Chapter 5 Somewhere in England Somewhere in France June 1, 1918 – May 6, 1919 (All letters are censored) Undated Preprinted Postcard The ship on which I sailed has arrived safely overseas. Name: Carl T Hansen Organization: Amb Co 137, 110 San Train, 35th Division Via New York Preprinted Letter from Windsor Castle April 1918 Soldiers of the United States, the people of the British Isles welcome you on your way to take your stand beside the Armies of many Nations now fighting in the Old World the great battle for human freedom. The Allies will gain new heart & spirit in your company. I wish that I could shake the hand of each one of you & bid you God speed on your mission. George R.I. [Note: This letter is from King George V.] Somewhere in England Postmarked Romsey, England June 1, 1918 Sergeant Carl T. Hansen Amb Co 137, 110 Sanitary Train Am. E. F. Dearest Hazel, Arrived here this morning early and have had a few hours rest. The first good rest since we left the good old U.S.A. We had an 8 hour ride on the railroad from the place where we landed, and we came through some of the most beautiful contry we have ever seen. England is beautiful at this time of the year with ?? a lot colonial homes ?? old fashion gardens. We had a litle excitement the last day we were at sea but I can’t tell you anything about it now. We are just resting here for a few days. I am very busy. I haven’t had my clothing off or nor have I had a bath since we left America and I need a good cleaning. Albert hasn’t come yet but I think he is on his way. Will close for this time, but will write again soon. With love Always your Carl Postmarked Romsey, England June 4, 1918 Dearest Hazel, Just a few lines to tell you I am feeling fine. I have been visiting some of the places of interest around here and there are many of them around here. I have visited the abbey of which I sent you a picture and I enjoyed it so much. The building was built in the year of 907 and there are many other historic places around here. I had a short visit in Liverpool but I did not see as much of the city as I would have liked to. Albert is here, but I haven’t seen him yet. We have a beautiful climate here now. The days are warm but the nights are always nice and cool. It is hard to write long letters now but I will try to write often. Note the address ?? (nothing but that.) I am hoping I will have a letter from you soon. With all my love to you. Carl Somewhere in France June 14, 1918 My dearest Hazel, I have tried hard for some time to get a letter off to you, but it has not been possible. I don’t even know how soon I will get this mailed. We have been on the move constantly going from one place to another. I am now billeted in a French village in the oldest and most beautiful and historic part of France, and we have a fine billet. I am living upstairs in a barn. Here is the list of the occupants. One yoke of oxen, 7 cows, 1 calf, 3 goats, 8 Belgian hares, 60 chickens, 10 ducks, 6 turkeys, 4 geese, and 36 men. It is next door to a hospital and the Mother Superior can speak English, and we are getting along just fine with the French people. They are very nice to us. The people all wear wooden shoes here and they are very thrifty and industrious. Dear, how I wish you could see this beautiful country. It is no wonder that the French people love their country. I haven’t seen Albert since I wrote you last. I don’t think he is here yet, and I don’t know if he is coming. We are close to the Front, but it is quiet at the present. The climate here is just fine. The nights are a litle cool, but during the days it is wonderful It may sound queer to you, but it is true that the closer you are to the war, the less you know about it. You know more about what is going on on the Front now that I do. I have no idea how much of this will pass the censor. But now ??? dear. When you don’t hear from me regular, it will be because I can not write. With all my love to you From your Carl You will not fail to write me real often. (Note the address.) Somewhere in France June 18, 1918 Dearest Hazel, Mail came in yesterday but I did not get a letter from you. I have a litle time this morning and will write you a few lines. I am getting along just fine. Have never felt any better than I do now. It has rained here for several days but it is clearing up now. I have been very busy lately but in my spare hours, I find time to do a litle farming. I milk cows, haul hay in the barn, and I can drive a yoke of oxen. I am wondering how you are spending your vacation, and I am wondering how soon I will have a letter from you. I am so very anxious to hear from you. You will not fail to write me as often as you possible can, will you dear? For the letters mean so much to us over here. I am hoping that there will be a letter form you in the next mail. I think a litle later on I will be able to write and tell you what I am doing, but at the present that is not possible. I haven’t seen Albert for a long time and I don’t know where he is at, but I think he is in this part of the country. The roses are in bloom here now and they are beautiful. They grow like weeds here. I went fishing a few days ago. I didn’t have any luck but I saw water lilies by the thousands. It is hard to think of anything to write, and then too, I don’t have much time. I am pretty busy and will be much busier very soon, but I am well and happy. I will close for this time. Will write again as soon as I can. All my love to you From Carl June 19, 1918 I heard this morning that Albert is somewhere around here. It has cleared off and the weather is beautiful this evening. Listen, dear. I have a French girl. She is 4 years old, and she is learning me to speak French. Her name is Margaurite Man Shae’. I am looking for some mail tomorrow, and if I get a letter from you then I will write again. With love to you From Carl [Note: Newspaper clipping “U.S. Men Eager for An Offensive” Somewhere in France June 20, 1918 My dearest Hazel, We received another mail this evening and I was sure there was a letter from you among them, but there wasn’t anything for me. Just think dear. I haven’t had a letter from you in 5 weeks, but I am sure there is a letter for me on the way over here. I went mountain climbing last night and I had a fine trip. I found a big patch of wild strawberries and they were just ripe and I had a fine feast. It is raining here every day but the roads are not bad around here. It has rained here nearly all day but the weather is fine now. The sun is sinking in the west and mockingbirds, nightingales and cuckabirds are singing to their hearts content. If I live to be a hundred years old, I will always remember the mornings and evenings I have spent in this part of France. If there is a prettier spot anywhere in this world, I can not imagine where it can be. I am beginning to speak a litle French. When I come back I am going to learn you to speak French. I think it is a very pretty language. The people here are very nice to us and we all like them. I am wondering if you have received my letters lately. My address is 137 A.C. 110 San Trn., American E.F. via New York. I will close for this time and write you again as soon as I can. All my love to you, dearest Hazel, From your Carl You will write me real often, won’t you? Somewhere in France June 24, 1918 My dearest Hazel, I have been looking for a letter from you every day but it has not been my good luck to hear from you yet. I haven’t much to write about, but I am going to send you a few lines anyway. The censorship is pretty strict at the present time and we are only allowed to write about personal matters. I am feeling fine. I am enjoying myself here. I have been around the country so much and seen so many beautiful and interesting places. I have made up my mind to make the most of this trip. I am going to see all there is to be seen while I am here. And dear, you will have to be a good listener when I come back, for I will have so much to tell you. I could keep on talking for 6 months in what I have seen already. It has been very cold here for this time of the year and very wet too. It has rained every day for 2 weeks up till a few days ago. It has warmed up considerable here the last few days, but I am told that it never gets very warm here. We are on a very high altitude. The mountains are covered with large, tall trees and on cloudy days, the clouds hang in the trees. June 25, 1918 I was called away last evening and had to make a long trip. Just got back 5 o’clock this morning and I have been pretty busy all day, but I must try and finish this before I turn in. I am going out again early in the morning and I expect to be pretty busy from now on. The Front has been very quiet up till the last two days, but it is pretty lively now. I haven’t seen Albert yet but he is somewhere around here. As soon as I get time, I am going to look him up. I will close for this time. I am very tired and need some rest. You will not fail to write me as often asyou can, will you dear? For I need your letters more than ever now. All my love to you, dearest Hazel Your Carl P.S. Will write again in a few days or as soon as I get time. Somewhere in France June 27, 1918 My dearest Hazel, Today’s mail brought me 3 letters from you. They were dated May 30th, June 3rd, and June 6th, and I want to tell you that I have never had anything make me as happy as those letters did. I was surprised to hear that you had not received any letters from me by the 6th of June. I wrote you 3 letters from England, and I sent you 4 postcards. Evidently they were destroyed by the censor, and I was not sure that the card had reached you long ago. I have written you 5 or 6 letters since I am writing just as often as I possible can. I knew you were lonesome for a letter and from now on, I think I will be able to write you more regularly. I am might glad to know that you enjoyed your visit in Afton. I am sure the change did you a great deal of good, but after all, there is no place like home. I was awful glad to have the snapshot of you. It is a splendid picture of you. I think it is the best one I have of you. I think you have written me several letters that I haven’t received yet. A number of us have been out helping the people making hay today, and I am going out again tomorrow. We haven’t anything much to do for a few days and we were allowed to go out to help the natives. It is great sport for us and a big help to the people here. Did you ever get the book I sent you from the City before I left? June 28, 1918 I was called away last night and will try to finish this evening. I have been out making hay all day and I am good and tired. All farm work is done by hand over here. They have no modern machinery like we have in U.S. and these people are the hardest workers you ever saw. The cut all their hay and grain by hand. They raise wonderful crops here, and if the American Farmer Boys will keep their eyes open while they are here they will take an agricultural education home with them. This method of farming is not new to me for this country resembles Denmark closer than any country I have seen yet. France is not so bad off as you have read of lately. There is plenty of food and they have a fine crop this year too, and everybody in this country has put their shoulder to the wheel. And France is far from being beaten. The French people don’t know what it is to give up. They are just the bravest people you ever saw. Fritz paid us a visit this morning in Airplanes, and was given a pretty hot reception. I think he wished later on that he had stayed home. Dearest Hazel, you wrote in one of your letters I don’t want to deluge you with mail, and still I feel I must write often. Yes, by all means, write me just as often as you can. If you could only see how eagerly we look forward to the arrival of the mail, you would write as often as you possible can, for our mail is everything to us. I am mighty glad to hear of the splendid crops in the U.S. Yes, that means more wheat for the Allies and it will help shorten the war. We have abundantly of everything over here. Our ration is fine and we have any amount of clothing and equipment and things are coming over way fast. What size shoe do you wear? I am going to get you a pair of wooden shoes. Do you think you can wear them? Everyone wears them over here. And I am going to have the Stars and Stripes sent to you just as soon as I can get in touch with the publishers. I will close for this time and will write again as soon as I can. All my love to you, dearest Hazel. Your Carl P.S. From now on I will number my letters to you then you will know if they all come through. This is #1. Will you also number yours. Somewhere in France June 30, 1918 Dearest Hazel, It is Sunday and very quiet around here today, and I will write you a few lines, for I am going to leave here tomorrow and I may not have opportunity to write you for several days. It is a beautiful morning here. The roses are in full bloom, and you never saw roses bloom the way they do here. Every garden is full of them and they grow along the roadside. And the climbing roses just cover the old fashioned houses. It is a sight one can never forget. I wish we could grow roses like these in America. The climate is so favorable for them over here. They don’t even require any care. I was in the hayfield again yesterday and we are all through now putting up hay. I got up early this morning and put out a big washing. It is not at all hard to keep clean here, for this country is blessed with good, pure water. The water just rolls out of the mountains in large streams. There is a stream outside my billet 10 feet deep, and the water is as clear as a crystal, and it is full of mountain trout and bass. I have tried to catch some of them, but I haven’t had any luck yet. Albert is about 25 miles from here. I came through the place a few days ago but I didn’t have time to stop and see him. I am not speaking much French yet and I don’t think I ever will be able to speak this language, and I don’t care if I don’t. I am much more interested in the conditions and the methods of the country than the language. And even if we don’t learn to speak French, we will bring back a valuable education with us. I am wondering how soon I will have another letter from you. I hope it won’t be very long. By the way, dear. You have read of American Soldiers marrying French girls and bringing them back to America with them after the war. Well, I want to tell you they are few and far between. The American Soldier is far too busy, and then too, he is over here for one purpose, to win the war, and then go back to the dearest girl in the world. But I must close. I am going on guard. You will write real soon, won’t you dear. With all my love to you. Always, Your Carl. Somewhere in France July 2, 1918 Dearest Hazel, This is going to be a short letter, for I am very busy. I have moved since I last wrote and the further we go the higher the mountains are getting. They ??? reach the skies ??? here. The Front is ??? here now. We have ??? track of Albert. I don’t know where he is at now. It is about time for me to go to bed and I am very tired. I will try to write you a decent letter just as soon as I can get the time. You will excuse this, won’t you dear? All my love to you. Always your Carl. Somewhere in France July 5, 1918 My dearest Hazel, At last our mail has begun to come in. I have had 5 letters from you in the last two days and I was certainly glad to hear from you. And I know that you are well and happy. I sent you a short letter a few days ago but it was so awful short because I have been so very busy. I received your oration and you ask my opinions of it. Why, dearest Hazel, it is just wonderful. I have shown it to nearly all our men and they all say it is just fine. And you just don’t know how proud I am of you and that poem. It is the finest I have read in a long, long time. However, I am not surprised. I knew it would be good for I have never known you to start anything you could not finish. And I have read it through many times. We had a big celebration here yesterday, but I was not here. I had to leave here night before last on a long trip and just got back late yesterday, but I had a fine trip. I covered about 50 miles and all along the line they were celebrating the 4th of July. We are all enjoying the very best of health and we are very busy. I would love to write and tell you what I am doing, but that is not possible now. Perhaps later on I will be able to write and tell you more than I can at the present. I have lost track of Albert since I have moved. He has moved lately but I think he has gone in a different direction. You have been very good to me, dear, in writing me so often, and I hope you will keep it up. We have everything we could wish for here to keep us strong and healthy, but we need the letters from home more than ever now. And we know that you will not fail to write us often as you can. We will never mind what hardship and suffering we have to go through if we can have letters from those who are near and dear to us. And don’t forget, Sweetheart, that you are the only one I have. You said you wondered if I was as anxious for a letter from you as you were for mine. Yes, dear. More so. Another sack of mail has just come in and in it I found 2 more letters from you that you mailed to me when I was in [censored]. And I must say, you are the best litle girl in all the world to write me so often. I will not promise you to answer them all, but I will do the best I can. I am sitting at the foot of a mountain writing this, and dear Hazel, I would give anything I have if you were here to see this scenery. There are mountains all around us that seem to reach almost to the skies. In the valley, old men, women, and children are gathering the hay. The sun is just going down, and it is very beautiful, and the country seems so peaceful now. And then you hear the big guns roar over the mountains, and then quiet again for a while. Once in a while an araplane dashes out of the clouds. Then the anti aircraft guns turns loose. Sometimes he disappears in the clouds, and sometimes he crashes to the ground and it is a sight you can never forget. The mail is going out in a few minutes and I want to get this off tonight, and I must close. But I am going to write you again tomorrow and I will try to write a decent letter. I have failed this time. All my love to you dearest. Always your Carl [Note: Newspaper clipping enclosed titled “The Mothers of Men”, but not written by Hazel.] Somewhere in France July 7, 1918 Dearest Hazel, I mailed you a letter two days ago and I promised you that I would write you again yesterday, but that was impossible, so I am doing the next best by writing today. It is Sunday and a beautiful day. I have just attended service at the Y.M.C.A. and listened to a fine sermon. There is a chaplain here who lives not far from your house. I called my platoon together this morning and read your oration to them and they all said it was wonderful and they asked me to send you their greatest respect and admiration. And they all promised me to write a letter to their Mother today. So you see dear, your work has been a great power for good. I have tried so hard ever since I came over here to write you a decent letter, but I have failed completely. I don’t know what it is, but a different and strange feeling has come in to my life since I landed here. I can’t explain what it is. It is not fear, for I don’t know what fear is. You asked me in one of your letters to tell you of my trip and my impression of France, and I could write many pages for I have seen many interesting and historical places, but I am not allowed to tell you anything about it. But I will have so much more to tell you when I come back to you, and you may have to get a muzzle and put on me when you get tired of listening to me talking. It is very warm here today. The warmest day we have had since we came here. But it is not near as hot as you have it in old Missouri. This is really the finest climate I have ever lived in, and we are all in the pink of condition. I have just finished reading a Seneca News Dispatch. One of our men had it sent to him. His name is R. H. Moore. He lives in Neosho. He is a school teacher, but he has a sister who lives in your town, and I must say, you have a fine litle newspaper in your town. You asked me if I needed anything. No dear, I can’t think of a thing at the present. I may have to have a few pair of heavy socks this winter, but I won’t need them for several months. I am still wearing the socks you made me last winter, and they are the best I ever had. They are perfectly good yet. We have said good bye to the campaign hat, and the famous chin strap, and we are now wearing a litle O. D. cap, a good deal on the order of the Scotch military cap. I don’t remember of our Boys getting so many kisses from pretty girls, but wherever it was, someone else got my share of them. I would like to write and tell you all about my work, but that is not permissible. However, I can tell you that I am in active service. All the Home Boys are here and they have more pep and punch than ever, and they are going to give good account of themselves, and you can look for some good news from this part real soon. I will close for this time, but I will write you again in a few days. You won’t fail to write me real often, will you dear? All my love to you. Always your own Carl Somewhere in France July 10, 1918 My dearest Hazel, It has been several days since I have written you and I have a litle time now and will utilize it and send you a few lines. I am feeling just fine, as usual, and working hard every day. It has rained very hard here the last 24 hours, but the roads are good here. Every mile of road in this country is macadamized. I wish we had roads like these at home. We are quartered in French barracks at the present time, but I don’t expect to stay here very long. A part of the Houn Dawgs are here now. The people here have just finished putting up their hay and they are getting ready to cut their rye. There is not land around here being cultivated. Their principal crop is hay. The land here is too hilly to cultivate, but nearly every farmer has a bunch of goats. The farms here are very small compared with ours. You rarely see a farm of over 20 acres, but wherever they do cultivate, they do it intensive. They rais as much on an acre as we do on 3 Dearest, I find it is so ared to write a letter now, for we are not allowed to write and tell what we are doing or what is going on. I am looking for letters from you every day now. My address is the same. C 137. 