The Project Gutenberg eBook, A "Y Girl in France, by Katherine Shortall This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: A "Y Girl in France Letters of Katherine Shortall Author: Katherine Shortall Release Date: April 29, 2010 [eBook #32177] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A "Y GIRL IN FRANCE*** E-text prepared by Jeannie Howse and Friend and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by Internet Archive/American Libraries (http://www.archive.org/details/americana) Note: Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive/American Libraries. See http://www.archive.org/details/ygirlinfrance00shor Transcriber's Note: Inconsistent hyphenation in the original document has been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. For a complete list, please see the end of this document. Click on the images to see a larger version. Book Cover A "Y" Girl in France LETTERS OF KATHERINE SHORTALL BOSTON RICHARD G. BADGER THE GORHAM PRESS Copyright, 1919, by Richard G. Badger All Rights Reserved MADE IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA The Gorham Press, Boston, U.S.A. At the solicitation of many friends I am publishing, unknown to my daughter, these letters written by her while in the service of the Y.M.C.A. The letters have come to me scribbled in lead pencil and in every color of ink upon an assortment of stationery that in itself revealed the snatching of whatever opportunity to write occurred in a busy life. I make here public apology to the author if I have caused to be printed anything she would prefer not to have said outside the family circle. The spirit manifest in these letters has been that of hundreds of girls wearing the same colors, doing faithfully and perseveringly the work that was given them to do, whether it chanced to be dramatic and exhilarating or plain drudgery. To each one of them as she doffs her uniform I would say, in the recent happy phrasing of a statesman: "Let us not demobilize the Spirit of Helpfulness!" and with sincere homage I dedicate this little book TO OUR "Y" GIRLS. M.C.S. September, 1919. A "Y" GIRL IN FRANCE Y Badge A "Y" Girl in France Monday, Dec. 23, 1918. Well, dear Family, here I am at sea, and everything is fine. At noon on Saturday our tugs pulled us away from the dock ahead of the "Prinzes Juliana" which lay alongside. Great waving of handkerchiefs between the blue-hatted crowds of Y.M.C.A. girls on both ships. The harbor was misty and the sky line of New York was very beautiful and shadowy. As we steamed out we passed the "Baltic" coming in, laden with troops. The boys were wild with enthusiasm at returning home. Many had climbed way up the rigging and as we passed they all cheered and we cheered back, and handkerchiefs fluttered and hats were waved. Then we went by the Statue of Liberty and out to sea. Before long the deck was covered with tired Y.M.C.A. girls lying prostrate in their steamer chairs with their eyes closed. You never saw so many green capes and blue hats in your life! We are in the great majority on the boat. The sea was calm and silvery, and it was delicious to have nothing to do but to enjoy it and to let that salt water lethargy creep over you. However, I also felt a cold creeping over me, in spite of "red pills" and fresh air, and Sunday when I woke up I had a feeling in my chest that made me decide the better part of valor was to remain in bed. It was a nuisance, because the weather outside was like a day in June. I looked out of the porthole onto a level blue sea and warm, balmy air blew in. It was unbelievable. The ship's doctor visited me, tapped me and put on a hot compress, and I lay in my upper berth all day in a sort of feverish stupor, enjoying the faint motion of the ship and the singing from the church service which floated in to me clearly, and this morning I woke up practically well. I have been out all day, walked four miles and feel splendid. Such weather you never dreamed of for December. Clear blue skies, a chipper breeze off the starboard bow and waves just big enough to make us pitch gently in a very unobjectionable way. This evening's clouds are piling up round the horizon, so who knows but old Eolus may be getting ready to send us a Christmas present. There are four girls to each stateroom. My room-mates are very nice girls, and we get along very well in spite of the congestion. There is a Miss S., a very splendid, dark- haired, athletic-looking girl who attracts me exceedingly. Then there is Miss A. from Baltimore, with a strong Southern accent, kind-hearted and sensible. Also a quiet little mouse of a girl, Miss C., who is very earnest and wants to improve each moment, and was quite worried about herself because she sat in her chair a whole afternoon and didn't do anything. There is a sprinkling of Englishmen on board, a few American men, ten Japanese, an Italian Colonel who apparently is very much of a lady-killer, one Y.M.C.A. man and about a hundred of us in our high collars and greenish suits. The "Caronia" has been an armored cruiser in the Pacific during the first part of the war, and then was hastily fitted up to carry troops. She is in rather bad condition, battered and dirty. Nevertheless ship life seems just what it was before the war. The food is good, tea is served, the attendants with their nice English voices are all so remarkably [7] [8] [9] courteous and—charming! That is the only word for it. And now I must go and dress for dinner, which means, I shall put on a clean high collar. Ugh! Sunday, Dec. 29th. I must tell you about our Christmas at sea. It is the custom on all English ships for the stewards at midnight to go all through the ships singing carols. As I lay in my berth I heard them begin, such a fine men's chorus, singing in harmony. They came down our corridor, passed us, the sound gradually dying away, then the "Y" girls began and also went all over the ship, singing very well. Christmas was a wet, foggy day. The old "Caronia" would put her nose down into a wave and send a shower of spray over the decks. There were a few seasick people, yet one would hardly have called it rough. In the morning there