in the Hotel des Reservoirs which, by the way, is the old home of Madame de Pampadour. How “Mitz” [2] would revel with me in the exquisite paneled walls, the gold-framed mirrors, the delicately carved Louis XIV furniture, and the crystal chandeliers. Yesterday they lit up the sunbursts in the ballroom and it was positively enough to dazzle your eyes. The mirrors at either end made the lights march on in an unending procession-line. Even in our little hotel, nothing incongruous in the way of furniture, wall paper, etc. has been introduced. I am writing now at a console table of polished wood, sitting in an Empire chair upholstered in cherry-colored and gold satin.
But this isn’t going to last long. Next week we get our assignments and they may take us to a muddy camp in the Vosges, or the damp discomforts of a port town. There is plenty of work; in fact they are calling for more women. As long as the troops are here they need canteens so we don’t feel as discouraged about things as we did in London. I asked Mrs. Meade about Bernice White and she says she is doing perfectly wonderful work with another girl and is going forward with the army. We who have just arrived cannot hope for anything like that, they say, but I don’t care what I do so long as they put me to work.
[1] I spent a similar night in 1949 on a train from Paris to Brussels, sleeping in the baggage rack.
[2] Possibly Helen Talbot, mother’s friend from Pratt Institute. She became the mother of Arthur Gilkey who died on K2 in 1953.
-o0|0o-
Journal: December 20th, Friday
More conferences. This time we handed in expense accounts and got measured for our new waists. We washed our clothes and tried to locate our baggage, but with no result. In the evening we had a fire built in our room and had a spread.
Versailles, Dec. 20 1918
Dear Family:
Please excuse this measly paper. I am so excited to-night for we have all got our appointments! I am to go to Dijon, near Switzerland. At present, of course, it is nothing but a spot on the map, but think what it will seem to me after I have seen my canteen? There will probably be snow and much mountains. If only we can so much as get there by Christmas Day and use the decorations that we have slipped into our duffel bags! But duffels and trunks just now are a minus quantity and we can only hope to get them before we receive our marching orders. Once they come, we go, as we are now under strict military rule.
They say the 77th and 78th [1] Divisions are there at Dijon, both of which have seen heavy fighting. My! I wish I could run up against someone I know!
We all feel so much better about the work now that we are here. “See England” everyone said, “Oh they won’t need you now the war is over” but here they say they are sending for more. Military discipline is being imposed more than ever and things are on a real war basis. As things stand now, I guess there is no chance now of passing through or seeing the devastated districts. Horrible as it would be, I should not feel as if a visit to France at this time would be complete without a sight of it.
In absolute contrast to war and devastation were the wonderful sights we saw this morning. We started out for a walk in the “Parc du Palais de Versailles” and found that one avenue led to another, one path to another, one fountain to another, one lagoon, one statue, one garden, to another and another, until we were lost in a maze of beauty and gorgeous coloring—even in December. The trees, though leafless, are covered, to the tiniest twig, with the most vivid green moss and, as they are planted in rows in all directions, wherever you look you gaze down aisles of green. Never, naturally, in my restricted life have I seen landscape gardening on so grand and formal a scale. Yet it isn’t all formal. The Petit Trianon and the little Swiss farm yard and the darling little village with its mill and bridged streams are in surroundings just as wild as possible. Every turn invites you to wander down a new and fascinating path. I can’t begin to describe it all, but since we almost went wild with the beauty of it in winter you can imagine how indescribable it must be in the summertime [2].
Holly trees grow in profusion and everywhere you see the mistletoe hanging, just out of reach, from the great gnarled branches of the oak trees. We lunched at a little restaurant on the shores of the great lagoon where we had delicious “hors d’oeuvres”, meat, French fried potatoes, cheese, and coffee. I wish I had had my domestic science course of a French cook. They can even make snails attractive though perhaps some people, more epicurean than myself, have a fondness for snails anyway.
While we were in the restaurant it began to rain, then it changed to hail and finally to snow so that when we resumed our walk the dead leaves, the tops of the stone balustrades, the statues of Bacchus, Hermes, David, etc. were all covered with a light powdering of white. By the time we reached the Palais the sun was out again and the snow disappeared.
Oh? I could rave for hours I have seen so much and can hardly grasp it all. Am sending some things I don’t want to carry with me—postals of England and the harbor at Le Havre as it looked from our port-hole at 6:30 A.M., minus the color. Someday I shall make a sketch of it for my bunkmate of that night.