110 San Train. P.O. 743 Am. E. F. in New York. I will close for this time. I will write you again soon. All my love to you. Always your Carl Somewhere in France July 12, 1918 My dearest Hazel, I received 2 letters from you today dated June 13th and 15th, and it is needless for me to tell you that I was glad to have them. I was somewhat worried when I read the first letter and saw you were sick, but the other letter told me that you were almost well again and I am so glad that you escaped the fever. By this time, I am sure that you have received some of my letters mailed here, and from now on you should get my letters regularly. I haven’t felt well myself for a few days. I got wet one day and I caught a bad cold that settled on my lungs, but I am well again and feeling fine. We have had much rain here and it is quite cool now. It always stays cold for several days after the rain until the surface of the ground dries off. It is very quiet on the Front now. There is a litle raiding now and then. We see more fighting in the air than on the ground. I haven’t been in the trenches yet, but I will be there before long. Some of our Boys have been in to it and they are doing some fine work. They are the bravest men and the best fighters you ever saw. A friend of mine sent me a copy of the Star. I got it a few days ago, and it was just like meeting a long lost friend. This is the first one I have seen since we left home, and I have read it, advertising and all. Dearest, I expect you are anxious to know what life is like at the Front, but I haven’t been close enough to it to be able to talk about it. However, I can tell you it is not all glory. Life at the Front is very simple. A man faces death every day and don’t think anything about it. But in spite of the hardship and suffering men go through here, you could not find a man who would go back home if he had the opportunity. I would like to be as optimistic about our return as you are, but we are seeing the war from a different angle over here, and I am not sure that we shall return as soon as you think we will. I haven’t heard from Albert and I don’t know where he is at now. Dearest Hazel, I just can’t find another thing to write about this time, and it is almost dark now, and I want to get this off in the morning. I will close for this time, hoping you are well and happy and whatever you do, dear, take good care of yourself. I will write again in a day or two. All my love to you. Always your Carl Somewhere in France July 14, 1918 My dearest Hazel, This is Sunday morning and it is the National Day in France, and we are going to have a big time today. There will be service in the church this morning, in French, and this afternoon we are going to entertain the French people with some of our American sports. We are going to have sack race, one legged race, fat mens race, some singing and music, and we will wind up with a real American baseball game. The French people had never seen a baseball game until we came here, but now, they take a great interest in it. They think it is the greatest sport in the world, and it is. I have been worried about you lately, dearest, and I am wondering if you have really recovered from your sick spell or if you are sick and suffering. It is just a litle hard for me to think of you being sick and me so far away, and not being able to do a thing for you. I had an idea that your Mother was right when she said you were not looking well after you came home from Afton, for after all, no one understands us and knows us as our Mother’s do. I had a very interesting trip a few days ago and on the way, I passed through the litle village where Joan of Ark was born, and I stopped there for about an hour, and I had the privilege to visit the house and went through the very room where she was born and saw the cradle she was rocked in, and Sweetheart, while I was standing there in that room, there was just one thing I wished more than anything else in the world. I wished that you could have been there too. The cherry season is on here now and we are going to have cherry pie for dinner. I haven’t seen any of our American cherries here yet. The variety they grow here are again as large as ours and they are black as coal but very sweet and delicious. We get just the best of rations here and the best care. There isn’t a thing we could wish for to make us more comfortable. I have wished several times that I had an old magazine to read. Reading matter is one thing that we haven’t beenable to get much of yet, and at times when we don’t have much work to do, time goes by very slow. And I would appreciate it very much, Sweetheart, if you would send me an old magazine once in a while. Any old thing, it doesn’t matter what it is. I haven’t been able to get in touch with the Stars and Stripes yet, but just as soon as I can, I am going to have it sent to you. Dearest, it is so hard to write a letter now on account of the restrictions on letter writing, and I will close for this time. I think I will have another letter from you in a few days, at least I hope I will, and I will not fail to write you as often as I can. You are in my thoughts always, and I love you more than ever. I send you all my love, my dearest Hazel. Always your Carl. Somewhere in France July 16, 1918 My dearest Hazel, Your letter dated June 18th came to me this morning and I was so very glad to have it and to know that you are perfectly well again, for I can not deny that I have been a litle worried about you lately. I mailed you a letter day before yesterday, but I am going to answer your letter at once, for I must say, you have been the best and dearest girl in the world to me in writing me so often. I should be very lonesome did I not have your letters to cheer me up. I am working hard and feeling just fine. The climate here agrees with us. It is the finest climate I have ever seen. The sun is warm but there is always a nice cool breeze blowing. It is very quiet on the Front now; however, there has been a good deal of firing today and there has been much fighting in the air here today. Can you imagine anything more exciting than a fight between araplanes 10,000 feet in the air? It is a wonderful sight. I enjoyed the clipping you sent meon the Hills of Funstan and I posted it on our bulletin board, and I think everyone of our Boys read it and enjoyed it. It brought back memories of days gone by, for no one knows the hills of Funstan better than we do. Just a year ago now we were there, and what happy days they were, and we talk about them often, for it was there we learned to be soldiers. I haven’t seen Albert yet and I have no idea of where he is at. I know dearest, my letters are not a bit interesting now, but I will soon have some experience to write about, and then my letters will be more interesting. It is so hard to write a letter when you are restricted. I can not mention names, numbers, localities, or places, nor movements of any kind. I must close for this time. Taps will blow in a few minutes and my candle is about burned out. Good night, my dearest litle girl. Will write you again in a day or two. Always your Carl Somewhere in France July 18, 1918 My dearest Hazel, I was just getting ready to write you another letter when the mail orderly handed me your letter dated June 24 and I was so glad to know that you had received my card. And from now on, you should get my letters regular, for I have sent you a number of letters. You are just the dearest sweetheart a soldier ever had to write me so often, and dear, if my letters don’t reach you regular, remember it is not my fault, for I write you every other day when I possible can. I am still in the same village, but I will leave here in a few days. I received my orders this morning and I am going up in the front line trenches, and I am so anxious I can hardly wait till the time comes. There is a big drive on and our Boys are driving them back. You said in one of your letters that you were glad I was over here, and I am glad too to be able to be here. Do you know dear, I should always feel that I had been cheated had I not come over here, and I should always feel that I had shirked my duty. I have learned through American newspapers that the Mothers, Sweethearts, and Sisters of the Boys have been a good deal concerned by reports of wrong conduct in our Army over here, and I want to say a few words about this to comfort you or anyof your friends who may have Boys over here. It is just another clever German scheme to breed discontent. I have lived with the Boys in training camps at home and seen service with them on the border, and I want to tell you they are the same Boys that they were in America and the same motives, the same ideals, the same purposes rule their lives. It is certain, we are in a strange country and that ideals and customs of France are different from those in America, and the temptations and problems of clean living have been multiplied manifold, but we serve in an army which has determined that its soldiers shall be clean and I know that as our forces moves in to this important crisis, they go as clean as any army ever went in to battle. I think this is a tribute to the American Soldier in France that should comfort you all at home. The stories of disease among the Boys over here has also been over emphasized. Some of the Boys (of course) are in the hospital and a few serious diseases have developed, but the great majority of the American Army is made up of men of the finest type and we live the same life here that we do at home, and we find deeper things in life than we have ever found before, and we are coming back to America clean, strong, and full of power because we forced the issue like men. We have gone to war against a foe who knows no morals, and recognizes no code of ethics in the battle which it fights. We are giving ourselves to put out of the world forever a power that trades upon the lives of litle children. Our Boys have gone to give their lives that never again shall the flesh of litle children be torn asunder and thrown in to the gutter as you would a dead cur. And to such task the brightest manhood and womanhood of America can well dedicate its all. I had not intended to write you a book on this subject, but I got started and forgot myself. Dearest, if you really want to send me a box of that good candy, I will try to arrange it so you can do it a litle later on. We have to make a request for anything we want from home and have it signed by the Commanding Officer. I will close this but I will write you again before I go up to the Front. All my love to you. Always your Carl Somewhere in France July 21, 1918 My dearest hazel, I intended to write you a letter yesterday but I was very busy all day. I am getting ready to move from here. I will leave early in the morning. It has rained hard here all day and it is very cold, and it reminds us of a rainy day late in September at home, and I have been laying around the billet all day trying to think of something to write you. Dearest, I am sure my letters are not a bit interesting to you but it is so very hard to write a letter when you are restricted. There has been more fighting here the last few days and our Boys are doing splendid. And I think the situation looks better now than it has for some time, and you can look for some good news from here before long. I am very anxious to know if you have received any of my letters yet. I hope you have. There is so many things I would like to write you about but I am not allowed to, but I will have so much more to tell you when I come back to you and what a good time we will have. I like to think of it. I haven’t had a letter form you for a few days, but I think I will hear from you before long now. We don’t mind missing a meal or two now and then, but if the mail don’t come in when we think it should, then we feel pretty blue, but we don’t miss many meals. If we do miss one then we make up for it the next time. Here is what we had for dinner. Roast beef, corn, cauliflower, string beans, potatoes, bread and coffee. So you see, dear, we are not starving. Nearly all the Boys are writing home today and I think we are all wondering what the future holds in store for us, for tomorrow by this time most of us will be in the front line trenches, but we are all anxious to go. I will close for this time. I will write you again as soon as possible. With all my love to you, dearest Hazel. Always your Carl Somewhere in France July 24, 1918 My dearest Hazel, I must write you a letter tonight, but I haven’t any news to tell you except I have moved since I wrote you last. I wrote you before and told you that I was in a high altitude. Well, I am about 1,000 feet higher now than I was before. I am right up at the Front now, and for the first time I have seen war from a close range. In fact, I felt mighty uncomfortable for a few minutes this evening, and I lost no time in getting in to a dugout. I am living in a shellproof dugout, and it is as nice a place as any one could wish for. Of course, we have no Turkish rugs and no rocking chairs, but it is very comfortable and we even have electric light in it. There isn’t much fighting around here now, however, when things does break loose, it gets pretty hot for a litle while. There are so many things I would like to write you about dear, but you know the censor will not allow us to go into details. It has rained here for several days and the nights has been very cool, but it cleared off this evening. Our Boys have been very lucky so far, and we have not had much to do yet. We have more work at night than in the day time. I will close this and write you again in a day or two. I haven’t had a letter from you for over a week, and I am looking for one every day. All my love to you From Carl Somewhere in France July 25, 1918 My dearest Hazel, I wrote you a letter yesterday but it wasn’t a good letter at all, and I will try and see if I can do better this evening. I have been pretty busy since 3 o’clock this morning. There has been heavy shelling here almost continually since midnight. It is quiet here now, but we are expecting things to break loose again tonight. Dear, I have sometimes wished that I was in some other branch of service, but I don’t wish that any more. I have never done any work that has given me as much satisfaction as this work does, and I am glad now that I enlisted in this branch. Listen, dear, someone may tell you that the man with the red cross on his sleeve is not very often exposed to fire. Don’t you believe him. I have been under heavy shellfire the last 18 hours. We go in the front line trenches and we go out in to No Man’s Land, and we are on the roads that are being shelled all the time. Shelling the roads seems to be a favorite pastime around here. We are in a very rough country and it is very hard to get a wounded man back to the hospital. In some places we have to carry them 5 miles before we can get them to an ambulance. I am enclosing a wild pansy that I picked out in No Man’s Land 4 o’clock this morning. By the way, dear, I have learned the true meaning of camouflage. Everything is camouflaged here. But I must close this and try to get a few hours rest, for I expect to be called out sometime tonight. This is a hard life, dear, but it is the greatest sport in the world while it lasts. Good night Sweetheart. All my love to you. Carl [NOTE: Wild pansy pressed in this letter.] Somewhere in France July 27, 1918 My dearest Hazel, Your letter dated July 2 came to me yesterday. The first one I have had from you for about 10 days. I know, dearest, that you are writing to me regular but there is a great deal of confusion in our mail over here, and letters don’t reach us regular. I was surprised to know that my letter came to you unsealed. The censor is supposed to seal them after he has censored them. There has been so many orders issued since we arrived here. One conflicts with the other about the censoring of our letters, and we don’t know where we are at now. The letters you get in the Y.M.C.A. envelopes must be censored by one of our Officers, but this envelope I am sending you today is not. But it goes to the base censor. Your letters to me are not censored. And you wanted to remember me on my birthday. That is just like you. You are always so thoughtful, but we will just have to forget about it this year and live in hope of celebrating it together next year. Perhaps at Christmas I will allow you to send me a litle box of sweets, but at the present time there isn’t a thing that I need. Of course, I would give most anything I have for one of your cakes or a box of that fine candy of yours, but it is so hard to get it over here now, and we will just wait a while. Meantime, Sweetheart, just write me as often as you can, for we need your letters more than ever now. If the people at home could only see the pitiful look in the Boys face when the mail don’t reach them when they think it should, they would write oftener. The Boys don’t mind standing in mud up to their knees in the trenches, facing the enemy’s fire, if they can only hear from their loved ones at home often. And we are in mud and water above our knees now and it is still raining hard, but we are all feeling fine. We have plenty of warm and waterproof clothing and our ration is the very best. Sweetheart, some time in October or November, I will have a 7 day furlough and I will be allowed to go to some French city (except Paris) to spend them. And while I am there, dearest, I want to get you some nice things and send to you, but you must help me by letting me know what you would like to have, and you must not write back now and tell me that there isn’t anything you need or would like to have. You must remember that this is our opportunity that may not come to me again in a lifetime and I want to send you some nice things from France. So I will depend on you to help me out, and remember dear, only the best I can get is good enough for you. And remember, we will both have the pleasure and joy of it in the years to come. I am sending you a single blossom of a foxglove I picked yesterday and I wish I was allowed to tell you where I picked it. It is a very historic and sacred spot. Some day, when I come back to you, I am going to have so much to tell you dear. Do you think you will have patience enough to listen to me? For I feel I could talk forever about what I have seen already. It is 2 p.m. now and it is raining hard. I am going to the trenches at 5. On my way to the front line trench I pass through what used to be a good size town. Now it is a wreck. There isn’t a building left standing. Nothing but walls standing. The spires are shot off the churches, and there are big holes in the walls. Shell holes in the streets are 10 feet deep and the only life you see there is hundreds of rats almost as large as our housecats. That is what war does to a country. But I must close. It is time for me to get ready. I send you all my love. I am always your loving and faithful Carl. Somewhere in France July 28, 1918 My dearest Hazel, It is Sunday and it has rained continually the last 24 hours. I have been in my dugout all day and I have read everything I could find around here, and for the last 2 hours us Boys have argued everything from human sufferage to the latest thing in trench boots and gas masks, and we have run out of material, and it is only 7 o’clock and I haven’t a thing to do and I am going to write you a few lines. It has been quiet on the Front all day and the mud and water is knee deep. I have been thinking of you all day dear, wondering where you are tonight and what you are doing. How different your world is from mine. What a contrast. You are in a quiet litle town where one day is like the next and where nothing of importance rarely happens. I am over here in a different world where the rainment of modesty, courtesy, gentility and civilization is stripped away. The spirit of refinement, philanthropy, and pity is dead. Men and women are organized for one purpose – to starve, maim, cripple, and kill. Two thirds of the entire world is using the accumulated resources of centuries to man guns, to destroy other men who are doing the same thing. When we think of it, it is pretty hard to realize that we live in a Christian and civilized world, but thank God that we have entered this war with a clear conscience. And I am beginning to believe that the end is in sight. You must not think that I am discouraged dear, for I am not. I am more optimistic than I have ever been before. I am using my mess kit for a writing pad. I was just wondering how it would feel to sit down on a real chair and a real table and write. I am afraid that when I get back to you, I will have forgotten all the manners I ever did have. Do you think I will ever be fit to live with you dear? I often wonder how it will feel to go back to civil life again. Just to forget war and all its horrors and to go back to start in again where we left off. I just love to think of that time, Sweetheart. Do you remember the litle poem you sent me dear, the Home to Be? Well, I still carry it in my pocket with your picture and I read it every day, and I see that litle cozy home every day, and I know every nook and corner in it, and it is just the dearest place in all the world because you are there to make it bright and cozy. What would life be if we did not have something to look forward to, something to hope for? Here I am, thinking and planning for the future, and yet who knows, perhaps before night rolls around again I may have passed out of this world. It is well indeed that dreams do not bring any fears in to our life, for if they did, we would not dare to dream those dreams and life itself would lose its beauty and its meaning. One of the Boys just brought in 4 boxes of real American candy and we are having a real fest. This is the first sweets we have had for a long time. The Y.M.C.A. just got it in. Sweetheart, you can’t imagine what a blessing the Y.M.C.A. and the American Red Cross is to us Boys over here. I don’t know how we would ever stand it here were it not for them. When we are in the trenches, no matter how hot the fire is up there and the mud and water is knee deep and we have worked till we are about exhausted, the Red Cross men often come up and serve us hot chocolate or coffee, and I never see a Red Cross man but what I think of you, for I know you are doing your duty at home for the Red Cross. I haven’t seen Albert yet and I haven’t the least idea of where he is at. He is not on this Front. I must close now. The big guns are beginning ??? and I may have to ??? shortly. Good night ??? All my love to ??? dearest Hazel, I am always your ??? and faithful Carl Somewhere in France July 31, 1918 Dearest Hazel, I received your letter of July 2 yesterday at 2 a.m. and I was so very glad to have it. You wrote me just the best ever, dearest. How would I ever stand it over here did I not have your cheering and encouraging letters come to me so regular. I was just getting ready to write you last night when the racket started and I was kep busy all night. It is 4 p.m. now, and I haven’t had any sleep yet, but I must write you a few lines before I lay down, for I am expecting to go out again tonight. You have been very good to me dear, to write me so often, and you ask me if you should write long letters to me now. Yes. Please do. I may not have time to read them just at the time when they come, but I will find time to read them sooner or later. I wonder if you at home can realize what the letters from home means to us. We carry them in our pockets until they fall apart where they are folded, and we read them over when we get a litle homesick as we do now and then. And you have found out where I am at now. Well, I just wonder if you know what part of the country I am in? I wish I was allowed to tell you exactly where I am. It has rained so much lately and it is very damp. Sweetheart, I know you will excuse this short letter if you knew how tired I am. I must get some rest. The last 24 hours have been so hard and trying on me. All my love to you, dearest Hazel. Your loving Carl Somewhere in France August 3, 1918 My dearest Hazel, I came in from the trenches 4 o’clock this a.m. and found 2 letters from you, and dear, if you only knew how happy they made me, for really, I was not looking for letters from you today. They were dated June 21 and 28th, and it has been several days since I had a letter from you dated July 2. So you see, dearest, we never know when to expect mail. You sent me 3 snapshots of yourself in one of the letters, and they are just beautiful, and I love you more than I can tell you in all of them. I have 8 pictures of you now that you have sent me in the last year, and I carry them all with me all the time, and I look at them every day, and I love you in all of them. But I think I love you most in your Red Cross dress. As I sit here tonight looking at your pictures, I wonder what is there about me that attracted you to me. And I am wondering if in the future, when I come back from this war to you, with lines in my face encountered from the roughness of this war, and the horrors we see here, if I will be as dear to you as I am now. I am hoping so, for I could never forget you dear. You are in my thoughts every hour and I often see you in my dreams. I mailed you a letter yesterday but it was very short, and it wasn’t a good letter at all, for I was tired and worn out and my work had been very trying, and I was not in a mood to write. It is still raining here and the weather is cold. We have to wear very heavy clothing to keep warm and I am wondering how we will keep warm here next winter. But when the weather is clear, it is really a fine climate. We are all feeling fine. I think I am gaining some weight and I am working hard to. It seems queer to wear heavy clothing and overcoats in August. 