was a short Christmas service, but the nicest part of the day came in the afternoon and will always stand out in my memory. All the girls had a tremendous lot of candy and fruit, and they decided to divide it all up so that every man employed on board the ship should get a present from the Y.M.C.A. In the afternoon we all went way down into the lower regions of the ship to sing and to distribute our gifts. There all the men who work down in the darkness were assembled. The "Y" girls sang, then the men sang, Christmas carols at first, but the party got merrier and merrier, and funny songs and solos and stunts of all kinds were performed. An old piano had been brought down. One of the stewards, a true comedian, gave us several awfully good songs, with a charm and a rhythm that were quite irresistible. One little Irish-looking boy with waving dark hair and a mischievous, sensitive face, sang cockney songs, the others joining in the chorus. Then, as the "Y" girls sang a catchy "rag" he was pushed forward and began a nimble clog dance. The first thing I knew, I was in the ring dancing with him! There was a shout of surprise from everybody, and they kept us at it over and over again. Finally we left, feeling really happy. It had been one of those rare parties where every one contributed to the entertainment. A few days later the enclosed expression of gratitude from the "catering department" was handed to each "Y" girl, also several others, equally appreciative, from the engineers and members of the crew. The day after Xmas is a holiday in England. The men were again trying to have a little festivity down below and I was asked to go down and dance for them, so of course I did. I did the "Cachuca" to horrible old waltz music banged out by one of the stewards, I did every dance I ever knew and more than I knew; and then we had songs and more stunts from the men. Such good songs, and so catchy. It was great fun, and the men were so appreciative. And all down in the dark, damp, unknown region of a big ship! The American men on board are not to our country's credit; a poor lot. The Italian colonel is the centre of attraction. He is a fascinating person, liked by men and women equally. He has borrowed my guitar for the voyage and sings and whistles to delighted groups. This morning, after a foggy but calm voyage, we came up on deck to find everything glistening in sun. The sea was streaked in green and black and the white caps gleamed, while ever widening patches of blue appeared among the clouds. To port, barely distinguishable in the gray clouds, was Ireland. Pretty soon, on the other side, Wales came into sight. The day has become brighter and brighter. Continually we pass little steamers. There is the thrill of approaching land. We do not know where we are going. Such a delightful, irresponsible sensation! I know just how a boy must feel in the army. New Year's Day, 1919. Here I am, writing like any soldier at a Y.M.C.A. canteen in Liverpool. There are four of us crowded round one little table in a large, bare, smoky room. The place is buzzing with soldiers, a game of billiards is going on in one corner and in another a graphophone is never allowed one moment's rest. You would laugh, (or perhaps you wouldn't!) if you could see me camping out in the wilds of England. Sunday night when we were all at dinner on the "Caronia" the engines suddenly stopped throbbing, and when we went up on deck there were the lights of Liverpool on either side of us, a sky full of stars above, and little lighted steamers scudding about. We were to ride at anchor in the harbor all night. A tug brought the Alien Officer on board, and each one of us and our passports had to undergo his scrutiny. It was a tedious business, and as I did not come till near the end of the alphabet he didn't [10] [11] [12] [13] get around to me till after midnight. One thing I have learned already is the immense advantage of belonging to the first of the alphabet. Your future is made or marred by your initial. Monday we were up at five thirty, and finally, after interminable bustle and waiting and crowding, we and our luggage were through the customs. The Y.M.C.A. here weren't expecting us, and were rather overwhelmed at the prospect of housing us. They got accommodations for the first thirty (of the alphabet) at a good hotel. The remaining sixty- five were sent to a Y.M.C.A. hut called Lincoln Lodge, where one floor of soldiers' barracks was turned over to us. Imagine a huge chill room with brick walls, containing four hundred double-decker beds and nothing else. The atmosphere was like a tightly bottled and preserved London fog. It was raining outside. On each bed was a burlap-hay mattress and a coarse blanket. After lunch downstairs I fixed myself up in my own blankets with my fur coat on top, got very comfortable and had a three hours' rest. Every night I ever spent on the rocky ground at our Mountain Lake stood me in good stead, and I didn't mind my lumpy, "rolly" mattress a bit, but it has been hard on many of the girls. That night I slept twelve and a half hours, and woke at nine thirty yesterday much refreshed. In the morning I helped with the dish washing down in the canteen in the basement; such a filthy place I don't wonder the "flu" spreads. I don't want to begin to criticise so soon, but if I see much more of the conditions I saw there I shall do my little bit to instigate a reform, at least where I work. In the afternoon I went with a nice Washington girl, Miss P. and a great enormous Irish officer with a gentle smile and sweet voice, to see a German submarine in the harbor. It was one of their largest models which has surrendered. We were allowed on board and examined it all. It gave me a strange feeling to be walking that deck and to read the German signs everywhere, and to see those deadly guns, now become the playthings of little boys who swarmed over the boat and up into the gunners' seats. New Year's Eve the Y.M.C.A. made use of all of us girls and gave a dance, five of us furnishing the music, I alternately playing my guitar and then using it as a drum, beating it on the back with my ring. It made