[1] The Lightning; my father’s Division.
[2] In November of 1999 an unprecedented tempest destroyed ten-thousand of the trees of Versailles.
Journal: December 21st, Saturday
The other girls went to Paris but, as I still felt on the bum, I was lazy and stayed in bed. It was cold and wet outside but after a while I felt better and fared forth to see what I could see. Had dejuner all alone in the hotel and then walked toward the Parc de Versailles. Fell in with a party of Red Crossers who were making a tour of the Grand and Petit Trianons. I followed along and heard the guide explain all the treasures that are contained in these beautiful little buildings. There are some wonderful paintings of Louis XIV in the Grand Trianon and a darling bust of Marie Antoinette in le Petit. Also in the latter you may see in the dining room the central section of the floor which sinks down into the cuisine below. The table was lowered thus and the meal set on it and then raised so that no servant ever entered the room in which Mme. de Pompadour should eat her meals. The Petit Trianon was started by Louis XV for Mme. de Pompadour and was occupied later by Marie Antoinette.
I walked home through the crisp cool darkness and met Beasie Dadds in town. We did some shopping and had our hair shampooed by a hairdresser with a silky beard who had just returned on a “permission” from the Front. He has been fighting for four years.
That evening Kate VanDuzer and I took a walk but it being Saturday night there wasn’t a thing open. We wanted fruit but could find none anywhere.
Journal: December 22nd, Sunday
Kate and I started off bright and early to look for our baggage. We met Belle Richards in the Versailles station and we all went to la Gare St. Lazare. Found our trunks and duffels all safe and by dint of much parley-vous arranged to have them sent to la Gare de Lyons in the afternoon. Then we fared forth to see Paris.
It was gray and misty and things looked pretty drab. The one bright spot was the quantity of flowers. Roses, violets, strange berries, etc. As we neared the Madeleine Church, which rose sombre and dark through the mist, we could see all around it on the sidewalks booths of brilliant flowers covered over with awnings and presided over by quaint women who called out their wares in an almost irresistible chant. We went inside the church. It is vast and dimly lighted and mysterious. Nothing particular about the architecture stands out in my mind as I think of it now. They are removing the sandbags from the columns in the portico. Had lunch at Duval’s which is supposed to correspond to Childs at home.
After lunch we went to la Gare de Lyons where we practically spent the afternoon. I forgot to say that I have received my assignment to Dijon and hence am taking my trunk to this station. We have decided to check our own baggage and not trust it to the “Y”. After much more parleying Kate and I embarked in a huge taxi with three trunks and three duffels rattling around on the roof. As we arrived at our destination and were waiting for a “facteur” to bring up a charrette two American Captains approached us and offered their assistance. We graciously accepted it, and ended by accepting also an invitation for dinner and the theatre. I had completely forgotten the fact that it was Sunday but Gay Paree seems to go on the same no matter the day of the week. It being yet early we rode around in a taxi ‘til about 5:30 and then held down a table on the trottoir of the Boulevard de L’Opera by ordering drinks (we had chocolate) for the sake of killing time ‘til dinner. Our escorts, Warren and Cogbell of the 324th Infantry, had ordered a dinner at the Cafe de Paris which was all ready when we arrived there at 6:30. It was a very gay place, greatly resembling Churchill’s, Murray’s or any cabaret in the U.S. The only thing lacking was the music and dancing. But such a dinner! Fish that melted in your mouth, not to mention consomme. Chicken, fried potatoes, endive salad, champagne, some kind of chocolate eclairs and last of all—real ice cream, fromage, biscuits and coffee. Oh yes—and a liqueur which was as strong as anything I ever want to touch and which Kate and I merely tasted as we did the champagne. While there we saw some very stunning girls, most of them with American officers, and some gowns—well, they were just “some gowns” that’s all I can say.
The theatre was the “Follies Bergere” and every other act was in English. In fact the audience was just about one-half American. I’m glad we went, but I was struck by the laxness and the excess of everything. Everywhere there was continual smoking and drinking and carousal and the Americans were as conspicuous as anyone in it all. Just to forget, to mark time until they should return home—that was the keynote of it all. “Let us eat, drink, and be merry” not for “tomorrow we die”, but for tomorrow we must still be here when our one desire is to be home. And the way Americans spend money! No wonder prices are high in France. Paper money they consider soap wrappers and they won’t take change for a franc because its too much trouble to carry so much junk in your pocket.