6 a.m. August 4 I was distracted last night. The Germans kept us busy for several hours, but I must close this. The mail is going out now. I will write you again in just a few days. All my love to you, dearest Hazel. Always your Carl Somewhere in France August 6, 1918 [Note: Hazel writes on the envelope “The House in Alsace”] My dearest Hazel, I haven’t written you a letter for several days now, for I have been so busy. And I do not need to tell you what I am doing, for you read that in the papers. I came back from the Front this morning and I have just finished reading a late paper, and have noticed with pleasure and pride what the Allies are doing. And I want to tell you, dear, I am prouder today than I have ever been before of the fact that I am an American Citizen. And I am so proud of the American Boys, for I have seen them in action. I have seen them go “Over the Top”, and I have went over with them, and they are the bravest and best men in all the world. I am back to what I call Home for a few days rest and recreation. I don’t need the rest as much as I do the surroundings, and I must tell you about my home. It is an old house. Shell torn and wrecked. But it still stands undisturbed in the midst of this litle desolate French village. They may have ruined the body but they have not touched the soul, for I am sure that this old house has a soul. I picture in looking back over its past, the lives that have come in under this roof. The lives that have been lived there, and the lives that have gone out. The days of toil. The Sundays of rest and peace, the happiness and the sorrow. All have seasoned in to this house and have become its soul. There is an old cupboard carved with angel heads and other fancies. It is probably the wedding present of a hundred or more years back. It is still standing there, looking down on the rats. Large, fat rats. Well fed in this desolation. There are no shelves in it. I think they may have served as firewood to warm the chilled bodies of some ??? who defended this place before we came. A communion certificate of “Yvonne” dated 1908 is the only thing left hanging on the wall, and it reminds me of children’s voices. I have arranged my handful of straw (my bed) just beneath it. It seems so homelike and safe when I lay down here and listen as the shells whistle overhead, and it makes me dream of a real home. And each time when I leave this place I wonder if I shall ever return, or if I do, if there will be an ugly hole where my home stood. When I come up here in the evening, the house greets me like an old Mother, and seems pleased that I am here, and safe. I don’t know who Yvonne is and I never will know, but I am sure she would be happy, and her Mother and Father would be happy, if they knew we were here in spite of the shelling and ruin. They would be happy to know that we call it Home, and to know that we water the litle rose bush that still clings to that part of the wall that remains standing. And dearest Hazel, when we have won the victory and we are sitting by the fireside (our fireside) back home in our home (yours and mine), I know that I will often think of my other home over here, and you will always be glad to have me tell you the story of how we fought to protect it, and you will want to know all about Yvonne, and I will tell you the story that this old house has told me. I am enclosing a litle souvenir of France. A handkerchief. It is such a small thing but some day when I get to a city, I am going to buy you some real nice things. I must close for this time but will try and write you again in a few days. All my love to you, my own dearest Hazel. I am always yours Carl Somewhere in France August 8, 1918 My dearest Hazel, Your letter dated July 8th has just reached me and I was so very glad to have it. But I was so sorry and so surprised to know that my letters from France had not reached you. But remember, dearest, we traveled so many days and wile we were traveling, we just could not write. I want to tell you, Sweetheart, nothing gives me more satisfaction and comfort than to know that you have faith and confidence in me, and whatever you do, dearest, you must never think that I neglect to write you or that I could ever forget you. You must always b elieve that I love you and I could never, never doubt your love for me. And you wonder if the conditions and surroundings over here will make us forget the things that used to be. No dear, we think of home and of those who are near and dear to us more than we have ever done before, and I miss you more than ever now. Loneliness is our worse enemy, but of course, we only have that to contend with when we are back from the Front. We are happiest when we are in the trenches for there, we are always busy or always on the alert, always expecting something to happen, and we have no time to get lonely. But it is when we come back from the Front that we get so lonely. The French people are just the finest people, and they do everything to make our stay here agreeable. But their customs and ideas are so different from ours, and somehow, we do not feel home here and we never will. No, you are right, dear. You at home can never realize what this war is. Nor what war does to a country and to the people, and I am glad that you can’t. I am glad that you will never see what we have seen and are seeing here. I sent you a handkerchief a few days ago and I hope it reaches you in good condition. And I am still in the house that I told you about in my last letter. I haven’t seen my Company for some time. I am on detached service with 6 men. I don’t know how long I will be here. I haven’t seen Albert yet and I don’t know where he is at. He is not around here. It has rained here every day for a week, and it is real cold. We saw the sun for a few hours today, but it didn’t stay out long, and it is raining again. We had an entertainment in the Y.M.C.A. hut here a few days ago and we enjoyed it so much. 2 American women sang and talked to us, and I never saw anything put so much enthusiasm in to a bunch of men as that litle concert did. They were just plain, every day American women. The had no extraordinary talent, but they brought us a message from home. They told us what America is doing to back us up over here, and they made us feel like someone from home had come over and paid us a personal visit. And now I must close. I am going to make a long drive to a base hospital and I wish you were here to go with me. If you were, you would see many historic and famous places that you used to read about in school. I will write you again in a day or two. I send all my love to you, my own dearest Hazel. Always your Carl Somewhere in France August 11, 1918 My dearest Hazel, I was just about to write you another letter when your letter dated July came, and as usual, I was so glad to have it. But I was very disappointed to know that my first letters from here had not reached you, for they have been on the way about 5 weeks. I am so sorry that my mail is so slow in reaching you, but I am sure we will have better mail service in the future. This is Sunday evening and I have been on a long trip. I left here 7 o’clock this a.m. and got back 4 p.m. and I passed through a very pretty and historic country. We went through many quaint old villages in the valley between 2 chains of mountains. We took dinner at one place, a large city, and we saw soldiers there from nearly every country in the world, and we passed a lake where we saw thousands of water lilies, and we also saw a number of swans. And dearest, whenever I have a chance to go and see these beautiful places, then I always wish that you could see them too. When I come back home to you, I will have so much to tell you about what I have seen and where I have been. Dearest, do you think you will ever have patience to listen to me? I heard today that Albert’s organization is coming down this way. I am told they are due to arrive here sometime tomorrow. I am still living in the old, old house I told you about, but I am going to move before many days. I don’t know where I am going. You know, dearest, we hate to think of leaving this place. We fought to defend this place and we are wondering who is going to defend it after we leave it, and if they will guard it and take care of it like we have done. What do you folks at home think of the American Soldier as a fighter? He is the best fighter in all the world, and he is the best sport, and the cleanest fighter in the world. But I will close now. I think I will have a letter from you again in a day or two, and then I will write you again. All my love to you, dearest Hazel. Always your Carl Somewhere in France August 14, 1918 My dearest Hazel, I haven’t written you for 4 days now, and I must send you a few lines today. This is my birthday. I forgot all about it until an hour ago. Birthdays are such small things over here, and we don’t pay any attention to them over here. I have been quite busy yesterday and today. I am leaving here this evening for the Land of Gas Masks and Steel Helmets, and I am anxious to get in to it again. It is queer, how this war grips a man. You either want to be in the thinck of it or a thousand miles away from it, but I will rather be in it. Somehow we hate to leave our old home, or rather the place we call home, and I am wondering who will take our place here, and I am wondering if this place will be as sacred to them as it is to me, for this place has once been a real home for those who dwelled under its roof. Sweetheart, you have made me very happy by telling me that there is a service flag hanging in the window for me. You are just the dearest and sweetest girl a soldier could have. How would I ever have stood this had I not come to know you, and you just can’t imagine what your cheering and encouraging letters means to me. I am wondering where I will spend my next birthday. If I am back in America by that time, I know where I will spend it, or at least, I know that you and I will be together on that day. There has been some heavy fighting on this Front lately, and the battle is still going on, and we are not looking for it to let up very soon. But as long as we are in war, there is nothing the American Soldier likes better than to fight, and I think he is by far the best fighter of them all. He is the cleanest fighter and the best sport of them all, and the Germans just hate to go up against him. It is 4 o’clock Sweetheart, and I must leave here in an hour, and I will close this. I think I will have a letter from you in a day or two, and I will write you as soon as I possible can. I send you all my love, my dearest Hazel, and I am always your Carl Somewhere in France August 17, 1918 My dearest Hazel, I was just getting ready to sit down and write you a letter when the mail orderly brought me 3 letters from you dated the 16, 19, and 22nd of July, and dearest, it is needless for me to tell you that I was so glad to have them. I think I have received all your letters and they are coming through on better time. I am hoping we will have some better service in the future, and I think we will. I am back with my company again, and I am glad to be back with the Boys again. We are located way up in the mountains now in the forest. This is a beautiful place, here in the pine woods. There are fine springs all over here that furnish us with the best water I have ever tasted. We are living in tents here and the weather is ideal, and I am feeling better now than I ever have before. We are back on the Front again just a litle ways back of the trenches, but it has been rather quiet since I have been here. But of course, we never can tell when things will break loose. It is now 9 o’clock and it is very quiet, and you would never know that there was a war within a thousand miles of here, and then sometimes all at once, things breaks loose and the mountains just shake and vibrate under the heavy guns. Sometimes it only lasts a short time, and again, it continues for many hours. We would like to be back home when the reports of the American Soldier’s deeds come in, for without a doubt, they are the greatest fighting men in all the world, and the Germans are beginning to realize it. We have them on the run now, and we are going to keep them on the run until we get them back where they belong. We don’t intend to stop until we get to Berlin. But I am afraid they are going to lay down before we get that far. They have learned that the American Doughboy is not a tin soldier as they thought at first. Albert is around here now. I haven’t seen him yet, but I have heard him. I think he has been away to school. He just came in here a few days ago. I am going to try and see him as soon as I can. I am going up to the trenches tomorrow. I haven’t anything to do here, and I have asked to be allowed to go up and spend a few days up there. I like to be up there better than any other place. And you have had the big picture framed. I am sure it looks fine. I would love to see it. I often think of those days we spent out there in the mountains. It is almost a year ago now since we left Riley and went to Doniphan. How time does fly. It seems just a few short months ago since we left home, and now before long, we will be wearing a gold service chevron for foreign service. I am enclosing an oak leaf. A French soldier made it. I showed him your picture and told him your name and he made this and he wanted me to send it to you. When I come back to you I will tell you where it came from. It is a very historic place and I only hope it will reach you in good condition. I am going to close this and I will write you again in a day or two. I want to thank you for the clippings you sent me. I enjoyed them all so much. All my love to you, dear. I am always your Carl. [NOTE: Perfectly preserved oak leave embossed with “Hazel, Souvenir de France 1918.] Somewhere in France August 18, 1918 My dearest Hazel, I have had another letter from you today dated July 14 and such a nice long letter, and I have read it through many times. Sweetheart, you write just the finest letters to me and I am always longing for them to come, and if your letters don’t come to me when I think they should, I know it is not your fault, for I could never think that you negated to write me, and I could never doubt your love for me. And now that you have received some of my letters from over here, I must answer some of the questions you are asking. I can not answer them all, for the censor will not let me, but I will do the best I can, and what I can’t write to you, I will store away in my memory till I come home to you. I will try to remember everything awfully good, as you put it. First, I must tell you about my litle French girl. Well, dearest, I haven’t seen her for a long time and I doubt if I shall ever see her again. I would give most anything if I had a picture of her to send to you. We got to be great friends in the short time we were together, but I have been in the zone of advance for a long time and there are no civilians around here. And I often wonder how my litle girl is getting along, and you know we are not allowed to carry Kodaks. And you want to know all about the grown girls in France. Yes, they are pretty and I think in their own way, they are cultured and refined, but their customs and ideas are so different from ours. They don’t understand us and we don’t understand them, and I am sure there is only a very few of them going to be lucky enough to become wives of American soldiers. They are not at all like our dear American girls. We have practically given up the mastering of the French language, and I don’t think many of our Boys are going to go out of their way to win a home over here, and as far as I am concerned, Sweetheart, I don’t never expect to find another girl like you. I know I could never find another girl that I could love as I love you, and the most attractive girls over here has not interested me in the least. I am coming back to you dear, and when I do come back to you, I will be able to look you straight in your eyes and tell you that I have played a man’s game over here. How I love to think of that day. Won’t that be a happy day for us both? It will be a day we will always remember, and every day will be a happy day for us then. We will have so much to talk about. You will want to know all about my trip and my experience over here, and I will love to tell you about it. And then you will show me all the beautiful needlework you have been doing while I was away, and we will talk and plan for the future as I am often dreaming about it now. I have just had a nice visit with Burris Jenkins. He just arrived here this morning. I used to go to his church. He is here for the Star. Albert is just a few miles away from here now. He will come through here sometime tonight, I think. I will get to see him now in a few days. I am anxious to see those boys come up here. I am so glad, dearest, to know that you are going to write me every other day. I don’t know if I will be able to write you that often, but I will do the very best I can. I am going to the trenches early tomorrow morning and my letters may not come as regular as they have been, for when we are busy up there, we are very busy. I will probably be in for about 3 weeks this time. Of course, I will come down now and then for a day. But I must close this and I will write you again just as soon as I possible can. I send you all my love, my own dearest Hazel. Always your Carl Somewhere in France August 21, 1918 My dearest Hazel, In my last letter to you, I promised to write you again in a day or two, and the time is up, and I must write you again for I can not disappoint you. As long as it is possible for me, I must keep my word. I am back again in the country where gas masks and helmets are always in style. We have had a quiet day today, but the Boys say that we are going to see much fighting now that I am back. They claim that I draw fire. I am sitting outside my dugout writing this. I don’t know how long I will be sitting here, for I hear the Aroplanes in the distance. But when they come up over us, then we try to get under cover. Albert’s bunch passed the place where I was camped night before last late in the night, and they are due here early in the morning. I saw one of the men from his Company today. They are going in about half a mile from here, and I am going over tomorrow to see him. I just had to move inside. There are several aviators right above me trying to settle an argument, and it is somewhat uncomfortable outside right now. By the time this letter reaches you dear, it will be almost Fall, and I think we will have snow here. Where has this summer gone? We haven’t had one hot day in this country and it is hard for us to conceive that Fall is almost here. How time does fly. A year ago today, I was in Kansas City and I sent you a box of flowers from there. I wish every day that I could send you some of the beautiful flowers that grow here. The foxgloves, snapdragons, Shasta daisies, and poppies are blooming now, and I never saw flowers develop as they do here. The climate here is so favorable for them, and you can almost see them grow. And you never saw poppies like these, so large and so bright colors. They grow alongside the trenches and in No Man’s Land. I am going to bring a lot of flower seed home with me and we will have a real flower garden, won’t we dear? The mail is going down now and I must close this, but I will write again real soon. All my love to you, dearest Hazel. Always your Carl Somewhere in France August 25, 1918 My dearest Hazel, It is 11 o’clock and time for me to go to bed, but I am not a bit sleepy, and I am going to write you a few lines before I turn in. I haven’t written you in 4 days for I have been quite busy. I have moved since I wrote you last. It is raining hard. It has been raining for 36 hours now and there are no signs of letting up, but we are as comfortable as we could be under circumstances. It is very quiet on the Front here now, and we are not looking for any trouble as long as this weather keeps up. Albert arrived here a few days ago. I saw him for a few minutes yesterday. He is looking fine. I didn’t have time to stop and visit with him. He is about 2 miles from here. I am quartered with the French troops here, and they are the finest men in the world to live with. The longer I am with them, the better I like them. They are a wonderful people. I haven’t been up to the Front for several days. The last time I was up there, I had to run for cover 3 times. My work here won’t take me way up to the first line trenches, but we are within range of the enemy’s artillery fire and we have to run for our dugouts now and then. But somehow, I like it better right up on the Front. My Captain says he thinks I am going to fool around the Front Line Trenches once too often and forget to come back, but I will rather be up there than any other place. One of the boys told me this evening that it was Sunday. I haven’t noticed it. All days are alike over here and there are no Sundays in our world now, but as I sit here tonight, I wonder how you have spent the day. Dear, I know you have been to church, and I think you have had company, or been calling on some friends in the afternoon. We have been looking for mail for several days. It has been a week today since we have had mail from America, and I am sure we will have some mail in a day or two. It is getting late, dearest, and I must close this. I know you will excuse this short letter, and it is not a good letter at all, but I will do better next time. You have all my love. Always your Carl Somewhere in France August 27, 1918 My dearest Hazel, The mailman hasn’t been good at all to us lately. Just think, he hasn’t brought us a thing in 10 days, and that is a long time to go without a letter when you are on the Front, but of course, we know there is mail for us on the way. It is delayed somewhere along the line, and I am going to write you a letter tonight even though I haven’t had a letter from you for some time, for I know it is not your fault. I am feeling fine, as usual, and everything is as usual with the exception we have more activity the last few days, or rather, the last few nights. For nearly all our work is done at night and we have the darkest nights here you ever saw. You actually can’t see a foot ahead of you and we can’t use lights. They make too good a target for the enemy. Last night was a busy night. I went to bed 10 o’clock and got up 11:30 and we worked up till noon today, and I think it will be pretty lively again tonight. I feel there is something coming, but things are coming our way fast now and we are beginning to see an end to this thing, and we don’t think it can last much longer. Sweetheart, you said in one of your letters that we are a wonderful America. Well, I have never realized it as I do now. You can never imagine what a part America is playing in this war, and what a part She is going to play in it later on. I wish you could see what She is doing over here. If you could see how they are coming over, if you could see the good food we are getting and the good clothing we are wearing, it is just marvelous what America has done in so short a time. And the way you folks at home is backing up the Boys over here is just wonderful. The Y.M.C.A. and the Red Cross are all over this country now, and they have more money and supplies than they know what to do with. I wish you could see how our Boys are being cared for when they come back wounded. There isn’t a thing in the world too good for them. They get most anything they want. That is the reason every American Soldier over here is proud of the fact that he is an American. Sweetheart, I am lonesome for you tonight. I think I would gladly give my pay for the next 6 months just to spend a few hours with you. I get dreadful lonesome for you sometimes, then I go out in the woods and visit with the flowers, and always I wish that you were here with me. But dearest, I will close this and try to get a few hours sleep. I am sure I will have a letter from you now in a day or two, and then I will try and write you a better letter. I have made a pitiful failure this time. All my love to you, dearest Hazel. Always your Carl Somewhere in France September 1, 1918 My dearest Hazel, This is Sunday. At least, that is what the Boys say. But for us, it is just the beginning of another week. All days are alike to us over here. But I am gong to write you a few lines before I lay down. I haven’t been in bed all night and I must get a few hours sleep today, for I am going to leave here tonight. It is raining here and it is cold, and very disagreeable, but we have been working so hard lately that we haven’t had time to notice the weather. It is two weeks today since I have had a letter from you, but dear, I know it is not your fault. Sweetheart, I just haven’t a thing to write about this time. I can only say, fighting has been hard here lately, but I am well and as comfortable as one could be under the conditions. I will write you again at the first opportunity. Don’t worry, dear Hazel. I am feeling fine. I mailed you a parcel a few days ago, and I hope it will reach you in good condition. A friend of mine, (a French soldier) made it for you. I send you all my love. Always your Carl Somewhere in France September 6, 1918 My dearest Hazel, I received 3 letters from you about a week ago, and I was so very glad to have them. They were dated July 24, 26, and 28th. They were a litle slow in getting here but we are always glad to get the mail, even if it is late. You must excuse this writing, Dear. I lost my fountain pen and I am using one I have borrowed and I am not used to it. I wold have written you sooner, but I have been traveling for several days. Just got in here yesterday and I was glad to get out of the mountains. I am in level country now and it is a very pretty country, or rather, it has been a pretty country. I have passed many towns lately that hasn’t a house left standing. Just walls and chimneys. Even the churches were blown to pieces. I would like to tell you where I am but, of course, the censor won’t let me. But you have read about this country many times since the war began. I am billeted a litle way back of the lines in a litle village. I am sleeping in the hay loft. The cows live on the ground floor. It is almost dark in my bedroom where I am trying to write this. I can’t sit outside for it is raining hard outside. I am trying to get my clothes dry. I have been wet to the skin for 2 days. I don’t think we will stay here long. I