quite a hit. And really with two violins, ukulele and piano we weren't a half bad orchestra. The "Y" men were immensely grateful as they had searched the town unsuccessfully for a band. The place was jammed with soldiers, American, Canadian and British, and really it was a very jolly, nice affair. And now we are on the point of departure for London. Paris, January 12, 1919. So much has happened since I wrote you from Liverpool and we have all passed through so many moods that I wonder whether I can think back and tell you everything. We left Liverpool for London a hundred strong, the Y.M.C.A. having reserved enough first class coaches for us all. We were a jolly party in our compartment. I played the guitar and we all sang. We had afternoon tea served at stations and it was all very much like peace times except that the train was not heated at all and was excessively damp and cold, and in the compartments were various signs ordering the public to keep the shades down after dark and on no account to let any light show. The English landscape was beautiful, soft and undulating, but damp looking. That dampness gets into your soul. The trees were brown, without leaves, yet the grass in the fields was vivid green. We arrived in London after dark, about eight p.m. There we were met by some "Y" men, and after the identification of baggage, which with a hundred girls is a desperate affair, we were all loaded into huge trucks or "brakes" as they call them, and carted to our various destinations. About twenty of us were dumped out at the Melbourne Hotel, a decidedly God-forsaken place just off Russell Square. There I shared a room with Miss P. an awfully nice Washington girl. If you could see that room! It was desperately cold, and so damp the towels were wet. A broken gas mantle way up near the ceiling gave a dim greenish light which seemed to mix up with the fog and become part of the oppressing atmosphere. We were back in the land of pitcher and bowl and slop jar, and brushing your teeth from a tumbler. Neither of us had heroism enough to bathe, but crawled into our humid bed with sweaters and warm wrappers and bedsocks on, and all the capes and fur coats piled on top. Somehow we shivered ourselves to sleep. The next morning the sun was actually shining. After a sloppy breakfast, we all reported at the Imperial Hotel where we were given instructions on all kinds of things. We were to be sent to Paris in relays just as quickly as possible. In the meantime London was ours. Miss P., who knew London, and I went shopping. I was chiefly interested in [14] [15] [16] [17] discovering all evidences of war. London had changed somehow, yet not exactly in the way one might vaguely imagine. Shops were all thriving apparently, Liberty's windows as entrancing as ever, movement and crowds everywhere. Yet if you observed closely you saw how few automobiles and taxis there were, though the busses were the same as ever, except that there were women-conductors. The streets were absolutely flooded with men in uniform, soldiers of all kinds. There were many Australians and New Zealanders, tall, lean men with weather-beaten faces and a certain attractive swagger which is augmented by their broad-brimmed hats turned up at one side. Canadians were everywhere, and in less numbers, Americans. And of course the British in their splendid uniforms with their unmistakable bearing. I was glad to see so many, many specimens of noble Anglo- Saxons. They seem to me to be the hope of England. The most striking of all are the Scotch; perfect giants of men, in their kilts and plaids, bare knees and all. Then there were many wounded, men wearing the blue hospital uniform, with arms and legs gone, heads bandaged, limping forth to get the air; but most of them smiling. Miss P. and I decided that the greatest evidence of the terrible strain of war was in the expression of people on the street. No one ever smiled. Faces were dull and joyless. Clothes were old. Shoes were shapeless and soggy. Every one seemed hopeless rather than actively sorrowful. And in the keen, blonde faces of the men one sees about Whitehall, the men on the inside of affairs, there was a far-away, set, determined expression. We had arrived in London on New Year's day, Wednesday, and were to leave on Sunday. Sunday afternoon we were all taken to South Hampton and after interminable business at the customs house we boarded a channel boat for Havre. A smooth passage. At 5.45 a.m. I looked out of the porthole and there was the shore of France, all black, with little lights twinkling and a great white searchlight flashing back and forth over the water. After breakfast, when we went up on deck, the sky was rosy with the approaching sunrise, and suddenly in a burst of glory the sun came out of a golden cloud and warmed us all! It was an indescribably beautiful scene. The masts of many ships and all the ropes and rigging against the glowing pink clouds in the sky, the beloved bustle of a harbor, the French language, the smiling French faces, the excitement of arrival at dawn, all made us happy, and I, for one, loved France with all my heart at that moment. We were gathered on the wharf for some time, where we watched red-capped German prisoners unloading our trunks from the ship. Then, in rows of fours, we were marched up through the muddy streets to the Y.M.C.A. headquarters. There we were given a good, direct talk by the man in charge and were again marched off for an early luncheon. My admiration for the Y.M.C.A. is rising continually. I am proud and thrilled to be a part of it. I am glad I came. "Première Classe" coaches were reserved for us on our trip to Paris. We left Havre at noon, closely packed into our compartments. Such wonderful country as we went through! We stopped at Rouen and had fine views of the Cathedral, the excited "Y" girls running from one side of the car to the other in their effort to miss nothing. In the Rouen station a fine old lady was giving coffee at a Red Cross canteen. A continuous stream of soldiers in blue came up to her booth. I saw one greenish-coated Italian soldier step up and order coffee just as a French soldier