In the meanwhile it was raining hard. We got to the Gare St. Lazare and found that we could just make the midnight train for Versailles. But there wasn’t a seat in any of the regular compartments and we finally had to climb up on top of the double deckers and sit there in the soot, the wind, and the rain. Of course the men wouldn’t let us go home alone so there we all sat for ¾ hour huddled up in a bunch, the four of us, bumping past stations with dim lights and strange signs, until about 1 A.M. we reached Versailles. Then there was a walk through the pouring rain to the hotel. We approached the house expecting to find it all dark and silent but, behold, a lot more girls had arrived and the place was all ablaze. We asked the Mme. if the men could sleep there until their train left for Paris at 4 A.M. She said, “mais oui”, she would give them the sofas in the salons and we left them to sweet dreams. How sweet they were I was to find out later.
Journal: December 23rd, Monday
The whole day spent in Paris [at “Y”] headquarters at Rue d’Aguesseau. Such a confusion of people you never saw! The usual process of standing in line began again. Got my red workers permit with orders to return at 5:30 for instructions. Had lunch at Palais de Geau [Geare?], now a “Y” canteen, formerly a skating rink. Saw Miss Fitzmaurice and Miss Dallet whom I knew so long ago in N.Y.C.
P.M. Shopped. Bought a blue tam o’shanter for 26 francs. Walked through the Champs Elysees and Place de la Concorde. Got a very fleeting glimpse of Paris.
On returning to Rue d’Aguesseau found that my transportation orders had arrived and that I was to leave for Dijon on the following morning at 7:45, as far as I could see stark, sole, alone! This changed plans considerably. We all had a hasty dinner at the YWCA Headquarters and caught the eight o’clock train for Versailles. Kate and I sat up half the night packing. She leaves for Nice tomorrow evening, and since we go out of the same station she was sport enuf to promise to go with me at 5:30 A.M. on Tuesday. We said goodbye to our little maid Yvonne Menier to whom, by the way I presented my blue and white bathrobe. Poor child— most of her belongings remained in Soissons when she evacuated in 1914.
My last impression of the hotel in Versailles is cold. Kate and I crawled into bed about 12:30 with our minds set on awakening at 4:30.
Journal: December 24th, Tuesday
Which we did. My but it was dark and cold. After getting dressed we went down to the hotel office and waked up the little maid who was asleep on a bed in the corner of the restaurant. All the fox terriers in the place set up a racket and we thought the whole house would be on our trail. After arousing M. Menier (Yvonnes’s husband who is on leave from the French army) we started up the street in bright moonlight. Kate and I carried our suitcases while M. M. struggled with the duffel bags which weigh a ton. We arrived in Paris in the pale gray dawn. No taxis to be had—only a “fiacre a un cheval”. In we piled and were trotted at a snail’s pace across the Seine southward. Passed Notre Dame where we could barely see the three beautiful gothic arches. In one of the doorways were piled the remains of the sandbags which are being gradually removed.
Arrived at the station, a facteur piloted me around from one bureau to another. My trunk “etait faire registre” and to this day I don’t know how I ever got on the train. But I did, bag and baggage, and after saying a fond farewell to Kate, settled myself in my compartment. Opposite me was a handsome French lieutenant and next to him a Captain, both of them wearing the Croix de Guerre and the Captain sporting the Legion d’Honneur. There was another French officer, and next to me an American lieutenant. It was he who told me the sequel to our adventure of Sunday with Capts. Warren and Cogbell. His name was Castine of the 324th. We had lots of fun all the way to Dijon…
Upon reaching Dijon I bade goodbye to my lieutenant and made the acquaintance of Miss Stone, one of the “Y” staff who met me. She piloted me to the Hotel des Cloches where I met Juliette Whiton of Batavia, N.Y. the only other canteen girl in town. We hit it off very well. Got settled in out little room, where we were to share the narrow bed surmounted by a huge down quilt about four feet long, and went with Miss Stone to HQ. Here we were greeted most cordially by Mrs. Gramberry and her husband. They live on the ground floor of a house directly opposite the Hotel de Ville—in the quaintest little square all cobblestoned and lined with houses. Their rooms are delightfully furnished with carved armoires, porcelain stoves etc. and the windows are hung with lovely English chintz. Wicker armchairs complete the picture of homey cheerfulness. After an interview with her we had supper at a cute little patisserie where we had omelette and delicious fried pommes de terres, jam and real ice cream again. We are now on the last outpost of civilization. After supper they broke the news to us that we are to leave at 5 A.M. tomorrow for Recy-sur-Ource where we will be assigned to the villages where we [will be] stationed. Various Companies of the 6th Division. That means setting up canteens, [each alone, by herself]. Imagine our feelings at being confronted with that kind of a proposition!