think we will go in to action as soon as we are rested up a litle, and I think we will see some real war in this country. And so you are going to Joplin to school. Well, I am mighty glad to hear it, and I know you will make good at anything you set out to do. You asked me about Trench and Camp. Well, it is no more, dear, but I have ordered the Stars and Stripes sent to you for 6 months and it should reach you by the time you get this. And I h ope you will save them, for we don’t get to read them very often at the Front. This is a very old country. I am sure all the buildings are over 1,000 years old. The French people here are very nice to us. We are the first Americans here, so of course, we are quite a curiosity to them. I am pretty busy today, dear, but I will promise to write you again in a day or two. All my love to you. Always your Carl Somewhere in France September 8, 1918 My dearest Hazel, I promised to try and write you a decent letter in a day or two, and the time is up. And I had 2 more letters from you last night, and dearest, I am so glad to know that my letters has reached you at last, for I knew you were worried. I was so very glad, dearest, to have your letters. Really, I was a litle surprised, for I had not expected mail for several days, yet I enjoyed the clippings so much. The Drift Eternal is fine. I am glad you sent it to me. I had the pleasure of shaking hands with Grantland Rice here a short time ago. I met him in the trenches. He is with the Stars and Stripes. He is a fine man. He paid us a visit with Burress Jenkins. This is Sunday morning and it is a fine day. It is much warmer here than it was up in the mountains. We have all been busy this morning helping the natives clean up the streets. We have swept the whole town. I think this is the first time in history the streets have been swept. They have no sanitary laws here at all, and so we had much work to do when we moved in here. The natives didn’t understand us when we started in to clean up. They all stood and watched us for a while, and then they started in to help us, and they think now that we are just fine. They are all busy now getting ready for church. They all go to church as regular as they sit down to eat. Every man, woman, and child in town goes to church every Sunday. They all put on their best clothes and polish their wooden shoes. I haven’t seen a person in this place wearing leather shoes, but this part is up to date in agriculture. They all use American implements for tilling the soil and harvesting their crop, and they are fine farmers. They raise as much on one acre as the average American farmer does on 5, and I wish you could see the fine stock they raise here. They use no oxen here. You have seen the French Percheron horse that we used to import from France. They were all raised in this part of the country. They are the prettiest things I ever saw. This is also the home of the Holstein and the Jersey cows. All their stock is full blooded. I am very fond of good stock. Do you like stock? This country has been deserted for about 3 years. Up to a year ago, the Germans held most of this territory but they have been driven back a good ways. Listen, dear. I began to number my letters to you when I first came over here, but I have discovered that I can’t trust my memory, and I don’t always have a way of keeping track of when I wrote you last. So I gave up numbering them. I am going to send you a pair of wooden shoes sometime in the future. I don’t know how soon it will be, and I am hoping I can get you a good fit, and then when I come back home to you dear, then we have a dans. It is a great sport to watch these people danse with wooden shoes on. The town crier is beating his drum now. They have a town crier in every town over here. Whenever they get any news of importance, the town crier comes out in the main street and beats a drum, and everybody in town gathers around him and he reads it off to them. Very few people over here read newspapers, and they have no magazines to speak of. These people don’t read much. They work all the time. I mailed you a pillow cover about 2 weeks ago and I am hoping it will reach you. I bought it from a French soldier and I thought it was a wonderful piece of work. He made it himself, in a dugout, under heavy shell fire, and I am very anxious to have you write and tell me that you have received it. By the way, dear, are you getting the Ladies Home Journal regular? If you are not, I want to know it. In another 2 weeks, I am entitled to a 7 day furlough. But I don’t think I will be able to get away this year. The American Government, the Y.M.C.A., and the Red Cross has spent $4,000,000 over here in the prettiest part of France for the entertaining of the Boys on leave. I have talked to several Boys who has been there, and they say it is the most beautiful place they ever saw, and I am anxious to go there. It is just wonderful, dearest, what America is doing for her men over here. Not only while they are on duty, but also when they are on leave. We are better paid, better clothed, and better fed than any other soldier in the world, and they all envy us. Sweetheart, I promised to write you a decent letter but I am afraid I have failed. But it is so awful hard to write a good letter. I love to sit down and write in a quiet place, but there are no quiet places over here. I am sitting outside my billet writing this, and soldiers are passing by here all the time, talking 3 or 4 different languages. Heavy trucks are running fourth and back, and up above me, aroplanes are humming, and you can hardly hear yourself talk, and it is hard to concentrate your mind and write a good letter. Things never looked as good over here as they do now, and we think that the war won’t last much longer, and the Americans are coming over here faster than ever, and I am sure you will hear good news from this side in the next 3 months. I think by the time you get this, you will be in Joplin and you will be busy. I must admit, dearest, I hate to see you leave home and go in to a world new and strange to you, but of course, I realize that you can not stay home always, but I will close this now. I am going to write a letter to a floriest friend of mine in Kansas City, and don’t worry Sweetheart, I love you as always, and I could never forget you. You are in my thoughts every day, and often in my dreams at night. I send you all my love, dearest Hazel. Always your Carl [NOTE: Hazel writes on the envelope, “On the way to the Argonne Front.”] Somewhere in France September 18, 1918 My dearest Hazel, I haven’t written to you for nearly a week for I have been so awful busy, and when I did have a few minutes, I needed the rest. I have marched every night for 5 nights and it has rained continually ever since we started, and I am wet to the skin and pretty tired, but in spite of it all, I am feeling pretty good. I am camped in the woods at the present, but I expect to move again as soon as it gets dark, and I can’t write you a long letter this time, for I must have a few hours sleep, but I will write you a letter as soon as I possible can. All my love to you, dearest Hazel. Always your Carl [NOTE: Hazel writes on the envelope, “On the way to Argonne Front.”] Somewhere in France September 14, 1918 My dearest Hazel, I wrote you a few lines last night, but I was so tired and worn out and I don’t know what I wrote. I had expected to move again last night, but we stayed here and had a good night’s sleep, and I have rested all day and I am feeling fine again. It is still raining here and the ground is wet and cold, but we have learned to make the best of it under all conditions. I think we will move again tonight and tomorrow night, for we have the Hun on the run, and they are funning fast and we have to keep traveling to keep up with them. I am called away now and must close. Good night, Sweetheart. Always your Carl Somewhere in France September 16, 1918 My dearest Hazel, I will try and write you a few lines this morning. It is still raining, and I am curled up in my pup tent. Just got in here early this morning. We are resting up here during the day. I am camped in the woods along a river that you have read about often. I think we will leave here again tonight. I am so sorry that I am not allowed to tell you where I am and what I am doing, but I will have to wait till I come home to you and then I will have so much to tell you. Sweetheart, do you remember how I used to complain over the long, hard training I had in America? Well, let me tell you dearest, I am mighty glad of it now. We could never have stood this trip had we not been as well trained as we are. We have marched and marched until we were so tired that we felt no pain. Our muscles just moved automatically. After we got to our destination, many of us were too tired to take off our pack and we would sleep 4 to 6 hours and then be feeling fine and ready to go again. That is what military training does for a man. A man who was not trained for this would never have stood it for 2 days and we have stood it for 8 days now and are all feeling fine. I am going to close this. It is raining through my tent, but I am going to sleep and forget that it is raining. We are looking for mail from home, but of course, we won’t get any as long as we are traveling. All my love to you, dearest Hazel. Your loving and faithful Carl [NOTE: Hazel writes on the envelope,”On way to Argonne front.”] Somewhere in France September 23, 1918 My dearest Hazel, Just a few lines to you this morning. This is going to be a short letter, for I am back on the Front again, and this is a busy Front, and it is open warfare. We are out in the woods and it raines here all the time. I am in mud and water up to my hips and all the shelter I have is my shelter tent, so you see, dear, it is pretty hard to write a letter, but I am feeling fine in spite of it all, and I will write you a letter just as soon as I can. With all my love to you, dearest Hazel. Always your Carl [NOTE: Hazel write on the envelope, “Written the day before the Argonne battle began.”] Somewhere in France September 25, 1918 My dearest Hazel, I came in to this place yesterday morning after a 20 mile march carrying a 70 pound pack and was pretty tired. After a good breakfast, the mail came in and it was my good luck to get 4 letters from you, and after I had read them, I was ready to march another 20 miles. That is how much mail means to us over here. I have been on the road now for 2 weeks traveling nearly every night. I will reach my destination in a few days now. I am resting here for 2 days. Will leave here again tonight. I am billeted in an old barn in a desolate and shell torn town. There are just a few civilian people here who refused to leave their homes when the enemy came, but they have driven them back now, and this is everything but a quiet Front. I passed my old home on the way up here. You remember the place I wrote you about, and there is nothing left now. Where it stood is a big, ugly hole. Even the litle rosebush that I used to take care of is covered with debris, and as I passed it I wondered where Yvonne and her Mother is. You can never know, dearest, what crimes the enemy has committed in this country until you see it over here. I haven’t seen Albert but once over here. I passed a part of his organization a few nights ago, but it was dark and we have no time to visit over here. And you are not going to attend the business callege this winter. Sweetheart, why didn’t you tell me that it was financial reasons that caused you to change your plans? Will you allow me to send you through the business college? Do you know, dear, I would be only to glad to see your way through for you. I hate to see you deprive yourself of an education that you would like to have. I suppose it is too late now for this winter, but you could take a summer course and if you want to go, dearest, you must feel free to tell me and I will be only too glad to pay your way through. Please let me know in your next letter. I am going to close this now, and get a litle sleep. I slept on cobblestones last night beside an old ox, and I had my clothes off for the first time in 2 weeks, but I have discovered a pile of straw and I am going to crawl in to it for a few hours. Good bye, dearest Hazel. I will write you as soon as I possible can. I expect to be on the Front tomorrow night. All my love to you, dearest Hazel. Always your Carl P.S. I enjoyed the clippings so much. Glad you sent them to me. [NOTE: Hazel writes on the envelope, “Received Armistice Day, Nov. 11, 1919.” and “Ran away from Hosp. to his Company.”] Somewhere in France October 8, 1918 My dearest Hazel, It is nearly 3 weeks now since I have written you and in those 3 weeks, I have been very busy. I have been in a big drive, 7 days and nights, got gassed, went to the hospital, and am back with my Co again. I was gassed on the battlefield just as we were being relieved and I was blind for several days, and my eyesight is very weak now and will be for some time yet, and I have lost my voice for the time, but I will be all well again in a few weeks so don’t worry at all dear. It was mustard gas I ran in to and it just effects your eyes and throath. But my case is not dangerous at all and I think I will be fit for duty again in 10 days. I ran away from the hospital. I was lonesome for the Boys and I can get all the medical attention I need here. And it was a wonderful drive, dear. We will never forget it. I am told by my Commander that our entire Company was cited for bravery in action and, in addition, I have been cited separately. I don’t know what for. I mustn’t strain my eyes, dearest. I will write you again real soon. Now don’t worry, Sweetheart, for I will be as well as ever in a few weeks. Always your loving Carl [NOTE: Hazel write on the envelope, “From Base Hospital.”] Somewhere in France October 13, 1918 My dearest Hazel, I know you are wondering why you are not getting any mail from me. Well, dearest, I haven’t been able to write. I am back in the base hospital again. I thought I was all well and I went back to the Front again, but I had to give up and come back again and I have been pretty sick, but I am much better now. I have been here 4 days now and I am sitting up in bed today for the first time. My eyes has been pretty weak but they are improving fast now. I have been coughing so much and still have a bad cough. I think I have a litle mustard gas in my lungs, and I think it will be some time before I can get out of here. But I am getting the best of care here and the doctor has assured me that I will be all right, and have no bad effects from it. We are [CENSORED] from our Company here, so you see, it is not so lonesome here. News has just reached us that Germany has surrendered, but we haven’t been able to confirm the report yet, but we don’t think that peace is very far off now and it is going to be an Allied peace, too. I have had many letters from you lately. I think I have received all your letters up to and including the 18th of September. I had mail from you nearly every day during the big drive, and I had to read some of them on the run for we were going pretty fast. We advanced 7 days and nights without a rest, and we gained many miles of territory. I saw Albert the morning we started and I am wondering how he came out. Oh, yes, I must tell you I received several bundles of magazines from you, but of course, I had no time to look at them and I gave them to wounded men going to the hospital. But dear, don’t send me any more magazines in the future for I am not sure they will reach me. I don’t know if I will ever see 137th again. They have a system over here as soon as a man gets to the hospital he is replaced by another man, and I may be sent to another organization. I must close now. This is all the paper I have, but will try to write you again tomorrow. All my love to you, dearest Hazel. Always your Carl Write to my old address. [NOTE: Hazel writes on the envelope, “From Base Hospital.”] From Sgt. Carl T. Hansen Base Hospital 77. Am. E.F. October 15, 1918 My dearest Hazel, I promised to write you again soon and I could not disappoint you, and I can’t say now that I have no time, for I have more time than I know what to do with. I am glad, dear, that you can’t see me today, for my face is as black as a Southern Negro’s and I am feeling off all over. The gas is the cause of that. I have slept almost constantly since I came here and I am beginning to catch up now. I hadn’t had but a few hours sleep for a week. I am feeling somewhat better today, although I still have a bad cough. My eyes are a litle better today but the lights still hurt me and for that reason, my letters will not be very long, dear, until they get better. I am several hundred miles from the Front, now, and it doesn’t seem natural not to hear the big guns and not have to dodge the shrapnel, but it is a wonderful relief to get away from the horrors of the battlefield. But I think I will want to go back as soon as I get well. I don’t know what to think of the peace talk. Sometimes, I think the war is over and at other times, it doesn’t look as favorable, but I am sure, dear, that I will be back home for my birthday. We are going to have peace soon, and we are going to it on our own terms, even if we have to go to Berlin to get it. The entire German Army is retreating now, and it is no time for an Armistice. Germany wants an armistice to reorganize her for us and be ready to strike a new blow in the Spring, but we believe that the battle will be fought to a finish before Christmas and that reminds me, dear, you have wanted to send me a box of something for a long time. Well, you will have an opportunity to do so for Xmas, but it must be just a small box, 3X4X9 inches to be exact, and it must not weigh over 3 pounds, but really dear, there isn’t a thing that I need now that I can not buy over here now, and I am not going to ask you to send me anything for I don’t know if it will ever reach me. I don’t know where I will go when I leave this place. I will say this, there is going to be a rough-house if I don’t get back to my old organization. A man is unfortunate when he goes to the hospital over here. Sometimes he gets back to his Co., but not always. You see, they are on the move constantly and it is hard to keep track of them over here. October 16, 1918 I had to stop writing yesterday. My eyes gave out, but they are much better today and I am improving fast now and the doctor says I am going to be able to get up before many days and I am mighty glad of it. You know how litle patience I have when I am sick. It is so awful hard for me to stay in bed. I am anxious to get back to the Front again, but of course, that is out of the question for some time. Sweetheart, I would gladly give a year of my life now for a box of your candy. We are not able to get any sweet stuff here. The Red Cross has just brought me a newspaper, and it had President Wilson’s reply to the German Armistice Proposal, and the soldiers here are with him to a man. And while they are arguing, the Allies are advancing steadily and I do believe that the end is near. But I will close this and I will write you again real soon. Now don’t worry, dear, for I am alright and will soon be well again. All my love to you, dearest Hazel. Always your Carl [NOTE: Hazel writes on envelope, “Base Hospital”] Base Hospital October 18, 1918 My dearest Hazel, I must write you a few lines today. It is a beautiful day here. The sun is shining in through the window on my bed and it makes me wish that I was well and able to be outside. I am getting along nicely. My eyes are almost well and the blisters on my face and body are beginning to heal. I have lost so much of my hair and I have had my head shaved to prevent it all from falling out. The doctor has promised me to allow me to get up and go outside for a litle while in a day or two if the weather stays nice. It is lonesome here in the hospital, and I am anxious to get back to the Front, but of course, I must not go until I am well, for only the very strongest of men can stand Front line service over here. We are getting splendid reports from the Front. Today’s paper tells that Ostend and Lille has been taken. That is fine, and the entire German Army is retreating. I must hurry and get well, for I must be with the Boys when we cross the Rhine. I am wondering when I will get mail from you now. I haven’t sent for my mail, and I am not going to. I don’t know how long I will be here or where I will go from here, but I am going to try and go back to the Co. The mail is going out now. I must close. All my love to you, dearest Hazel. Always your Carl [NOTE: Hazel writes on the envelope, “Base Hospital”] Somewhere in France October 24, 1918 My dearest Hazel, I have wanted to write you a letter for several days, but I haven’t been able to get any paper. It seems to be so scarce here. This is my third day up and I am getting on just famously. My eyes are all well now. They haven’t been injured at all. My lungs are a litle weak yet, but I think I will be perfectly well in a short time and able to go back to the Front again, and I am very anxious to go back. It is so lonesome here dear, for I don’t get any letters from you, and won’t get any until I get back. I have some of your letters with me and I have read them through and throughuntil I know them by heart. And I would have been awful lonesome had I not had them with me. Your letters and your pictures, and that reminds me. I never told you that I received the two pictures you sent me some time ago that were taken out on the farm, and I think they are just fine. Do you know, dear, you are getting better looking every day. It is raining hard here today. In fact, it rains nearly every day. I don’t know where they got the idea of calling this “Sunny France”, for I have seen less sunshine here than in any other country I have been. The sun is on the wrong side of the clouds all the time. I understand this is the rainy season here. We did have sunshine for a few hours yesterday, and I took a litle walk, but I haven’t been out at all today. But I have a good place to stay and a nice soft bed to sleep in, and for the first time since I came to France, I am in a place where it can’t rain on me, and still I wish I was back with the Boys, and I am hoping I can get back by the time they go in again. I know dear, you are anxious to have me tell you of my experience over here, but somehow, I don’t like to talk about them. I am trying to forget all about them, but some day when I get back home, I will tell you all about it and I think we will all be home before long. I think I will leave here in a few days and go to a rest camp where I will stay until I am strong enough to go in the field again. I will close this now, and I will write you again real soon. All my love to you. Always your Carl [NOTE: Hazel writes on the envelope, “Base Hospital”] Somewhere in France October 26, 1918 My dearest Hazel, I have been wondering for some time if you have ever received the Stars and Stripes. You should have gotten it a long time ago. If you have, you know all about the Soldier’s Christmas Box. I was issued a coupon today and I amenclosing it in this letter, and I am not going to tell you what to send me, but just let you use your own judgment, and I know I will be well pleased. I don’t like this idea of having to send for a Xmas present. It is just like asking for something. But you have wanted to send me a box for some time and here is your chance. I am getting along just fine. Walking around every day, and I will soon be strong enough to leave this place. It is raining here every day and the mud is knee deep, and it is very disagreeable. I am getting so restless. I think this is the most lonesome place in the world, and then too, I won’t get any letters from you until I get back and I miss your letters more than anything else. I just can’t think of anything more to write and will close this. All my love to you, dearest Hazel. Always your Carl Somewhere in France November 10, 1918 My dearest Hazel, I must write you a letter again or you will think I have forgotten you, and I would not have you think that for anything. But it is so hard to find anything to write about and particular now that I haven’t had a letter from you for over a month. I am still in the same camp waiting to be sent back to my company, but so far, I haven’t been able to convince the doctor that I am fit for Front Line service. I am feeling as good as ever now, and I am hoping that I will soon be allowed to go back. I get to awful lonesome here, and I am longing to get back to the Boys. We have been split up, and there is only 4 of us from my Company here now. We are watching the peace movements now, and speculating on the outcome, and we think it is almost over. I believe the Germans are ready to surrender now. They have seen the handwriting on the wall and the next few months will see great changes. It is cold, wet, and very disagreeable here now. This