was beginning his. The two chinked their cups together, while the shrewd-faced old lady in her flowing Red Cross cap beamed at them. The train then became crowded, and a French soldier came into our compartment. I got to talking with him. He had been a prisoner in Germany ever since August, 1914, and had been back in France just five days. He was very young, with one of the saddest faces I ever saw. I asked him how he had been treated. He said that he had never seen any cruelty to prisoners, except that the last two years of the war they had been so poorly nourished. Much else he told us about the French attitude toward their allies. I have talked with many French and American boys during this past week and have heard many stories, but they must wait till I get home. Apparently the men in the ranks from Australia, Canada and the United States, get on well with each other and with the French, but they say many things against the English. I think this is due to a sort of provincial antipathy on the part of our boys to anything "different" from what they are used to. I have run against this attitude in many since I have been here and it seems to me a great pity. Whenever I hear boys talking against the English I am going to try to make them see differently. I have found one exception. Such a nice boy whom I talked with yesterday in the train. He had been in the one U.S. division that fought at Ypres. As he described the battle line his face was drawn with the horror of it, yet he had to talk about it, and I let him, hoping he would "get it off his chest" that way. "One thing is," he said, "that no one knows what the British have been through in this war. Terrible as the Marne and the Argonne were, Ypres was ten times worse. It was the most frightful place on the front, and the British have done wonders in holding it." [18] [19] [20] [21] He told me of many of the horrors, and talked about the wonderful chaplain of his regiment who ministered to the dying boys wherever they fell and who saw to it that the thousands of unburied dead were buried and their identification tags secured. He said that you could tell by looking at a Prussian officer that he would stick a knife through a baby! Then we got to talking about his home in Ohio. When we parted he gave my hand a grip like a vise and said: "You're the first honest-to-goodness American girl I've talked to for fifteen months. I sure won't forget you!" To digress still further, I just want to say that it is a new and I believe quite wonderful experiment, this sending of the right sort of girls to work and to associate with the boys in the army. War is bad. The herding of men in armies is bad. I have never before realized how much men need good women. It is up to us to be good, in all the joyous, efficient, and true sense of the word. To return to our trip to Paris. After our soldier left us, two nice French women squeezed into our compartment. The train got fuller and fuller. In the corridor a tall English officer sat on his bag and puffed his pipe at us. Next to him three exuberant French poilus half lay and half sat all in a heap, their shrapnel helmets, canteens and packs piled about them. There was much laughter and snatches of song among them, and many winks at the English officer who remained supremely indifferent to them. One of them smoked two cigarettes at a time for our benefit, sometimes puffing one through his nose and the other through his mouth. It was long after dark, and we had had nothing to eat or drink since eleven a.m., and we were all squeezed so tight we couldn't move. At last I offered the officer my large suitcase for a seat, which he accepted. One of the French soldiers sat on it with him, the ice was broken, and we all had a very delightful time till we got to Paris at midnight. A hasty bite at the canteen, and we were rushed to another station and put on the train for Versailles where a hotel was reserved for us. There we have stayed under very damp and cold conditions, going into Paris every day for more conferences, physical examinations, etc. Tomorrow I expect to receive my assignment. I have no idea where it will be. You should see la Place de la Concorde. All the captured German guns have been gathered there. These great, hideous things fascinate me in a strange way, and I wandered among them the other day examining them. There are hundreds of trench mortars that sent the dreaded "Minnenwurfer"; ugly, chunky guns, peculiarly vicious looking. Around the obelisk are arranged the long-distance guns, their gigantic muzzles pointing in the air. Hundreds and hundreds of guns! As you look toward the Arc de Triomphe the Champs Elysees is lined on both sides with guns close together, all the way. They are all camouflaged, mottled and streaked in green and brown. It is bewildering to look at them. They are the symbol, I suppose, of a great indelible mark in the book of history, which later generations will gaze on with curiosity. But now, one little mortal standing in the presence of those recently silenced mouths, can only shiver and go away. It is too soon. January 24th. I have hated to write for the simple reason that I have been having bronchitis. Not serious at all, but I thought a whole ocean between us might make you think it was serious. Really, if I had to be sick, I am lucky to have been here in comfortable quarters with medical care and no one depending on me for work. But it was a nuisance and a delay when I didn't want to be delayed. January 26th. I have been out now, yesterday and to-day and am feeling finely. Here in Paris the "Y" has its own medical staff and all its workers are given the best of care. Out "in the field" we come under the army doctor's care. But I don't expect to need any such care. I have received my assignment which is Sémur, somewhere near Dijon. All I can find out about it is that there is mud and that I "shall be on my own resources and initiative a good deal." They must have some confidence in me. Oh, I am so eager to get to work! It is wonderful to be in Paris just now, even though one must stay indoors. I find the French newspapers intensely interesting and read