Miss Whiton and I fared forth to the station to see about baggage. My trunk had arrived thank goodness and the nicest R.T.O. man checked it for me. His name was L.C. Woods. Those M.P. and R.T.O. men have a monotonous time of it. They stick around all day in a dingy station and direct troops coming in and out…
Journal: December 25th, Wednesday
Christmas Day in France! Miss Whiton and I arose at 4:30. Mr. Woods fixed us up at the station and we went out on the platform to wait for our train to be made up. It didn’t start for two hours so we had ample time to watch the passengers. The place was swarming with French poilus on leave! Lots of American uniforms were visible in the half light, half darkness of a winter morning. Such a chaos—such rushing back and forth, no one seeming to have any clear idea of where they are going. We collected our baggage and sat on it, and beat a tattoo with our feet to keep warm. We had no chance to eat breakfast but hoped we’d get fed sometime before the day was over. Finally the train left. In our compartment were six American officers—heaven only knows their names and regiments. We passed the time of day and began to learn things about the 6th Division. They landed in July, were in the Grand Pre drive—chased the Germans for several days, were then marched to the Argonne Forest where they chased the Huns some more, finally were sent to Verdun , whence they hiked it to their quarters in the southern part of the Departement of Haute-Marne. They have hiked about 250 kilometers in all.
Arrived in Recy about 11 o’clock. Dr. Tippett, the “Y” secretary, met us and showed us to our temporary billets, a bare room with the usual high bed and eiderdown comforter, many pictures of the virgin on the wall, a great high armoire of carved wood, and a fireplace. We then had Xmas dinner with a very charming Mme. who is the school mistress of the town. After that we went to see the men stand in chow line and the cook insisted that we partake of much chicken, potatoes, gravy, coffee, and pie. We choked some of it down for politeness sake, but I never was so full up in my life.
Then Dr. Tippett (a minister from Cleveland) took us to his office and talked business. He showed us the way the boys have been living ever since the war stopped, and how very much in need they are of some kind of a place like a “Y” where they can gather. The 6th Division is quartered in eighty tiny villages and there is absolutely nothing to work with. The boys are sleeping in barns and eating where they can and it is surely an approach to conditions near the Front as far as I can see. [1] In a way I am very thankful I wasn’t sent to Nice or some such place. I couldn’t have been with Kate anyway as we are to go out all alone!
About 3 o’clock Dr. T. took us in a Ford out to two villages nearby. The first had a “Y” hut with a Christmas tree in one end, and the whole place was filled with greens. We stayed there only a few minutes and went on to Aigny-le-Duc, divisional HQ. Here we were taken to the officer’s mess and had supper. After supper we danced to the music made by a mandolin and a guitar. We then went to the “Y” Hut where a concert was given by the 52nd Regimental Band. It was as fine a performance as I have ever heard…
The ride home was cold as a snowstorm had set in, but it really made things look something like Xmas. It’s the strangest Xmas day I’ve ever spent, and it was so crowded with new experiences and impressions that I cannot possibly put them all down.
[1] The AEF had to wait most of the winter before going home as it took months to assemble the shipping required to handle the million or so waiting men.
Journal: December 26th, Thursday
Miss Whiton received her assignment to Vitry [-en-Montagne]; Cos. L and M of 52nd and goes this noon. In the A.M. we went to the canteen here [Recy] where Miss Anderson and Miss Waller serve cocoa to the boys. Their hut has a partition and a counter and they have a regular kitchen.
After Miss Whiton had left I took a walk to the hospital and then dropped in at the canteen. Stayed there ‘til suppertime and learned how to make cocoa in a large quantity.
After supper Dr. Tippett gave me my assignment. It is to Bay-sur-Aube up towards Langres with Co. E and F of the 52nd Infantry. I went to bed early in my little cold room with a mixture of feelings I must confess.
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Chapter 2- Bay-sur-Aube
Chapter 3- Intervalle
Chapter 4- Nanteuil-la-Fosse
William C. Atkinson 
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