is the rainy season in this country and the water and mud is knee deep wherever you go, and it is so lonesome here. Nothing to do and no place to go, but there is only one thing to do when you are in the army (obey). When I get back to my Company I will try to write you a better letter. I will close this. I just can’t think of anything else to write this time except I am so lonesome for you and I love you as dearly as ever. I will write you again soon. All my love to you, dearest. Always your Carl Somewhere in France November 13, 1918 My dearest Hazel, News has just reached us that the Germans have signed the Armistice and I think the war is over, and I wish you could have seen the celebration here. The French people all dressed in the best clothes and paraded up and down the streets and cheered, and I guess you can imagine what a demonstration the Americans put up, and I can hardly realize that it can be possible that peace has come at last. You can readily imagine what a happy bunch we are now, knowing that we will go back before long to the best country in the world, and to those who are near and dear to us. It is hard for us to realize that this awful war is over and that we can again begin to look forward to the time when we will go back home and start in where we left off. I am beginning to see the dawning of a brighter day, and I think I can say that this has been one of the happiest days in my life, for I know now that I will come back to you before long. I have seen it coming for some time, but really, I had not expected it this year, but at last, the German Military Machine has been crushed. The milestones of the History of the World are measured by great events – the creation, the flood, the birth of Christ, are the greatest events in our history. And I think this war has been an event as great as any of the foregoing, and I am sure a great deal of good must come out of it to compensate the millions for their sufferings. I think it is going to bring the people closer together. Surely a great deal of good must come out of this. Well, Sweetheart, so much for the war. I am still in a rest camp waiting and pleading to be sent back to my Company, and I hope to leave here in a day or two. I want to get back to the Boys. I will close this and write again real soon. All my love to you, dearest Hazel. Always your Carl Somewhere in France November 17, 1918 My dearest Hazel, I am back home again and mighty glad to be back. The best part of going away is the coming back. I found a stack of letters from you waiting for me – 16 in all, and several bundles of magazines. I haven’t had time to look at them yet. I am going to be very busy now answering your letters. I don’t know if I can answer them all but I will do my very best. It is a shame the way I have neglected you while I have been away, but it has been so hard to get writing paper, and whenever I did get any, I had a hard time to find someone to censor my mail, but I will try to make up for it now. The war is over and the restrictions will soon be taken off, and we will have much more time to write in the future, and best of all, we will be home before long. I am so disappointed to know that the pillow top never reached you, and I know now that it is lost. I wanted you to have it, for it was a beautiful thing and I paid a high price for it. And I am also sorry for the delay of the Stars and Stripes. I have a letter from them that they have sent it to you. The letter was dated October 18th, but you should have gotten it over 2 months ago. It is not the same old Company any more. There are so many strange faces now. Of course, we are expecting many of our own to come back to us yet from the hospital, but it will never be the same old Company again. We are at the Front, or rather where the Front was, and it seems strange to be up here and hear no shooting and not have to wear your helmet and gas mask, or dodge high explosive shells. Dearest, you can never imagine how lucky I was during the drive. How I ever came out alive is a mystery to me. I saw men fall all around me, and next to me, and I can never forget the 7 days and nights I spent on that battlefield while the fight was the hottest. I will close this now and I will write you again tomorrow. All my love to you, dearest Hazel. Always your Carl Somewhere in France November 17, 1918 My dearest Hazel, I wrote you a short letter this morning, and since then, I have received 3 more letters from you dated October 19, 24, and 26th, and also a bundle of magazines, and I must say, you are the dearest sweetheart a soldier ever had. I don’t know how I would ever have stood it over here had I not had your letters to cheer me up. You can never know, dearest, how much your love has meant to me. We are having a happy reunion here. The Boys are beginning to come back from the hospital in bunches of 3 or 4, but of course, there are some of them who will never come back and we will always miss them. I know, dearest, that you have expected to hear of my experience during the drive, but somehow, I never felt like writing about it. When we started over the top on the Morning of September 26th, I was feeling fine, and I went in to it body and soul, and I worked as I never worked before. For 7 days and nights, always advancing, there was no time to think of eating or sleeping during the week, and how we ever stood it, I can never understand. When we finally were relieved, I just went to pieces and I was caught in a gas barrage. Just as I cam out, a piece of shrapnel cut a hole in my gas mask and I had no way to protect myself, and I have been awful sick, and I am not well yet. It will possible be a year or so before I get over it. I never told you how sick I was for I know you would worry about me. I was ordered to go to the hospital 2 days before we were relieved, but I refused to do so. I had my mind made up that I was going to see it through at any cost and I am glad now that I did go through it all, but I hope I will never have to go through anything like that again. But now that it is all over, I wouldn’t take anything for my experience. You folks at home will never know until we come home how these Boys have fought and suffered over here. I didn’t think it was in men to fight as hard as our men did. We met the very best of the German Army and they had us outnumbered two to one. There never was a time when our Boys retreated, always going forward, through shrapnel, machine gun fire, and gas. At first we took many prisoners, but after the second day there were no quarters given. They fought till they died. We will never forget that week in the Argonne Forest. I must tell you about a litle incident I saw up there while fighting was the hottest. We took a town on the second day and an Infantryman captured a litle German dog. A short time later he was wounded and had to go to the dressing station, and when he was being put in the ambulance to go to the base hospital, the doctor told him he would have to leave the dog behind. But he told the doctor that he had fought for that dog and he intended to keep him, and he was allowed to take him along. But I often wondered how the dog fared after he reached the hospital. I am just a litle north of St. Mihiel now, and I expect we will soon start going towards the Rhine. We are beginning to speculate on how soon we will get home. I really believe we will be home early next Spring. And now, Sweetheart, I told you I was not well yet but you must not worry about it, for I am going to take good care of myself and the doctor has assured me that I will be all right if I get plenty of fresh air and good food, and I am sure I will not suffer for the want of fresh air over here, and our food is always good. I am awful sorry to hear of Verna’s conduct. I am sure Albert is a good boy and he don’t deserve that. I am wondering how he came out in the drive. I haven’t seen him since before we went in. This part of the country has been deserted for a long time but the people are beginning to come back home now and reclaim their homes. Old men, women, girls, and children are coming. Some are pushing a wheelbarrow and some are carrying all they own in this world on their shoulders. One old lady passed here today leading a goat. She stopped here for dinner. She told us she had a good home 5 miles from here when the Germans came, but they had taken everything she had but the goat. But she was happy. We gave her all the food she could carry and told her to come back if she needed anything. You have to see these people and their ruined homes before you can realize what they have suffered the last 4 years, but they are happy now for they see better days coming. It is time for me to go to bed and I must close now, and I will write you again in a day or two. You have all my love, dearest Hazel. Always your Carl Somewhere in France November 19, 1918 My dearest Hazel, I had another fine letter form you today dated October 21st and I must answer it at once. I would have written you today anyway, for I am going to try and make up for lost time. I neglected you so while I was in the hospital. I am still in the same place but I expect to leave here in a few days. I don’t know where we are going but I have an idea that we will leave this war torn country and go further south where we can have better quarters. And then, too, the people who once lived here are coming back to reclaim their homes and sweetheart, they are a sorry looking lot. They are mere shadows of men, women, and children, and they are like people walking in dreams. The Germans opened the door of their cages a few days ago and told them they could go and took them out to the road that would lead them to our halting Army. They did not even have clothing enough to protect them from the chilled air. Some of them died on the way. Others barely kept body and soul together, but at last they have come into the hands of their comrades and they are happy now. Yes, dearest, I could never think of sending my coupon for a Christmas box to anyone but you, and you should have it by this time. Sweetheart, I told you some time ago that I was to be cited. Well, the Commanding General called on me today and thanked me for my courage and devotion to duty during that awful week in the Argonne, and I am sending you my copy of the General Order. I hope you will take good care of it for me, and I think some day I will wear a medal for distinguished service, then won’t you be proud of your soldier, Sweetheart? This is not going to be a very long letter, and it is a very poor one, but I am pretty busy. I am going to parade at 4 p.m. and it is 2 o’clock now, and I must close this and I will write you again real soon. All my love to you, dearest Hazel. Always your own, Carl 
Cousance, France November 23, 1918 My dearest Hazel, Tomorrow has been designated as the day for the Soldiers to write their Fathers, and as it is not my good luck to have a Father or Mother, I am going to do the next best thing by writing to the dearest and best girl in the world. And as the censor has modified the rules since the signing of the Armistice, I am now allowed to tell you things that would never passed while we were fighting. And I am going to give you a brief history of my trip over here and my stay in France, and perhaps I may tell things that I have written before, and if I do you will excuse me I am sure. I landed in Liverpool June 1st and left there the same day and went to Rumsey, a small town about 6 miles from Southampton, and while I was there I saw that wonderful abbey, and I visited the grave of Florence Nightingale. We stayed there 5 days and then marched to Southampton, where we got a boat across the English Channel. It was just a 10 hour ride in the darkest night I ever saw. We landed in Havre, France June 6 early in the morning and stayed there 2 days. We were very tired and worn out and I never did have an opportunity to see the town. From Havre we took a train and traveled 3 days and nights and I never did know where we were. I didn’t have a map with me. I do know that we came within a few miles of Paris. We passed Paris on the north. We landed in a town of about 20,000 population by the name of Epinal, and we rested there in a French garrison for 36 hours. And then marched to our final destination, a small town named Elayes, and there we were introduced to our first French billets and it was there I met litle Margurite Marishall, and there I think was the prettiest scenery I ever say and the finest climate. It was the foothills of the Swiss Alps. We went in to training there and stayed there until July 16 when we marched about 50 miles north up to the Front. I think it was about July 20th when we took over the Front in Alsace, not very far from the Swiss border. We were not far from Mulhouse, and on clear days we could see the snow capped Alps in Switzerland. And the climate was wonderful although it rained nearly every day. But we had good dugouts there and it was a mild war compared to what we went through later on. At times we saw some hard fighting, but it was mostly local raids. We left that country the latter part of August, and went through Luneville, Taul, and Nancy, and got in on the St. Mihiel Front the night the drive started, and we were held in reserve there during the drive. We were not called in to action there, but we were ready. Our Boys met no resistance there. We camped in the woods a litle way outside Nancy for about a week and then we started out for the Argonne Forest. The big drive started on the morning of Sept 26th. The barrage started at 2:30 a.m. and we got to the Front at 5 a.m. and we can never forget that morning or the 7 days following. The cannons stood almost wheel to wheel and there were tanks and airplanes by the hundreds. At 7 a.m. our boys started over and before noon our men had a field hospital in operation in a captured town, and that night we were 7 miles beyond the town. We continued to advance until the 4th day when we had to slow up and wait for the artillery to catch up with us. The Boys fought 24 hours a day, always going forward and we met the very best of the German Army too. Nearly all of the Prussian Guard. The first 2 days we took many prisoners, but after that there were only a few taken. It was a fight to the finish and I think the deeds of the American Soldiers will live forever in the pages of American History. Well, I think you know what happened from that time till now, for I have written you many letters since. I am now living in an old factory between St. Mihiel and Verdun. I went through St. Mihiel a few days ago and I don’t think there is a building that has not been hit. I haven’t been in Verdun yet, but I think I will have an opportunity to go there in a few days. I am very anxious to see that place. It seems strange to be able to write and tell you where I am at after we have been restricted so long. I haven’t seen Albert since I came back. I think he is up close to Verdun. We are having the finest weather here now. It doesn’t rain as it used to and I believe all the firing and explosions were responsible for all the rain we had. It is cold here, but it is clear and the sun seems to help me more than all the medicine and nursing I got in the hospital, and I am feeling better and I think by the time I get back home I will be as well as ever. You asked me in one of your letters about my old friend the Scotch Sergeant. No, I have never heard from him since I came over here, and I often wonder where and how he is. But I must close this now. The mail is going out in a few minutes and I want to get this off today. You have all my love, dearest Hazel. Always your own Carl Somewhere in France November 29, 1918 My dearest Hazel, I received your letter of November 4th last Monday, and of course, I was mighty glad to have it and to know that you were well, and I enjoyed the clipping very much. I knew you would eventually get the details of the fight in the Argonne through the papers much better than I could tell it to you. And you think it was a wonderful story. Well, really, we never realized how awful it was until after it was all over, and now that it is all over, I will say this. I wouldn’t have missed it for anything, but I hope I will never have to go through anything like it again. I would have written you sooner, but I left the company an hour after I got your letter. I am on detached service with the artillery at the present. We are camped 4 miles from Verdun and I am about 40 miles from my Company. I went way down there for Thanksgiving dinner yesterday and we had a fine dinner. This was my third Thanksgiving in the Army and it was the last one, I am sure. I think when I come home from this that I have done my bit, don’t you? I told you in my last letter that it had quit raining here. Well, the very next day it started in and it has rained ever since, and we are in mud up to our knees. But we have a fairly comfortable billet and we are getting along just fine. We have to take turns at sitting up nights and keep the rats away from here. These rats are almost as large as an ordinary house cat. And then we have another variety of animals here. The bunks are full of them. You know what I mean. The British call them Cooties. This country is full of them and we run in to them wherever we go, and it is impossible to keep yourself clean over here, but we are thankful that we are alive and that it is all over. And it won’t be long now until we will be coming home, and what a homecoming that will be. Albert is up here in the woods somewhere. I haven’t seen him yet. I am going over to his Regiment in a day or two and I am going to look him up. I have charge of 3 ambulances up here, one with each Regiment. We don’t have much to do. There is very litle sickness here now. I think we have all reached a stage where we are immune from all disease. November 30, 1918 It got dark on me yesterday and I had to stop. The days are very short here now. It is dark at 4 p.m. and it is 8 a.m. before it is daylight, and the days will be still shorter next month. The sun is out this morning and I am going to Verdun today. I have always wanted to go there, and when I come back from there I will write you a long, long letter and tell you all I saw there. I must close this now. You have all my love, dearest Hazel. Always your own, Carl [NOTE: Hazel writes on the envelope, “Verdun Description.”] Somewhere in France December 7, 1918 My dearest Hazel, In my last letter I told you I was going to Verdun, and that I would tell you all about it. Well, I have been there 3 times since I wrote you last and I think I have went through every street and alley, and I have went through most of the public buildings that are still standing, and I don’t think there is a building of any kind left that has not been hit by shells or bombs. And Verdun is one huge pile of debris. I went in to an old cathedral. The entire roof is blown off. I was told by a French Captain that one painting on the wall was painted in the 14th century, and that the artist worked on it 20 years. In the summer of 1916, a 42 centimeter shell went right through it and ruined the whole thing. You can never imagine, dear, what the Germans has done to this country. You have to see it in order to fully conceive it. A good many of the civilians have come back, and more are coming every day. I was going to say that they were coming home, but that is wrong. They are coming back to an ugly pile of debris where their houses once stood. They are pitiful to look at, but they are happy to be free and to know that the war is over. And every one of them have a smile for every American soldier. I also went out to see the hill north of Verdun. It is called Dead Man’s Hill, and 800,000 French soldiers lost their lives there in 1916, and perhaps that many Germans fell there. A Frenchman told me that before the war the hill was covered with large forest trees, but there is no sign now of anything ever grown there. The ground is covered with shells, bombs, and bones of dead soldiers. It is a horrible sight. I am still on duty with the artillery. I am about 40 miles from my Company. I haven’t been down there for a week now, but I am going down there in a day or two, for I know I have some mail down there. I was going on my furlough this week but I let another man go in my place. I am going next month. The government lost my service record last summer and I haven’t been paid for over 4 months, but it really doesn’t matter over here, for here is nothing you can buy except wine and I don’t drink. But they have at last found my service record and I will have a big pay day next month. Of course, you don’t have to have much money to go on furlough over here, for all our expenses are paid. Well, Sweetheart, the big question in our minds now is when are we going (HOME). That question is asked many times a day. It is just a litle over 3 weeks since the Armistice was signed but it seems like 3 months to us. No doubt, the government is going to get us home as soon as possible, but the days are so awful long now. The weather is bad here. It rains every day, and we are in water and mud up to our hips, and it is natural for young me to get lonesome for home under such conditions. But we are all cheerful and just tickled to death to know that it is all over and one of these days before long we will come marching down the gang plank and set sail for the old home town. And we talk about that day always, and I believe it is going to be the greatest day in all these Boys’ life. I have never sent you those wooden shoes that I promised you a long time ago, but they are coming. I will not forget it. I haven’t been any place for a long time where I could get them, and by the way, I have some beautiful flower vases for you, but I am not going to take chances and send them through the mail. I think too much of them, and I am going to bring you just a lot of nice things from over here. But I must close this. It is time for me to go to bed. You have all my love, dearest Hazel. Always your own, Carl Somewhere near Verdun, France December 7, 1918 My dearest Hazel, I went down to my Company yesterday and I found five letters there from you, and such fine letters they were. Sweetheart, I often wonder if there is another soldier in the entire A. E. F. who has a sweetheart who writes such sensible, cheerful and encouraging letters as you write me. I don’t believe it. Do you know I never cared much for frills or things that were put on to make showing and your letters are so frank, and they mean more to me than I can ever tell you. Dearest, I am afraid that you are unduly worried over my recent illness, but you must not be alarmed. It is true, I am not well yet and won’t be for several months, and had it not been for my splendid health and my power of resistance, I would perhaps never be well. Gas is very deceiving, and the only real cure for it is fresh air and good food, and I am getting plenty of both. And I am not doing a thing up here, and I am allowed to go where I please, and you can rest assured that I am taking the best care of myself. All us men who were injured during the battle are allowed to do almost as we please, so whatever you do, dearest, you must not worry, for I will be perfectly well before I get home. I am still up close to Verdun on duty with the artillery brigade. They are still here in the same place where they were firing from while the fighting was going on. The rest of the Division is about 40 miles from here close to St. Mihiel. They have been detached from the Division since the drive in the Argonne. I haven’t seen Albert yet, although he is only 5 miles from here, and I have an ambulance with his regiment, but the weather is bad. It rains every day and I don’t believe in going out to get wet as long as I can stay in the dry. I enjoyed the clippings from the Star so much, and I am glad you sent them to me. The Boys have gotten clippings from their home papers and how America did celebrate. It was a real American celebration. I wish I could have been there. Oh yes, I must not forget to tell you that I received the Home Journal. I have already read several of the articles you had marked and I think they were just fine. But dear, how could you ever think that I could send my coupon for a Christmas box to anyone but you? Surely you know I could never do that, but you see, I had gone to the hospital and I was not expecting a coupon. I hope the coupon reached you. We are all looking forward to the arrival of that famous 9X4X3. And do you know dear, it is going to be the biggest Christmas box that we ever received. This will be my third Christmas in the Army, and I am hoping it will be my last. I think I have done my bit when I get back, and I hope we will be mustered out immediately, but I am mighty glad that I came. Suffering and hardship has been our lot, but I would not have missed it for anything. And in the future, I think a membership card in the A.E.F. is going to be a mighty fine credential and many a young man is going to find