them from cover to cover. A truly lofty spirit runs through them all. The men who write the editorials are certainly spiritual leaders, public teachers and guides. I keep running across things I want to send to you just to show what an elevating force a newspaper can be. It is because they, with every other industry, have been working for the salvation of their country. And yet—Europe is [22] [23] [24] blind. Never has there been such need for understanding of economics and Christian strength. Thank heaven, some of the leaders of the Peace Conference seem to possess both! Yesterday I passed one of the "mutilés de la guerre." He had no legs. He was propelling himself by his hands and arms in a sort of bicycle, crossing the street valiantly. A steamer rug decently wrapped around him concealed his deformity. He was in his uniform. The machine struck the curb and stopped. He could not force it over. How happy I was to be there for just that moment! I easily lifted him and helped him over. He thanked me with sweet French courtesy, and he went on, and I went on; but his gentle, thin, suffering face! One sees almost none of the terrible results of war in Paris. London was far, far worse. I am told that the French Government has provided other places for "les mutilés." Instead, all over Paris are sturdy bands of little "poilus," marching in their extremely supple order. And many times a day squads of French cavalry go clattering under my window. The reserves are being demobilized and they are everywhere. Pouillenay, France, February 7, 1919. Dearest Family: If I have let more than a week go by since my last letter please forgive me. These have been days full of events, and in the brief intervals between events I have had to rest in order to keep a full supply of energy on tap for the occasion to come. When one is the only woman among some 1500 men, one must not slump. But I'll tell you all about it. On the Monday after I wrote you last, the doctor signed my release and things began to move. I was to go to Sémur, in Burgundy. I knew no more about it than that. Tuesday, at 2.30 I was to pull out of the Gâre de Lyons. In order to travel in France which is all under military rule, a great many documents, tickets, and identification papers are necessary, and it takes a great deal of labor and patience to procure them all. The Y.M.C.A. office in Paris is an enormous and hectic place, with its various departments poorly co-ordinated; so I, like every one else, did a great deal of running up and down stairs and much retracing of steps before everything concerning baggage, tickets, money, equipment, mail, etc., was attended to. Tuesday morning, I and my baggage were at the station two hours ahead of train-time as I had been warned was necessary. There I received the joyful news that there was no 2.30 train to Sémur. That there was one at nine in the evening and another at 7.00 a.m. I had been in France long enough not to be upset by a mere trifle like that, so I set about registering my baggage and attending to the dozens of things that are necessary at the station. A most delightful old porter was my guide, counsellor and friend, leading me through the maze of red tape with unfaltering steps. I entrusted all my handbaggage to him for the night, which would seem rash to all who hadn't looked into his shrewd and kindly face. And then I walked back into Paris with only a toothbrush in my pocket. After reporting my delay at headquarters, who scowled at me for their mistake, I got a room at the Hotel Richepanse, near the Place de la Concorde. Rooms are hard to find in Paris these days, and I had to do a good deal of wandering before I secured this one. I was glad I didn't have my copious and heavy luggage. After a good rest, I did a little frivolous shopping, including a fetching and most unmilitary hat. Heaven knows when I shall wear it, but it folds up flat and I couldn't resist it. And I had supper with a harmless little "Y" girl and went to bed early. The next morning at 5.30 I crept down six flights of stairs in the pitch dark. By the light of a candle in the lobby an old woman gave me a cup of black coffee and a hunk of bread. I drank the coffee and took the bread and went out into the blue black of just- before-dawn. The street was deserted, and I munched my bread as I hurried along. My adventure was beginning! Arriving at La Place de la Concorde I could see the obelisk and the yawning guns silhouetted against the lighting sky. I went down into the Metro and in time arrived at the station. My dear old porter was outside looking for me. We got the bags and guitar, and he installed me in a first class compartment where there were already two French officers. With much courteous fuss, room was made for me and the bags were stowed away on top. Then I asked the porter to buy for me the "Echo de Paris" paying him for all he had done. We waited for some time, and the officer sitting next to me, an elderly gentleman in a great bearskin coat over his uniform, offered me his paper, [25] [26] [27] [28] saying, "He will never bring you yours, Mademoiselle; you have too much confidence in these men." "Oh, I am sure he will bring it," I replied. "Il a été si aimable pour moi tout le temps;" which made both men smile and shrug their shoulders. The whistle blew, the train jerked, when suddenly the door opened and there was the fat old porter all out of breath with my newspaper. "Voilà, Mademoiselle!" he cried, flourishing it at me. "They didn't have the Echo in the station and I had to go way up the street for it." And the Frenchmen cheered! Two nice American officers came into our compartment and we all had breakfast together in the dining-car. Everybody talks to everybody else in France now. They got off the train in an hour or so, and I was left to the mercies of the French army which immediately started a rapid cross-fire of conversation with me as the target. In reality we, or at least I, had an awfully good time and they told me many amusing and interesting things which I can't tell you because I foresee that this letter is going to be horribly long. At two o'clock I got off at a God-forsaken