it hard to explain where he was at during the crisis. I had a letter yesterday from a friend of mine in Kansas City. He is at Funstan now. He was telling me how sorry he was that he would not get to see France. Well, I would like to believe him, but I can’t. He had a splendid opportunity to come and 18 months to make up his mind. Of course, I suppose he would like to come over here on a sightseeing trip, but this is no place for rubbernecks. Well, sweetheart, I am hoping this will reach you for Christmas. It is such a poor Christmas letter, but there is nothing here to give anyone an inspiration. Nothing but shell-torn towns, trench rats, and lice, and I fear it will be a dull Xmas here, and I know I will be lonesome for you and wishing that I could spend just a few hours with you. But that can not be. I am thinking of you all the time, but I will be thinking of you particular on that day, and when you gather around your family table, just send a litle thought, for mine will be with you. In conclusion, I wish you and your family a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, and hoping that I will see you before very long. All my love to you, my dearest Hazel. Always your own, Carl Somewhere in France December 8, 1918 My dearest Hazel, I must write you a letter tonight while the weather is nice. We are living in a part of a house and a part of a dugout. Both are pretty badly shelltorn. The dugout is rainproof, but the house is not, and so when the weather is nice we live in the house, and when it rains, we go to the dugout and we live in the dugout most of the time. The rats are a pest here. They are so daring. They come out of their holes and sit and look at you, and at night they just play tag on our bunks. Up here we hang our sack up every night. Not for Santa but to keep the rats from eating. I hate rats, don’t you? There isn’t a thing going on up here and I haven’t seen a newspaper for over two weeks and I don’t know what is going on in the world. I am going down to the Company tomorrow and I am going to try and get a paper in St. Mihiel. When we first came up here we could get papers at Verdun, but the Y.M.C.A. that was there has moved. I have been quite busy today. Took a bath this morning (in a bucket) and this afternoon I washed and boiled my clothing, and I darned a pair of socks that the rats chewed up for me a few nights ago. I have an idea that I should make an ideal husband for some nice girl after I get out of this, what do you think about it, dear? We are very anxious for the Peace Conference to get started so we may find out something about how long we will have to stay over here. What is uppermost in every American Soldier’s mind now is when are we going home. I never heard that question asked while the fighting was going on, but I hear it a thousand times a day now. The days are long and monotonous now, and they will be until we find out what we are going to do. I wonder if your cousin Rowland ever came to France. If he didn’t, he has missed the greatest chance in his lifetime. Sweetheart, it has been a wonderful trip and we are all coming home better Americans, and better men, for having made it. I can see a great change in all these men. Why, most of them, their Mother’s won’t know them when they come home. They left home nearly 18 months ago, many of them mere boys just out of school, and they are coming back now as real men, and the finest and cleanest kind of men. I can’t help but think how proud and happy their Mothers will be of them. I am just a litle disappointed that we are not in the Army of Occupation. I would love to see some of the country between here and the Rhine. I have been in Germany but I would love to see Metz or Luckzenburg. Of course, we may get a chance to see them yet. I wanted to get a furlough while I am here and go and see my native country once more, but that has been denied me. An order has just come out saying that no American Soldier can go to a neutral country, even after peace has been signed. But I am not near as anxious to go there as I am to go back to America. You just can’t know, Sweetheart, how I long to see you and hold you in my arms and kiss you and tell you how dearly I love you. Will that day ever come? Yes. I am sure it will, and I can’t believe it is very far away. And when I do come back to you, darling, I will never, never leave you. But Sweetheart, I can’t think of anything more to write this time. I wanted to write you a good letter, but I feel that I have failed. But truly, I will try and do better next time. I send you all my love, my dearest Hazel. Always your own, Carl Somewhere near Verdun, France December 13, 1918 My dearest hazel, It has been four days now since I have written you a letter. I don’t like to have you go without a letter that long now but I have been very busy here. We have had a good deal of sickness lately, and it takes us all day and part of the night to make a trip to the hospital, and I have been to the hospital every day the last 3 days. It is about 70 miles from here. Our divisional hospital is at Commercy and my Company is there now. I went over to Bar le Duc yesterday, a town of about 20,000 population 40 miles from here, and while I was there I sat down to a real table and had a real dinner served French style. Bar le Duc is the only town around this part of the country that has not been destroyed. However, a part of the town has been shot up pretty badly by Araplanes, but the business or residential part has not been touched. It is still raining. It rains day and night, and in the fields the mud and water is hip deep. But they have fine hard rock roads in this country and they keep them in repair, or we would never get anywhere. It was these good roads that were the main factor in us winning the war. Sweetheart, I don’t know of a thing to write about. This is a mighty poor letter, but really, I will try and do better next time. I will close this now. With all my love to you, my dearest Hazel. Always your own, Carl P.S. Am enclosing a few postcards of Bar le Duc to show you what a French town looks like. Sonnedeaux, France December 20, 1918 My dearest Hazel, I haven’t written you for some time. Nearly a week, I think. I hate to wait that long, but I haven’t had any paper. It has been so awful hard to get paper since we have been in this part of the country. I went down to the Company yesterday and got a supply, and I found four letters from you waiting for me there, and I was so mighty glad to have them, and I enjoyed the clippings so much. I am staying with Albert’s Regiment now, and I had dinner with him yesterday. He is looking better now than he ever did before. It seems that this war has agreed with him. I think he has gained 20 pounds since I saw him last. It has worked the other way with me. I have lost over 20 pounds and I don’t seem to be able to get it back again. But then, Albert never went through anything like we did. The closest he got to the Front was from 8 to 10 miles, but we had a grandstand seat during the entire performance. Sweetheart, I have been wanting to send you something for Christmas and for your birthday, but there isn’t a thing you can buy around here. I had expected to be able to get to some city where I could get something for you, and I made a trip to Bar le Duc, but I couldn’t get a thing. But I haven’t forgotten you, dear, and again, I am afraid to send you anything through the mail. I have sent you several litle things and I am disappointed that they never reached you. Even the Stars and Stripes has never come to you and it is over 4 months now since I ordered it sent to you and paid for it, and I think that whatever you get from France, I will have to bring you myself. Just 4 days till Christmas. Where has the last year gone? It seems it is only a few short weeks since we left Doniphan but we have been so busy over here ever since we came, and we haven’t noticed the time go by. Yes, I wanted to get a furlough and go back and see the place where I spent my childhood days, but I can not go. At least, not at the present. An order has just come out saying that no American Soldier can go to a neutral country until peace has been signed, and then I think it will be too late, for I am going back to America with the Boys, and I think we will be on our way home by the time peace is declared. We are speculating and discussing every day now when we are going home. In fact, it is the only thing we talk about. And the days are so awful long now we don’t have a thing to do, and we have such poor quarters here. We live in mud and water to our shoulders, and it is cold and nasty and it is pretty hard to be cheerful under such conditions. But we know better days are coming before long. Surely we will be home before Spring. Yes, indeed, the homecoming from the border wll be a small affair compared with this. But I must close this. My hands are so cold I can’t hold the pencil any longer. I will write you again in a day or two. All my love to you Always your Carl Somewhere in France December 24, 1918 My dearest Hazel, Your letter dated Dec. 3rd came today, and I was so very glad to have it, and it was such a good letter. I just love to get a letter from you. They are always so cheerful. I wasn’t going to answer your letter until tomorrow, but Major Gist has just invited me to take a trip with him tomorrow up to Cheppy, Charpentry, and Exermont, and we are going over the battlefield where we fought in September and the first 3 days of October, and I would not miss that trip for anything, and how I wish I could take you over that ground and explain to you what we went through up there. And sweetheart, I believe I have good news for you today. Orders are coming to us every day indicating an early return, and we think now that we will start home sometime in February. Of course, it won’t do to be too optimistic yet. Conditions sometimes change overnight. Dearest, I wish you could hear our quartette sing. They are singing here tonight. They have composed a new song entitled, “Would You Rather Be A Colonel With An Eagle On Your Shoulder, Or A Private With A Chicken On Your Knee.” It is a very popular song. And you have had 2 more copies of Stars – Stripes. Well, I hope you will enjoy them as much as I do. I only regret that I can’t read them all. They don’t come to us regular. I am sorry to hear that the lady who wrote those sensible articles in the Journal has passed away. I have enjoyed her articles for several years. But I am going to close this now and go to bed ??? going to get up ??? early in the morning but I will write you again real soon. All my love to you, my dearest Hazel Always your own Carl Aulnois, France December 26, 1918 My dearest Hazel, I received your letter of November 29th several days ago and I was so awfully glad to have it, and to know that you received the flowers I had sent to you, and they made you so happy. Dearest, if you only enjoyed them as much as I enjoy sending them to you, then I am well rewarded. I have wanted to write for several days, but I have been so very busy. I was relieved at Verdun 6 days ago and sent to St. Mihiel, and we moved 2 field hospitals over close to Metz, and I just got through there and got back here yesterday morning. I am back with my Company now, and I am mighty glad to be back with the Boys. Sweetheart, do you know I have lived and worked with these Boys so long now that I get lonesome for them every time I am away from them. I think they are the finest Boys I ever saw, and I am back to stay with them for some time now. We are billeted in a litle town half way between St. Mihiel and Taul, and myself and 9 men are sharing a barn with 4 cows and 2 goats and countless rats. I think they have the worse billets here that we have ever had. It rains here day and night and the roofs all leak in these buildings and we have a hard time here trying to keep dry, but we are making the best of it, always remembering that better days are coming for us soon. I would like to know what is in store for us. When the Armistice was signed, we turned in all our excess equipment and all stock, and now we are bing issued new equipment and the entire Division is being issued the full quota of horses and mules, and we are wondering what it means. I think it means one or two things. We are going to Germany, or we are going home, and we are hoping that we are going home, for you just can’t imagine, dearest, how anxious I am to get home to you. Of course, we don’t want to come home until it is over over here, and you don’t want us to, but I am sure it is over. But I must tell you about our big Christmas dinner. I am enclosing a copy of the menu. We had a fine time. We sent invitations out to all the men in the Division who has belonged to our Company since 1916 and they were all here. And really, I had the best time I have ever had in the Army, and we will always remember this Christmas dinner. And while we all enjoyed ourselves and had everything we could wish for, still we all longed for that finest place in all the world. Home. But next Christmas, dear, we will all be there. Sweetheart, it is 3:30 p.m. and almost dark, and I haven’t any light. We just can’t get candles or coal oil and we live in the dark. We go to bed 7 o’clock. We have to to keep warm. We have no heat of any kind. It is a wonderful life, but thank God that we will soon be back home where we can live like white men. I will write you again in a few days, and I send you all my love, my dearest Hazel. Always your own Carl [NOTE: Enclosed is the Christmas dinner menu for Ambulance Company #137 dated December 25th, 1918. Baked goose, celery dressing, giblet sauce, mashed potatoes, peas and cream, lettuce, celery, pickles, cakes, mince pie, grapes, cigars, claret, cigarettes, nuts.] Aulnois, France December 28, 1918 My dearest Hazel, I mailed you a letter yesterday and it wasn’t a good letter at all, and after I had mailed it I was sorry for have done so, for I wasn’t feeling very good that day. I felt just a litle blue. Do you ever get that way dear? And then, too, I was cold and wet and had no place to dry my clothes. It has been rather disagreeable here lately, and now that we haven’t much to do I think we notice more the hardships and disagreeable things we go through here than we did at the time of the fighting. We are now fighting what seems to us to be the hardest part of war, the part of waiting and wondering when we are going home. I think there are many long and dreary days ahead for us over here, for I do not think we will be ordered home for months yet, and I wish Spring would hurry up and come around. There is no doubt in my mind now but that we will be here till Spring. I wonder, Sweetheart, if you can imagine how lonesome it is over here now, and how anxious we are for the order to come telling us we are going home. It is still raining hard here every day and all the rivers and canals are out over the banks. The Meuse is nearly half a mile wide here now and it is only a small stream. The railroad traffic has been cut off here for 2 days now on account of high water and we are hauling our rations in trucks from Nancy. I am going in the office tomorrow morning for 2 weeks. The First Sergeant is going on furlough and I am going to take his place while he is gone. I am not sure that I will take a furlough now. The Boys are coming back saying they did not have a good time at all, and I may wait until I come home. Then I am coming down to spend my furlough with you, dearest. Sweetheart, I have mailed you today by parcel post 3 vases and I certainly hope they will come through in good shape. They are made from the last 3 shells fired from an American gun on the 11th day of November, and they will mean a good deal to me. I am so glad to know that Stars and Stripes are coming to you. You should have gotten it 3 months ago. Sweetheart, I can’t think of anything else tonight and I will close this, and promise to write you again real soon, and I am sending all my love to you, dearest Hazel. Always your own Carl Aulnois, France January 2, 1919 My dearest hazel, I received the dainty box you sent me today and I wish you could realize how glad and happy I was to get it. Sweetheart, I have never received anything that I enjoyed and appreciated as much as I did this box. The candy was the best I ever tasted and those brushes are just fine. Just what I needed, dear, although I haven’t much use for them right now for I lost nearly all my hair while I was in the hospital. But it is gradually coming back and I think by the time I get back to good old America, I will look natural again. I don’t think I ever told you that I have been wearing glasses. Well, I have used them ever since I left the hospital, but I have discarded them now and I won’t have to wear them any more. My eyes are perfectly well now. I was a litle worried for a while over my eyes, for I hate to wear glasses and I am mighty glad that I am able to do without them. But Sweetheart, what am I going to write you from now on? It seems so awful hard to write a letter now. It wasn’t so hard to write while the fighting was on. There were so many things to write about then. But now, things are so different and we are doing about the same things as we did back in the States. As far as possible, of course. We have no drill grounds here but we spend a great deal of our time marching. The entire Sanitary Train is billeted in this town. It is just a small town. It has a population of about 400 and we are sleeping in barn lofts, stables, chicken houses, and wherever they can find room for us. I slept in a barn up til a few days ago, but the man who owned the barn bought another cow and I had to move out. It is not an uncommon thing for a soldier over here to be ranked out of a place to sleep by a horse or a cow, but the American Soldier is good natured and he has learned to take things as they come. When I look back and think of the different places I have slept over here, then I wonder that I am alive and as well as I am. Of course, we could never have stood it had we not had a years’ hard training before we came over here. I think it is permissible now to tell you how we have come through over here. We landed with 123 men. We had no casualties in Alsace, but we had many in the Argonne. When we were relieved in the Argonne, we had 64 men in the hospital. We had 7 men wounded, the rest of us were gassed. We know that 3 of them are dead, and a good many of them have gone back to the States to be discharged. There are 14 men yet we haven’t heard from and I don’t think we will know our casualty until we get back home. But I am afraid that there are several more who will not answer roll call. I haven’t had a letter from you for a week. I think our mail is tied up on account of high water. It is still raining every day. We haven’t seen the sun for over 5 weeks. I wonder how it is going to feel to get back to a country where the sun shines nearly every day, and I wonder what kind of reception we are going to get when we come home, and I wonder if these Mothers will recognize their boys. I doubt it. They are not the same boys. They are men now. Real men. But I think they have all aged from 5 to 10 years, even the youngest of them. But Sweetheart, I can’t think of anything else to write tonight and I will close this, and if I get a letter from you tomorrow then I will write again. If you hadn’t sent me this paper, you wouldn’t have gotten this letter for I haven’t a sheet of paper. Now aren’t you glad you sent it? Oh, I forgot to tell you about my trip to Cheppy and Charpentry in the Argonne, but I will tell you all about it in my next letter. It is 9 o’clock and it is past my bed time. Let me thank you for the fine Christmas box you sent me. I appreciate it so much. You are the dearest and best girl in all the world, and I love you more than I can ever tell you. You have always meant so much to me and I hope I can soon be back with you and be with you always. All my love to you, dearest Hazel. Always your own Carl [NOTE: Hazel writes on the envelope, “Trip to Argonne”.] Aulnois, France January 4, 1919 My dearest Hazel, I haven’t had a letter from you for about 10 days and I am so anxious to hear from you, but I know it is not your fault, dear, for we are getting no first class mail at all for over a week. The postal authorities tells us that they can not get any mail through on account of high water. It is still raining every day, and the roads are railways are under water in many places. I went to St. Mihiel last night. There is a foot of water in the streets there, or what used to be streets. You can hardly call them streets any more for they are full of shell holes, and I understand that Toul is under water. But I must tell you about my trip to the Argonne Forest the other day, for I promised to tell you and I could never disappoint you, dearest. We left here 5 a.m. and went through Verdun out to Fort Vaux [Vauquoix?] 8 miles north and west of Verdun. The Germans took [it] from the French in the summer of 1915. It was very interesting. A French Officer told us that the Germans surrounded the fort and cut off their communication and supply system, and they held them off for 14 days when the Germans gave them an opportunity to evacuate under condition that they give up the Fort. From Verdun we went to Montfacon and went over the battlefield there, and then we drove over to Neuville west of St. Menmehould where we started the drive on the 26th of September, and we went over most of the ground that we covered in those awful days. Things look about the same up there with the exception of a few civilians have come back and are living in dugouts and improvised sheds. It is the most forsaken country you ever saw. There isn’t a building for miles that has not bee hit, and most of them are completely knocked down. In some places it is hard to walk around without stepping on a soldier’s grave. While I was up there, I paid a visit to a large shell hole. I am sure had that hole not been there, I would not be here today. To tell the story, I spent 6 hours there one night under an awful barrage. It was there they shot my gas mask off me. We didn’t get back till almost midnight, but it was a mighty interesting trip. I still have some of the candy you sent me. It has surely kept well, and you can’t imagine how I am enjoying it. I am feeling better now than I have felt anytime since the drive, and if it only would turn cold and freeze up we would all feel better. I have learned something about gas. If you have been gassed real bad, your life is going to be short. On the other hand, if you have good lungs and you are physical sound, you will get perfectly well in a few months. And I know now that I am coming back to America as well as I left. I am enclosing a bunch of postcards I have collected in different parts of the country. They will give you an idea of what this country looks like. And I am also enclosing a copy of the Sanitary Swab, a paper published for and by the Soldiers of the Train. This is the first appearance of the Swab and it is somewhat crude, but if we remain in this place very long we will get equipped up and soon be able to turn out a much better paper. My First Sergeant is on furlough at Aux la Baine, and I am taking his place while he is away. I had intended to go as soon as he came back, but I think now that I will wait a while. I was reading in Stars-Stripes where they are planning to allow us to go to Paris and I would like to see the town. Sweetheart, I can’t think anything more to write this time and I must close. I am hoping that we will get some first class mail through real soon, for I know there are some letters on the way for me. I am hoping this will reach you for your birthday. How I wish I could send you something nice for your birthday and how I wish I could spend the day with you. But my thoughts will be with you on that day particular, and in conclusion, I wish you many happy returns of the day. I send all my love to you, my dearest Hazel. Always your own Carl Aulnois, France January 6, 1919 My dearest Hazel, Another two days has gone by and no letter from you, but I am not the only one who is getting no mail, for there isn’t a bit of first class mail coming through now, but I am going to write you a few lines tonight, even if I haven’t had a letter from you. It is still raining every day and there is no sign of it letting up. The 28th Division is moving through here on the way to the coast and the Boys are all happy for they think they will be on their way home before long. They are the Pennsylvania National Guard, one of the best divisions over here. I saw in the paper tonight that 3 more divisions are under orders to go home. That brings our chance that much closer and I am hoping that our turn will come soon, for things are getting monotonous here. I am trying so hard to be patient. It is a tremendous undertaking to get this Army home and get them mustered out. It is no longer the litle toy army we had down on the Mexican border. There are still 2 million men over here, and it is going to take a long time to get us all home. If we don’t get orders to go home soon, I am hoping we will move to some place where we can get better quarters, for conditions are very bad here now and the men are getting sick. Major Gist is in the base hospital at Toul now very sick, and we have just sent Captain Hurwitt to Vittell for an operation. We have only 1 officer left of those that came over with us and he is sick in bed now. I had a letter today from one of the Boys who served with us on the Border. He transferred to the ??? Division before we were called out. He was taken prisoner in the Argonne and has been in the hospital. He wrote me from Brest and he said he was leaving for God’s Country the next day. Sweetheart, I know my letters are not a bit interesting but there isn’t a bit to write about. But just as soon as I get a letter from you I will try and write you a long letter. All my love to you, dearest Hazel. Always your own Carl Aulnois, France January 8, 1919 My dearest Hazel, I was so awful glad to get 2 letters from you in yesterday’s mail. They made me so happy, for I hadn’t had a letter from you. But we had a big delivery of first class mail yesterday, the first we have had for a long time. Sweetheart, you ask me why I didn’t have my mail sent to me while I was in the hospital, and I will tell you now. When you go to the hospital over here you are transferred from your organization at once and another man takes your place. The Company does not know what hospital you are going to, and you don’t know. It takes 3 weeks for a letter to get from the hospital to the Front, so you see, dear, by the time my mail reached the hospital, I would be back with my Company and my mail would never reach me. I saw millions of letters come in to the hospital for men who had gone back, and the hospital doesn’t know where a man goes, for he goes through a dozen camps after he leaves there, and he is classified there. If he is in Class A, he goes to his Company. If Class B, he goes home, but I was mighty glad when I got back that I had not sent for my mail. It never would have reached me. Yes, dear, I should say you are getting to be an expert with the needle. In fact, I have known that for some time. I have always admired your needlework so much. You said in your letters, ‘Do you think you will be content with a plain, everyday girl like me who makes most of her clothes?’. Yes, dear, I know I will. I learned to admire and love you just because you were a plain, everyday girl, and I don’t think you will disappoint me at all. And dearest, I often wonder how I will appeal to you when I come back to you, if I am all you expect me to be. I will try so hard. We got the news this morning of Theodore Roosevelt’s death and we lined up in the streets here this afternoon and stood at attention while the bugler blew Taps. I think his death is a great loss to America. I have always admired him so much. I am enclosing a few postcards from different places over here. A one-frame and a five-frame note to show you what the French look like and also a miniature French War Cross, and I hope they reach you. Will close this now and write you again in a day or two. All my love to you, my dearest Hazel. Always your own Carl Aulnois, France January 11, 1919 My dearest Hazel, I had 2 more letters from you today and I was so very glad to have them. They were mailed December 13 and 16th, and you had just received my first letter after I came back from the hospital. And by this time, I can say that I have recovered complete and I am now as well as ever. I am still a litle shortwinded, and I couldn’t carry a pack very far yet, but my lungs are getting better everyday now, and I will be in good shape by the time we get back. And so you think we are coming home soon. Well, dearest, sometimes I think we will leave soon and at other times, I think it will be many months before we will get away from here. I am glad to see that the peace delegates are at last getting together. It has taken them a long time to get organized, and I am wondering how long it is going to take them to get things settled. I don’t think many of us will go home before peace is signed. I am sending you under separate cover (Yanks), a book of verses printed by the Stars – Stripes, and I hope you will enjoy it as much as I did. And I am also sending you 5 books of postcards showing the different parts of France, and when I come home and come to see you, then we will get out all the pictures and go over them together, and you will want to know so many things and I am trying to remember everything (awfully good). A bunch of our men just came back from furlough today. They were at Aux la Baine and they said they had the time of their lives. I had decided that I was not going to take a furlough but when the Boys came back and told me about the good time they had skating and skiing, then I can’t resist the temptation to go. I am very fond of skiing. I don’t suppose you have ever used skis. It is a wonderful sport. Sweetheart, this is Saturday night and it is almost 10 o’clock. I am going to close this now. You will excuse this short letter, won’t you darling? And I will promise to write you another letter tomorrow. I send you all my love, my own dearest Hazel. Always your own Carl I had a wonderful dream about you last night. Aulnois, France January 12, 1919 My dearest Hazel, I wrote you a letter last night and I promised that I would write you again today. I haven’t much to write about today, but I promised you to write and I could never disappoint you, dear. I had a letter from a young lady in New York this morning. She was the sweetheart of one of our sergeants. I met her at Camp Mills. Her sweetheart was killed in the Argonne Battle, and she had never been notified. I answered her letter this afternoon. I just dreaded to do it. They were so devoted to one another, and they had planned to get married as soon as he came back. He was such a mighty fine fellow and we all miss him. Sweetheart, you asked me in one of your letters if I found the Boys different after the war, and yes, I did notice a great change in them. They are more serious than they were before. But we are beginning to forget the horrors and awfulness of war. We were all very nervous after we came out of it, but now we are all gradually coming out of it and we are all coming back better men than when we left. I think I have gained over 10 pounds since I left the hospital. I don’t know what I weigh now. I think I weigh about 150 pounds. My normal weight is 160 and I am going to try to get back to normal before I get back. These are long and dreary days. We spend about 3 hours of drilling, and we have 2 hours of sports and athletics, but our hearts is not in our work. They are back home in America, and it is pretty hard to put your heart in your work. I told you in my letter that I had mailed (Yanks) to you. Well, it came back from the Post Office today. It wasn’t wrapped according to instructions, but I will try to get it mailed tomorrow. Sweetheart, I can’t think of anything else to write this time and it is my bedtime. I am enclosing a copy of the Sanitary Swab. Good night, dearest. All my love and best wishes to you. I am always Your Carl Aulnois, France January 13, 1919 My dearest Hazel, Your dear letter dated Dec. 21st came to me this evening and it was just the best letter ever. I wrote you a letter yesterday and one the day before, but I am going to write you again tonight, for if my letters make you happy then I want you to have them often, for I have more time now than I know what to do with. I do wish we had some good quarters. We are still living in barn lofts and stables, and it is very disagreeable. It is still raining here every day, and it is mud, mud, no matter where you go. My clothing hasn’t been dry for 7 weeks. January 14 In the Army, you never know where you are going to be or what you are going to do the next minute. Last night I got an order to take 5 ambulances and report to the base hospital at Toul. We got over there 10 o’clock and loaded up with patients and took them over to Vittel (in Alsace). We got in to Vittel 5 o’clock this a.m. and left again 9 o’clock, and just got b ack an hour ago. I brought my Commander (Capt. Hurniett) back. We took him down there 2 weeks ago for an operation, but they decided to send him home and operate on him in New York, and I took him to Toul. He wanted to see Major Gist who is in the hospital there, and he leaves tomorrow for God’s Country. It was a splendid trip and I enjoyed it very much, although it rained all the time, but I don’t mind the rain as much if I can keep busy. There are many pretty places in France, but none so pretty as Alsace. The sights I have seen over there will always live in my memory. I gathered up a collection of postcards on my trip and I am enclosing a bunch in this letter and sending more under separate cover. Sweetheart, I am a litle tired after the trip and I am going to close this now and go to bed. You will excuse this poor letter, won’t you dearest? I will write you again real soon. All my love to you, my dearest Hazel. Always your own Carl Aulnois, France January 18, 1919 My dearest Hazel, Your Christmas Day letter has just come and as always, I was so very glad to have it. I have been looking for a letter for several days. I was just thinking today that next Wednesday is your birthday and I haven’t even ordered a bunch of flowers sent to you. Sweetheart, I am just ashamed of myself. I have wanted to send you something for a long time but you can’t get anything around here worth having. I am due to go on furlough now, but an order has just came through now stopping all furloughs temporarily. I don’t know what that means. We sent a number of men to Brest this morning to bring back some heavy trucks. That doesn’t look like going home, does it dear? Sometimes I think we will go home soon, and then again, at other times I think we are going to Germany. And I am not very optimistic about it at the present time. I wish I could be home and spend Easter with you dear, but I dare not promise you that I will. The Peace Conference is sitting now and we are wondering how long it will take them to settle the fundamental principles, for I don’t think they will begin to send the soldiers home in large numbers until peace is actually signed. I think it will take at least 90 days. I have tried to get some books on horticulture and study up a litle, but I haven’t been able to get any yet. I have been away from my work now nearly 3 years and I have forgotten nearly everything I knew, and I will have to polish up on it before I come home and have to make a living again. I expect you have read about the Educational Campaign the Y.M.C.A. is carrying on over here. I have tried for a month to get some books from them, but they are not to be gotten. We are very disappointed in the Y.M.C.A. over here. I never mentioned it to you during the war when our letters were censored. The Y.M.C.A. has been a failure as far as the men on the Front were concerned, when we needed them worse we never did see them, and when we think of the millions of dollars that the people at home have given them to carry on their work over here, then we feel pretty bitter towards them. While the fighting was going on you could go to any large city over here and find Y.M.C.A. men and women living in fine hotels and traveling around in expensive autos, and big warehouses were full of supplies, but on the Front, we seldom saw them. In the 7 days in the Argonne, we never saw a Y-Man or any supplies. I often wish that the fortunes the people of America gave could have been given to the Red Cross or the Salvation Army, for they have done so much good over here. During the Argonne drive, there were 2 women who followed us right up, making chocolate and helping take care of the wounded men under shellfire. Sweetheart, it is Saturday night. I am writing this in my billet, an old barn loft. The cows live on the ground floor and the pigeons are in the attic. The is the worse billet I have ever had. The roof is in bad condition and it leaks through in many places. We often have to get up during the night and move from one place to another. We have a litle stove up here, but we seldom get any wood to put in it. Now and then we go out in the woods and cut down a tree and bring in, but we have to do that at night and then sometimes we are caught at it. Then we have to pay the French people an unreasonable price for it. We often wish that we were back in Alsace again. Those Alsacians are the finest people we ever met and they were glad to have us, but the people in this country are just the opposite. They are not at all like the real French people. I think they come from the Flemish race. They have no education, and they don’t seem to care about what is going on in the world. For some reason, they don’t like the American Soldier. When we first moved in here, their children were almost naked. Now they are all wearing clothes made out of American uniforms, and they eat 3 meals a day with us, and better meals than they have ever had before. The children here think we are fine, but the grown people refuse to have anything to do with us. We are gradually getting the old Company together again. All but 18 men have come back now. We don’t know how many have died and we don’t know how many have been sent back to America, but I don’t think any more will come back now. Sweetheart, you tell me you are getting jealous of the Boys. Well, don’t worry dearest. I think a lot of those boys that I have been with so long. I have helped to train them, and we have gone through the worse kind of Hell together, but when we come home and get mustered out and I have my choice of being with them or with you, then you hold the winning hand. I told you about a week ago that I had mailed (Yanks) to you. Well, it came back again. They didn’t have any stamps at the Post Office, but a bunch of stamps came in today and I will mail it tomorrow morning and I think you will enjoy it for I know you are fond of poetry. Dearest, I wanted to write you a good letter but I feel that I have failed completely. I must close this now and go to bed. All the Boys are asleep now, and soon I will be asleep and dreaming about the dearest litle girl in the whole world. Good night, dearest. You have all my love. Always your own Carl Aulnois, France January 23, 1919 My dearest Hazel, I am still in the same old town and in the same old barn loft, and it is a very old barn loft. The barn was built in 1774. I don’t think there is a house or barn in this place that is less than 100 years old. I just received your letter of Dec. 29th and as always, I was so glad to have it and to know that you were well and happy. Yes, dear, it sure will be splendid when we can all come home to civil life again, but I am afraid it will be a long time yet before we will see good old U.S.A. And you are wondering how we are putting in the time now that the war is over. Well, I will tell you. We take a 7 or 8 mile march in the morning and when the weather is good, then we spend about 3 hours playing football, or in other sports and exercises. We are having some fine weather now. Just think, it hasn’t rained in 4 days and we don’t know what to think of it. The sun came out last Sunday morning. It was the first time we had seen it in 44 days and it never looked as good to us before. Yes, dear, the time is dragging by now and it is hard to put your heart in your work, for we have accomplished what we came over here for and our hearts ar back home. We have had a great deal of influenza lately, but we have had hard frost the last 4 days and we have it pretty well under control now. I am pretty tired tonight dearest. We played socker ball for 3 hours today and we took a long march this morning, and I am going to close this now, but I will write you again in a day or two. I want to tell you before I close that I am feeling just fine now, and I am getting stronger every day. Good night, dear. All my love to you dearest. Always your own Carl Aulnois, France January 26, 1919 My dearest Hazel, This is Sunday evening, and it has been an awful long day. In fact, all days are long now. We have had some real cold weather lately and it is snowing outside now. There is 2 inches of snow on the ground now. This is the first snow we have had here, but surely the winter can’t be very long now. And we are glad to see the cold weather set in, for it is checking the influenza and it had gotten a big hold over here. I am planning on a leave now in the next 2 weeks. An order came down this morning giving soldiers with exceptional character the privilege of visiting Belgium, England, and Italy, and I am planning on a trip to Italy. I want to see Rome, Naples, and Venice. I have sent my application to the Commanding General today and I expect to hear from it in a week or ten days, and I hope I get it. It is a special leave and it is only given to a few men, and I will have to pay my own expenses, but even at that, I feel that I can’t afford to miss that trip. It is an opportunity I will never have again. If my request is granted, I expect to go from here to Nancy and from there to Paris, and then take a fast train to Rome. And I would spend about 4 days there, and then come back through Naples and Venice, and I think I will stop at Geneva and Nice on the way back. The leave will allow me 14 days and time of travel is included. Many rumors are circulating around here that we are going home soon, but there is no official information out about it. We are not doing anything here and I don’t think we will ever go to Germany, and the time just drags by now. It is just the same thing we had on the border. The war is over and we want to go home. Sweetheart, I can’t think of a thing to write tonight and I must close this. I am looking for a letter from you in a day or two and then I will write you again. Good night dearest. All my love to you, my dearest Hazel. Always your own, Carl [NOTE: Hazel writes “Special” on the envelope.] Aulnois, France January 28, 1919 My dearest Hazel, I had two letters from you yesterday dated January 3 – 7th and they were the best letters ever. I mailed you a letter yesterday morning, but it wasn’t a good letter at all. Do you know, dear, I find it awful hard to find anything interesting to write about. And you are wondering what I am doing over here now. Well, Sweetheart, sometimes I am quite busy and at other times, I haven’t much to do. Tomorrow I am going to Commercy with 5 ambulances and haul patients to a hospital train. When we are not busy hauling patients then we go out marching in the morning and play ball and have other games in the afternoon. And I am mighty glad, dearest, to be able to tell you that I am feeling just fine now and I am as well now as I ever did. I am still a litle short winded but my lungs are improving every day. Dearest, you asked me an awful big question in one of your letters. You said, “What are the qualities the Boys will ask their sweetheart to possess to make them a good wife?”. Well really, dearest Hazel, I don’t know if I am capable of answering for them. It is true, these men have changed. No man can go through what we have gone through over here and come out unchanged. No doubt, some of the boys will go back home disappointed with their sweetheart, and I am wondering about the ones who got married in a hurry before they left home. I know of 4 boys in this Company who are going home to sue for divorce, and I think that every man has his own idea about an ideal wife. And you said you wondered if you would be able to fulfill all my dreams and expectations of you. Yes, dearest Hazel, I know you will. I have known you a long, long time now, and I have never been disappointed with you. You are just the kind of girl my Mother would want me to marry. She always told me that if I ever married, to marry a plain, everyday girl who would be a good mother to my children. My own dearest Hazel, you will never know until I come home how much your love has meant to me over here. You have been with me all the time over here. There has never been an hour over here that you were not in my thoughts. After I went to the hospital when I had rested up, I saw the whole battle again and I thought I would go mad. And I had a high fever and was unconscious for 12 hours. Well, when I regained conscience, my nurse told me that I had been calling (Hazel) all night. You have been with me through it all. Sweetheart, it is my bedtime and I have to get up early in the morning, and I must close this now, and I will write you again real soon. I send you all my love, my own dearest Hazel Alberta. Always your own Carl Aulnois, France January 31, 1919 My dearest Hazel, Just a few words to you today to tell you the news. It came last night. The extra of the Sanitary Swab will explain it more fully to you the reason for our joy. We expect to leave here the latter part of next week, and I am sure that we will be home before the first of April. Sweetheart, I am pretty busy today and I must close this, but I will try to write you a letter real soon. All my love to you, dearest Hazel. Always your own Carl [NOTE: Enclosed in this letter is a “Sanitary Swab” announcing the 35th Division would be going home by Colonel Woolley, Train Commander.] Aulnois, France February 6, 1919 My dearest Hazel, I haven’t had a letter from you for over 10 days but we have had no mail at all so I know that it is no fault of yours. And I haven’t written you a letter for over a week. But really dear, I have been so awfully busy of late. We are getting ready to go home and there are so many things to do these days. I had expected that we would have left here this week, but we won’t get away till sometime next week. We are getting all our equipment together and turning it over to the salvage dept. We will leave all our equipment here except the ambulances, which we will take to the port of embarkation with us unless orders are changed. I am sure we will be in America before April 1st and it seems almost too good to be true. But how time does drag now. Each day seems a week now. Well, my trip to Italy is blown up now, and in a way, I am sorry. I wanted so much to see that country, but all furloughs have been cancelled. We are going from here to LeMans by train. There we will go through a cleaning process and get all new clothing and equipment. I don’t know where we will sail from, but it will be either Brest or St. Nazier. We have 6 inches of snow here now, but the weather is very mild. We have had very litle cold weather here. Sweetheart, I can’t think of anything else this time and I will close this, but as soon as I hear from you then I will write you again. All my love to you, dearest Hazel. Always your own Carl Aulnois, France February 9, 1919 My dearest Hazel, We had a large shipment of mail yesterday, and I received your letter dated January 11th, and I was so very glad to have it. Just think, dear, it had been 2 weeks since your last letter came, but I know you can’t help it, dear. The mail service has been very bad lately, but we are looking for more mail in a day or two. We are all ready to leave here, but I think we are going to be delayed a week or 10 days. The Engineers left here yesterday for Brest, but they nearly always leave about 10 days before the rest of us. But I am almost sure that we will be on our way by the 10th of Feb. And so you think we have not been given a square deal over here. Well, dearest, we have thought so for some time, and we still think so. We have been in bad for a long time. You see, dear, we are a National Guard organization and are not recognized by the regular Army, and I think there has always been friction between the higher commands. And of course, the enlisted man always draws the short straw. But we have learned one thing in the Army (to obey). If we were allowed to talk, we would say a good many things and perhaps it is better that we are not. We have a foot of snow here now and it is very cold today. About 20 below zero. And these barn lofts are awful breezy. And we just have 4 blankets, but I am feeling mighty good now. Darling, I am looking for another letter from you in a day or two, and then I will write you again. I still think I will be in America by April 1st. You have all my love, dearest Hazel. Always your own Carl Aulnois, France February 12, 1919 My dearest Hazel, I had a letter from you yesterday dated Jan. 14th and another one today dated the 18th, and dear, you are just the dearest girl in the world to write me so regular. You said in one of your letters that you knew that I was not well, and dearest, I want you to get that notion out of your head, for I assure you that I am perfectly well now, and I have never felt better than I do now. I had a nice trip yesterday. I went to Luneville to get a load of supplies for the Red Cross. Luneville is a very interesting place. The northern half of the town is completely