little junction called Les Laumes. My spirits were high, however, because all around were snow-covered beautiful hills, patches of woods, and winding roads outlined by slender poplars with bunches of green mistletoe growing way up in their branches. There are many Americans billeted at Les Laumes. Poor boys! A big M.P. (military policeman) met me at the station. The M.P. is your salvation if you are honest and your terror if you are not. This was a tall, powerful, bushy- eyebrowed young westerner. He picked up my bags as if they were nothing at all and escorted me to the restaurant. How can I ever begin to describe to you the sweetness and the fineness of our boys over here! I am proud, proud of America. I love the real spirit of her which these boys have preserved and strengthened in these little villages way off in France. You think I ought to work with children. But I tell you these boys are children; wonderfully powerful and dexterous children; and I play and work with them as though they were children, and we have had happy times together. I see now what there is for me to do. I pray that I may do it, in order to help them and be worthy of them during these difficult, tedious, dangerous days of waiting, with nothing to do. But to return to my nice M.P. with the bushy eyebrows. He got me an army car to take me to Sémur, with a soft-voiced Southerner to run it. It was a delightful ride of twenty miles or so through chilly country glistening with snow; and all the time the boy talked of home in Mississippi, and his mother, and what he wanted to do when he got back. He took me to the Y.M.C.A. headquarters at Sémur. There I met Mr. M. of Salem, Mass., who is my chief. It seems that Sémur is the centre of all Y.M.C.A. activities with the 78th Division which did much heroic fighting all along the front. Mr. M. is a delightful gentleman and a real man. He has been with the boys in the midst of the fighting. We had a good talk. He finally decided to send me to Pouillenay with the 2nd Battalion of the 311th Infantry, 78th Division. "This is an experiment, Miss Shortall," he said. "You will be the only American woman in the town. The town is off the main line and the boys have not had their share of comforts and amusements. The "Y" has run to the dogs. Everything is gloomy. Do you want the job?" I said it was just what I wanted. The next morning a nice "Y" man put me and my baggage into a car and ran me over to Pouillenay about ten miles over the hills. Pouillenay is a tiny, peaked-roofed village of mud and stones, with a river babbling through its centre where the women wash and the geese wade, and old stone bridges span it. All about are hills, lovely hills. In this French setting, place 1500 American boys in khaki! They are everywhere! The dazed and stupefied old natives wandering around in their wooden shoes are in the minority. The crooked streets resound to American voices, American jokes and songs, and huge U.S. trucks go thundering over the ancient cobblestones, while the insulted geese go to the side of the road looking so wrathfully dignified and stately that I laugh every time I see them, and the black and white speckled hens shriek and run for their lives in all directions, often into the houses whose doors are on the level with the street. This town was to be my home. I was left in the care of Lieutenant Robinson, who has been most kind to me, as every one else has been. (I'll send you descriptions of my friends here after I discover who censors the mail!) Billets were found for me at the house of Mme. and M. Gloriod, the nicest old couple that ever were. I have a tiny room with a tiny stove, which nevertheless eats lots of wood. Madame Gloriod, energetic and kindhearted, rosy-cheeked and jolly, brings a delicious breakfast to me every morning and lights my fire. Talk about luxury! And I eat it in leisure from the depths of my voluminous bed. (More undeserved good luck, mother!) And all this costs me about three francs a day. My regular "mess" aside from breakfast is at [29] [30] [31] [32] Battalion Headquarters, presided over by Major S. who they say was a well known New York lawyer before the war. He is in every way a cultivated gentleman admired by the whole battalion. He has been extremely kind to me, making me feel quite at home. At his mess are six other officers, lieutenants of various colors. I have also dined with the officers of the other companies and it is very jolly. But I am not here for the gay life; don't believe it. My headquarters is the Y canteen, a miserable little room with a counter, a stove, and rough benches around it. The men pour in here and smoke and talk. My guitar is at their disposal and they use it. Often I play it and we have real sings. My third night, while a group of us were singing, Corporal Johnson, of F Company, huge and sandy- haired, and Corporal Martin, stalwart and handsome, burst into the crowded room followed by other members of F Co. "Clear the way!" shouted Corporal Martin, making his way toward me, and then with a sweeping bow and with a grand manner he invited me to "mess" with the men of the best platoon of the best company of the best battalion of the best etc., etc., on the following evening. Of course I accepted on the spot. "Now shall we give the lady a song?" said Sergeant Riggs, stepping out. And they sang. They raised the roof! Great songs they were too. Then I was presented with a mess kit just like the soldiers and with mock solemnity was given a lesson in how to use it. Then I rehearsed it for their benefit, my purposeful blunders calling forth roars of laughter. The next evening they called for me. In army style we marched snappily through the streets to F Co. mess hall, a long wooden building with dirt floor. I was placed in the front row with a corporal on either side to keep me in position. The mess was a real and delicious feast. Those boys had contributed extra to it, and a whole pig had been roasted, not to mention caldrons of vegetables, jelly-cake, doughnuts, and coffee—sweetened coffee! I drank a quart of it at least. Then Sergeant Riggs, a humorous character and my staunch friend now, gave a speech welcoming me to Pouillenay. I can tell you it made the tears come to my eyes, these men, so chivalrous, so unreserved in their welcome of a woman into their midst; and I dedicated myself there and then to them, resolved to do everything in my power to make their stay here brighter and better. But the biggest thing that I do is not of my doing at all; it lies in simply being a woman. You really wouldn't laugh if you were over here and saw these boys hungering for love and for home. Well, of course I answered the sergeant's speech, and then there was cheering and then singing. Corporal Martin then stepped forward and said in his oratorical manner. "We have now come to the conclusion of this ceremony, which consists in your washing your mess kit." Roars of laughter! I was placed in the line and we all moved up to the garbage pail; next, to a huge tank of decidedly greasy hot water into which we plunged our mess kits; then on to a kettle of rinsing water where we gave them another dip. That being over, I was invited to a show given by one of the other companies in one of the mess halls, and as there was half an hour to spare, it was decided that we have a parade through the town. Of course it was dark by this time. So with a sergeant taking one arm and a corporal the other, we marched and marched, singing all the time, through the little black streets, up the hill and round the church and down again, over the bridge and back to the mess hall where the show awaited us. "Now you can write home that you have marched with the American army," said Sergeant Riggs. On another day I happened to be passing when F Co. was drilling. The sergeant insisted that I join the ranks. So with a rifle I blundered through the drill, my mistakes causing much merriment. I really have been doing a little work; don't worry. I have been cook and nurse for three boys with influenza, two in their gloomy billets and the other in a cold, damp house. That has taken a good deal of time. Also the Y.M.C.A. has just put up a large tent to be used instead of its present inadequate quarters and I, with the help of many boys, have been fixing it up. On Wednesday I went to Sémur on a shopping tour, riding in on an open limber drawn by mules. The driver told me those mules had delivered many loads of rations to the boys in the front trenches by night and had been through gas and shell fire of the worst kind. It seems that mules can stand much more than horses. At the Sémur Y.M.C.A. I was able to get flags and posters, tables and benches for our tent, which were loaded on to the limber. The next day we set to work on our interior decorating. Never did the hanging of magnificent paintings in a rich mansion receive more consideration than the placing of our French and American posters. Symmetry is the rule of the army! If I put a picture on one side of the tent, it was absolutely necessary to put one of the same size exactly opposite. At the end of the long tent are the French and American flags crossed, and under them, cut with painstaking care from a 1917 Liberty Loan poster, hangs the Liberty Bell with the words "Ring it Again" above. A wreath of smilax gathered from the woods encircles each electric light. Really it is very pretty and gay. But there is a big drawback; the dampness. The floor is covered with damp sawdust, [33] [34] [35] [36] and one little stove burning green wood is not enough to dry it. The captain of the Supply Co. has promised another stove, but until it comes and has been kept burning several days we can't think of moving in. I have my heart set on making it the brightest and warmest spot in town. Wine and cognac shops are my strong competitors. I must get busy. How would you like to send all your copies of "Life" and any other magazines to me instead of to the great unknown? They would be greatly appreciated in Pouillenay. And here's a novel suggestion from a "highbrow Shortall." Papa, (I exempt Mamma), won't you invite H. and M. to every musical comedy that comes along, and whenever you hear a song that is new and good and snappy, send me the music "toot sweet" as the boys say. Feb. 14th. On the other side of this card I have marked my present home on "Main Street." If you follow this road over the hills you come to the heights where Vercingetorix of the Gauls made his last stand against Julius Cæsar. This is historical country. Where javelins and arrows once flew thick, hordes of Americans are now living, the latest liberators of these old vineyards. And almost on the site of a pagan temple stands the Y.M.C.A. tent where a twentieth century priestess from Chicago hands out cigarettes and plays ragtime. We are in our tent and drawing crowds. One of these streets is called "La rue des Quatres Ponts." It is as pretty as its name, but the American boys don't see any beauty in any of it, and I can't blame them. All they care about is "God's own country." I do hope for their sakes that the Division will be ordered to move soon. I am happy and well, and spring is in the air. Feb. 18th. Here is another view of our tiny town. Just at present everything is buried under most fearful and wonderful mud. I never stir without my arctics. I am glad I brought two pairs. Yesterday being Sunday, I made about forty gallons of hot chocolate which I served in the tent all the afternoon. It was a rainy day and you should have seen the men pile in and gather round the huge army caldron with their cups. The tent was warm and cheerful and it was all very jolly. The day before I had a new experience. I rode over to Sémur in a side-car or "wife- killer" as they call them; you know, those little basket affairs attached to a motor-cycle. The Catholic chaplain who is also a young lieutenant, drove it, and we went about forty miles an hour over hill and dale. He was officiating at a funeral in Sémur, while I bought cups, dishpans, and various other utensils for our chocolate outfit. I packed them all into the side-car and you should have heard our load jingle and clatter as we whizzed back over the rough road! Feb. 23rd. Yesterday (Saturday afternoon) I walked with three officers to the town of Alise, about five miles from Pouillenay. It is a most picturesque little village on the hillside. Above it on the top of the hill is an enormous statue of Vercingetorix. It is here that he made his last stand against Cæsar. On the top of the hill are the ruins of a Roman village; a small coliseum, a temple with several beautiful columns still standing, baths, aqueducts, and all the paraphernalia of first class ruins. The three lieutenants I went with are very jolly, nice men, and we poked and pried into everything in most irreverent and frivolous spirit. One of them, Lieut. McK., a very young Princeton fellow, had recently studied up the ruins and kept giving information about them in highbrow manner. Every statement he made was immediately challenged by the others, and great betting contests arose as to the depth of wells, Roman methods of heating water, etc., all with the continuous stream of jokes that congenial Americans keep up when they are off for a good time. These were the officers of F Co., 311th Infantry, who have been very cordial to me. [37] [38] [39] March 1st, 1919. Again a full, full week has slipped past, and I haven't even begun to tell you of the week before that. Such a life as I have gotten myself into! If I had any time to ponder at all I might get dizzy, but luckily there is nothing for me to do except use my wits and go on. Since I last wrote you I have been from ballet dancer on the mess hall stage to mother-confessor and staid counsellor of homesick boys. I have been cook and dishwasher, both on a wholesale scale, and I have been hostess at an officers' ball. I must tell you about the ballet dancing because it was such fun. I didn't want Valentine's day to go by without some little celebration, so I got the sergeants of the various companies together to see if we couldn't get up an impromptu stunt show. Everybody joined in enthusiastically, and in the afternoon we had an uproarious rehearsal in the Supply Co. Mess Hall which is also the Pouillenay theatre. A few violins and two drums were scraped together, and in half an hour we had a little orchestra playing such contagious ragtime that every one was jigging and beating time and cutting all sorts of capers. These boys went simply wild over the first music they had heard in months. The orchestra with the aid of a toothless old piano did wonders. There is lots of talent buried in khaki! The snare drum rolled finely, and another snare drum with the membrane loosened played the part of a rather pudgy, indecisive bass drum. It didn't matter! One boy made an ingenious whistle out of his mess kit, and trilled and whistled, generally playing the part of piccolo, giving life to the orchestra. The rehearsal, if it didn't put the finishing touches on our performance, at least was jolly good fun and filled us with invincible self-confidence for the evening. I had arranged a Valentine tableau for the end, and Mme. Gloriod at home had pinned hundreds of paper flowers on my gray steamer rug in the form of a huge heart. I had even written a sentimental poem which I was to read aloud, and on the whole it was to be a very pretty valentine, when suddenly, about six o'clock came the news that a Y.M.C.A. moving picture show had come to town and would have the mess hall that evening. Our show was off. I was disappointed, especially since the movie machine broke down in the middle of the performance and couldn't be fixed. However, we decided to give our show on the following Monday. And we did. And a ripping good show it was! It went off with snap and the audience was gratifyingly appreciative. Imagine the long, narrow mess hall with its dirt floor, board tables and benches, crowded and packed with soldiers. The light was dim and the air thick with tobacco smoke. At one end is the rough board stage with army blankets pinned up for curtains. Below the stage was the orchestra, all alert for its first performance, and back of the curtains were we, the actors, packed in pretty tight, amid all the excitement and bustle and fun of the moment before the curtain rises. There was I, alone, among all those great rough men! Yet I don't know why I should call them rough. More sweet consideration was never shown any one than was shown me that evening. My overshoes were taken off; a chair was placed for me in the "wings"; as soon as I finished my part my coat was put on and buttoned up for me; and in a thousand little ways these boys took care of me. I did two dances for them. One was a scarf dance that I made up to the "Missouri Waltz," and then the good old cachuca, arranged for another waltz. I had to adapt my dances to the available music. Of course I won an easy triumph, having no competitors, and being the first girl they had seen on the stage for many a day. There's no danger of my getting vain; don't worry. The other stunts ranged from the comic to the serious. All were loudly applauded. Some were awfully good. One sensitive-faced boy played the violin. He had been gassed on the front and had completely lost his voice. It seemed as though he put everything he could not say into that three-dollar violin, such a beautiful, living tone he got. The miserable instrument, the acoustics of the rude mess hall and the jangling piano accompaniment could not detract from the real music he gave us, and the crowd, recognizing it to be real, whistled and clapped and demanded more. Two nights after, we repeated our show, and this time the Major honored us with his presence and said many nice things to us afterward. Since this show, the battalion orchestra has become an institution. I have made several trips to Sémur in search of instruments. The last time I came back in the Major's side-car in the pouring rain with two cornets, a saxophone and a flute packed in around me under the blankets. These were given me by the Entertainment Department at General Headquarters, after nearly an hour's arguing to convince them that they were needed. It is a great addition. Now the orchestra plays always at the movies when they come to town, about twice a week, and last Friday they played at our dance. I will tell you about that. I thought it was about time to...