destroyed by shells and bombs. The Germans held the town for 21 days in 1914. Luneville is the center of the lace making over here, and those women are certainly artists at it. And I bought you a lace collar, a centerpiece, and two doilies. A Red Cross lady picked it out for me and assured me that it is all hand made, and I am going to mail it to you tomorrow. I would rather carry it with me and bring it home to you, but I know I would ruin it by carrying it in my pack. But I am going to try to get it registered and I do hope that it will reach you in good condition. We have packed and turned in all our equipment except the ambulances. We will take them to Le Mans with us. We don’t expect to get away from here until the latter part of this month, and perhaps not till the first part of March. We are very busy now getting ready for an inspection by General Pershing and the Prince of Wales. They will be here Friday morning. We saw in the paper a few days ago that someone had intraduced a bill in Congress to take the gold chevron and the round Shesuran (??) away from us and we felt pretty bitter about it. But now, the French War Dept. has announced that if they take our gold stripe away from us, they will give every man a Croix de Guerre so we don’t care. No, Sweetheart, I don’t want to slave to domestic art and that is why I am coming to Seneca to that litle girl who knows so well how to do all those things. I must close this now and I will answer your last letter real soon, and I am going to mail the lace to you in the morning. I send you all my love, my dearest Hazel. Always your own, Carl Aulnois, France February 14, 1919 My dearest Hazel, I had another fine letter from you today. It was dated January 25th. That is pretty good time. 21 days. Sweetheart, I am afraid you are getting a litle impatient about our return. Of course, I don’t know but what you are justified in being a litle dissatisfied by the way they are returning the Boys. It does look like there is a great injustice. We all believe that the men who suffered the hardship and risked their lives over here are entitled to some consideration, but the War Dept. can’t see it that way. I think all soldiers look alike to the War Dept., whether he is a volunteer or a conscientious objector, for I saw in the paper a short time ago where they had released a number of objectors and given them honorable discharge. What I would like to know is this. What good is my discharge going to do me when men who refused to fight are given the same thing? But as a soldier, I have no right to question the acts of the War Dept. Yes, dear, you are right. We are in the coldest, wettest, and dirtiest part of France but I am sure we will not be here much longer now. I am sure that two weeks will see us out of here. We were to reconvene (??) for General Pershing today, but we got a telegram from him last night that he could not be here because one of the members of his staff died. But I think he will be here some day next week. I mailed the lace to you this morning. I had it registered, and it should come through in good shape. I am very anxious to have your letter telling me that the vases has reached you. I do hope they will come through. Yes, dear, I had them made for you. A French soldier up at Verdun made them, and I think they are just fine. They make beautiful vases. I must close this now. It is almost time for retreat. I will answer your last letter real soon. You have all my love, my dearest Hazel. Always your own Carl Aulnois, France February 20, 1919 My dearest hazel, I have had 2 more letters from you. One dated January 28th came 3 days ago, and the other dated January 21st came yesterday. The mail is still very irregular. I would have written you last night but I was so very tired. We had a hard day yesterday. We marched 20 miles with full pack and stood at attention for 2 hours. We passed in review before General Pershing and the Prince of Wales, and I wish you could have seen it. It rained nearly all day, and in passing the reviewing stand, we were in mud and water up to our knees. The General inspected every Company in the Division, and he stopped and asked questions of the soldiers. He saw my wound stripe and asked me if I had recovered entirely. He is a mighty fine man, and the finest looking soldier I ever saw. After he had inspected us, he spoke to us and told us that he was mighty proud of what we had done over here, and he said we should always be proud of our record, and he wanted to see us do as well in civil life as we had done in the Army. We got back here 7 o’clock last night and I don’t remember of ever being as tired as I was. It was the first time I have carried a full pack since I was in the Argonne. I didn’t think I would be able to finish the trip. I didn’t mind the marching, but standing at attention for 2 hours came very near being too much for me. I have been in bed nearly all day and I am still sore all over, but I will be alright tomorrow. The American Soldier would walk across the road for the people who are left in this part of the country are the very poorest and illiterate class of people. All who could possible get away from here left at the beginning of the war. Sweetheart, it is 9 o’clock and past my bed time, and I must close this and I will write you again real soon. You have all my love, my dearest Hazel. Always your own Carl Theodore Hansen Aulnois, France February 21, 1919 My dearest Hazel, I was just going to write you a letter today when your letter dated Feb 1st reached me, and dearest, it was such a fine letter, and I was so very glad to have it. And you were so happy and so pleased with the vases. Well, dearest Hazel, I am awful glad that you like them. I was not pleased with the two small ones. They look bad around the top where they were cut off, but I will have them finished for you when I come home. You never thought that cannon shells would make flower vases. Well, you see dear, we haven’t had much to do since the Armistice was signed so we began planning and figuring on souvenirs. I was sorry after I had mailed them to you. I was afraid that they would get lost in the mail. I have feared to send anything through the mail since last summer. And you were pleased with the post cards I sent you too. Well, sweetheart, if you only enjoy them as much as I enjoy sending them to you, then I am well rewarded. And I hope when this letter reaches you, you will have the lace I sent you a week ago. But I see now that I will have to hurry up and come home and grow some flowers for you to put in the vases, for they will do you no good unless you have flowers to put in them. We are having real Spring weather here now. We had a week of rainy weather but it has cleared off and it is very pleasant. The French people tells us that they never have any cold weather after the 20th of February, but they have much rain in the Spring. But we are used to that and we take things as they come (and smile). We are still waiting for the order that will start us towards God’s Country, and we have no idea how soon it will come, but we hope it will come real soon. I thought once that we would be on the ship by March 20th, but that is almost impossible now. There are 200,000 soldiers at the ports in France now awaiting transportation. I haven’t seen Albert since I was at Verdun. He is now stationed between here and St. Mihiel in a litle town by the name of Ermicourt. They have turned all their guns and horses and are ready to leave like the rest of us. All we need now is a traveling order. Sweetheart, there is a show at the recreation hut tonight and I am going up and it is time to go now, so I will close this and I will write you again real soon. I send you all my love, my dearest Hazel. Always your own, Carl Aulnois, France February 23, 1919 My dearest Hazel, I have had two more letters from you today dated Jan 30th and Feb 4th. You are just the finest litle girl in the world to write me so often, and I only hope you know how much your letters means to me. You said you didn’t know our quarters were as bad as I wrote you. Well, I am glad dear. You didn’t know how bad they were before, but the cold weather is over here now and Spring is here. And then too, we won’t be here much longer. Orders came down today that men would be allowed to go on furlough this week, but all men must be back with their Company by midnight, March 5th, and I am quite sure we will leave shortly after the 5th, and I think if we are lucky, we may reach U.S. April. That sounds good, doesn’t it Sweetheart. If they will give me a 3 day furlough to Paris, then I intend to leave here in a few days. I hope they will give it to me. I am very anxious to see that city. Yes, dear, we have followed the investigation of the 35th Div with interest, and no doubt, there is some truth in the charges they are bringing against the War Dept., but there is also a great deal of politic in it. This is the political year in U.S. and there are a great many men who criticize just to have something to do. We can readily understand that Mr. Allen is very anxious to make a good showing now that the Boys are coming home, for he made a pitiful failure over here as Divisional Director for the Y.M.C.A. We know there was at times shortages of equipment and supplies, but we also know that everything under the sun was being done in getting it to us, and we must also remember that the Drive was on almost from the Swiss border to the North Sea. There were bound to be heavy casualties. No one could expect to break down the old Hindenburg line without a heavy loss, and we don’t think Mr. Allen is capable of criticizing a military operation. I am afraid that he has already said more than he can prove. In the first place, I don’t believe he ever was right up to the Front. I didn’t see him, and I lived up there for a week. Nor have I heard anybody else who saw him, and we think Mr. Allen is just grinding his own axe. Sweetheart, I can’t think of a thing to write tonight and I will close this and write you again real soon. I send all my love to you, dearest Hazel. Always your own Carl Aulnois, France February 26, 1919 My dearest Hazel, Just received your letter dated Feb 8th, and I am going to write you just a very short letter. I am leaving here this morning for a 3 day furlough to Nice and Monte Carlo. I am going from here to Paris and I expect to stop there 24 hours, and then go to Nice. I didn’t know until an hour ago, so I am very busy getting ready. I know you will excuse this short letter, dear, and I will write you again real soon. All my love to you, dear. Always your own Carl Aulnois, France March 8, 1919 My dearest Hazel, I came back from my furlough yesterday morning and I found 2 letters from you dated March 11th and 15th, and I was so very glad to have them. I was gone 9 days and during that time I haven’t written you a letter, and I don’t know when I can get this mailed, for the Divisional Post Office has gone to Le Mans. In fact, almost the entire Division has gone. My Company leaves here tomorrow morning, but I won’t leave until 2 days later. I go with the ambulances overland. But I must tell you about my trip. It was by far the finest trip I have ever made, and I can only tell you in a brief way what I saw. On the way down, I stopped 24 hours in Paris and I visited many places of interest. I went to the Church of Notre Dame, the Church of Madeline, the Palace of Justice, Eifel Tower, the Louvre, and many other places. On the way to Nice, I stopped at Marsailles and Lyon. I spent one day in Nice, one day in Monte Carlo and Monaco, and 1 day going to the Intalian border. I have read so much of sunny France, but I thought it only existed in imagination, but now I have seen it and I am sure it is the grandest country in all the world. The sun shines every day down there. The roses are blooming, and the oranges are ripe, and the most beautiful palms I ever saw grow there. But there is no use of going in to details of it now, for I will be home before long and then I will tell you all about it. Sweetheart, I have so much to tell you that I fear you will get tired of listening to me. I have so many postcards and pictures from the places I visited. I am going to mail them as soon as I can get to an American Post Office, and I am going to mail you a purse I bought for you in Paris, and a stocking cap I got in Italy. We are very busy here getting ready to move, and everything is torn up, and I will write you again just as soon as I get settled at Le Mans. Of course, we don’t know when we will sail but we think it will be some time in April. I think we should get out of the service sometime in May. I am enclosing a description of the trip I made to Monte Carlo and Monaco. [NOTE: Y.M.C.A. Automobile Excursions brochure enclosed.] I send you all my love, dearest. Always your own Carl Monfort, Le Mans Area, France March 16, 1919 My dearest Hazel, This is Sunday and I must write you another letter. I must make up for lost time, for I have neglected you so lately. Not because I didn’t want to write you, for I always want to write you just as often as I can. I had 2 fine letters from you last night. They were dated Feb 19th and 22. So, you see, we are having real good mail service now. In fact, we are enjoying many good things now that we have never had before. Yesterday, a man and 2 girls from the Y.M.C.A. came out and served hot chocolate and cake and candy to us, and we are beginning to feel that our service over here are being appreciated. It is cold and damp here now but the sun is trying to break through the clouds now. We have nice fireplaces in every room here, but we have no wood to burn. There is plenty of wood in France, but it is so hard to get transportation. All available transportation is being used to carry food to northern France and to Belgium, and now we are even sending food to Germany. Sweetheart, I wish you could see my room here. It has the most beautiful and elaborate furniture I have ever seen. It is over 200 years old, all hand made of solid oak and walnut. There is a large fireplace made of marble, and on the walls are paintings of the greatest Masters in the world. The old Baroness has just been in to see me and tried to explain to me the history of the house. The old people are very nice to us. They say we are the best behaved soldiers that has ever been here, and theyw ill do anything for us. They have an old garden here. It has been beautiful once, but like the house and yard, it is run down. I spend all my spare hours in the garden. It is very interesting. I think the English and French people are far ahead of America in making flower gardens, and speaking of gardens, I am wondering how I am going to make a living when I get back home, for it seems that I have forgotten all I ever knew about horticulture, but I guess it will come back to me. I am going out in the garden now and pick a few violtes and buttercups to put in this letter to you. There are some of the largest buttercups I ever saw. [NOTE: Pressed violets and buttercups enclosed in this letter.] I am enclosing a Sanitary Swab. I thought it had gone out of existence. I think this number is pretty good. I am going to write you again in a day or two, and I will let you know as soon as I find out when we are going home. I send you all my love, dearest Hazel. Always your own Carl Monfort, Le Mans Area, France March 15, 1919 My dearest Hazel, I know you will think that I have forgotten you entirely because I have written you so litle lately, but dear, I have been so very busy the last 3 weeks. When I was on furlough, I was so very busy. You see, I only had 3 days and there were so many interesting places to see, and I neglected to write you, and then when I came back, the Divisional Post Office had moved. But I mailed you a short letter and just a lot of post cards, and a handbag, and I hope it will all come through in good shape. I came all the way from Aulnois in an ambulance and we had a mighty fine trip. It is about 350 miles. It is a pleasure to travel over this country in a car. They have the finest road in the world. And then, you see so much more of the country. I think I have seen more of this country and learned more about the French people in the last 3 weeks than I have in all the time over here. And I realize now that I have lived in the backyard of France ever since I have been over here. We only came through one large town coming down here (Orleans). That is a fine town. I am going to send you a number of postcards from there. And I saw that beautiful statue of Joan of Arc delivering Orleans. But I will tell you all about it when I come to see you. I must tell you about my billet. For the first time in France, I am comfortable. In fact, I am living in style. We are quartered in an old castle, or chateau as they call them over here. It is a beautiful building. It was built in 1416. It is owned by an old couple. I think their title is what they call Baron and Baroness, and there is a cousin of the Baroness living with them. She is 46 years old. I am told they are descendants of Napoleon but they have lost everything but their titles. The Baron and his wife are about 65 years old. I understand that they were very wealthy once, but the Baron lost everything but his house in Monte Carlo. The old couple are quite feeble and you can tell by looking at them that they have lived a very fast life. The two women both smoke cigarettes from morning till night. All the aristocratic women in France smoke cigarettes and the Americans can have anything they have for cigarettes. I don’t understand these French people. They will sell their lives, yes, their souls, for cigarettes or chocolate. But I will tell you more about them when I get home. Let us go back to the chateau. I have a room on the 3rd floor all to myself, and a real bed to sleep in. Can you imagine me sleeping in a real bed dear? After I have slept on everything but a bed for nearly 2 years. The Officers and Sergeants of my Company are all staying here and we are certainly enjoying it. Of course, we don’t know how long we will be here. I understand we are booked to sail about April 10th. It may be sooner and it may be a litle later, but I am almost sure that we will be on American soil by May 10th. I don’t dare predict sooner than that, for I may get disappointed. Sweetheart, I am going to close this now, but I will write you again suite de suite, which is French for real soon. All my love to you, dearest Hazel. Always your own Carl Monfort, France March 20, 1919 My dearest Hazel, I have tried to get a letter off to you for several days. We have been so very busy here lately, standing inspections, cleaning and polishing up every day. All our equipment got badly soiled coming down here and we must be spick and span before we leave this country. There is a slogan out here. It is, ‘Cleanliness is the passport to U.S.A.’, and I just wish you could see the Boys clean up. We haven’t heard anything lately as to when we will sail, but I think there are 2 Divisions on the list ahead of us. But unless the order is changed, I am sure we should sail somewhere around April 10th, and that should bring us out of service about May 20th. So, you see dear, you had better not expect me before June 1st, for if you expect me sooner, you may be disappointed. Sweetheart, you said in one of your letters that I would think I had dropped out of the world when I came down to see you. Well, let me tell you dear, if I can drop out of the world down there, then that is the place I want to come. I want to get away from the world and its noise and turmoil for a while, and I don’t think I will ever go back to the city to live again. We have had real nice weather here up till 4 days ago, but it has rained continually ever since, and we are in mud up to our knees. But we are used to mud. In fact, we would be lost without it. I am going out to see Albert one of these days. I haven’t seen him since Christmas up close to Verdun. He is about 10 miles from here. I am mighty glad to hear that he had a good furlough. I had the best time on my furlough that I ever had. I will never forget that trip, and I have so much to tell you about it when I come home, and I am glad that I went, for I got a different opinion of France and the French people down there. That surely is God’s Country. I only wish I could have spent a week there. There were so many interesting places to see, and I just had to rush through them. But sweetheart, I must close this now. We are going on a march, but I will write you again real soon. I am enclosing some post cards that I gathered on my furlough. I send you all my love, my dearest Hazel. Always your own Carl March 22, 1919 My dearest Hazel, I had another letter from you yesterday dated March 5th and I am going to try to write you a few lines tonight. But really dear, I don’t know what to write about, for our thoughts are filled with going home and it is hard for us to think of anything else. And I wish I could tell you when we were coming, but I can’t, but things are happening pretty fast around here now, and I really believe that the Division should be on the water by the 15th of April. The 26th Division are leaving here now, and according to Stars-Stripes, the 42nd are next. But I do believe that we will leave here ahead of them, for they are in Germany and they haven’t left there yet. We are to have our final inspection here tomorrow, and if they have the ships, I really think we will leave here in the next 10 days. We are having the typical French weather again. Rain every day, but we can keep dry now. Nearly every man in the Company is sleeping in a real bed. We had a dance here yesterday. 20 Y.M.C.A. girls came out from Le Mans and we cleared the big dining room in the parlor and we had a fine time. The Y.M.C.A. has been very careful in selecting the girls they are sending over here. They are the finest girls a man could wish to meet, and they are doing a great deal of good here now. I don’t see how they stand it. They go around and dance with the Boys every afternoon and night and it certainly is hard work. Ex Governor Hanley of Indiana was here this morning and spoke to us. He was a fine talker, and we enjoyed him so much. Dearest, I just can’t think of anything more this time, but I will write you again real soon. All my love to you, dearest. Always your own Carl Le Mans Area March 28, 1919 My dearest Hazel, I received two letters from you yesterday dated March 10 and 12th, and I was so glad to have them, and I was so mighty glad to know that the lace reached you in good condition and that you were pleased with it. And you said I had good taste. Well really, dear, I think the credit belongs to a lady from the Red Cross, for I took her advice. Sweetheart, I have been the sickest man you ever saw the last four days, but I am up today feeling much better. We have had another injection of anti-typhoid serum, and it nearly killed me. In fact, for several days I didn’t care if I lived or not. We used to get it in 3 injections 7 days apart, but this time they gave it all to us in one and it put us all to bed. But we are coming out of it in good shape and we will all be well again in a day or two. I am glad that they have given me my last injection. I get so awful sick every time they give it to me. I think the Division will start for St. Nazaire about April 2nd or 3rd and we should get away from here about the 9th. And I believe we will be on the water on or before the 15th, and how we long for the day to come when we walk down the gang plank and set foot on American soil once more. Dearest, there isn’t a thing to write about and I will close this. I am enclosing a coy of the Swab. You have all my love, dearest. Always your own Carl St. Nazaire, France April 7, 1919 My dearest Hazel, I didn’t think I would have another opportunity to write you from France. We thought we would sail today, but our ship didn’t come in and I don’t know how soon it will come in, but we are enjoying ourselves here. This is the cleanest and most perfect camp I have ever been in. My barrack is just a block from the beach, and our mess hall is right on the beach, and I spend a great deal of my time down there watching the tide come in and go out. There are many interesting litle animals and fishes wash ashore, but the most interesting animals to us are the ships that come in to port that will carry us back to Amerique suite de suite. I am enclosing a litle paper they are putting out here. I will write you again in a day or two if we don’t sail. All my love to you, dearest. Your own Carl T. On board ship April 25, 1919 My dearest Hazel, The Y.M.C.A. man has just brought round writing paper and I will try to write you a short letter. We loaded on the boat on the 14th but didn’t leave France till the 16th on account of high sea. We had very rough sailing the first two days out, but since then, we have had fine weather. But I haven’t enjoyed the trip at all. I have been sick all the way over. The food doesn’t agree with me. All food is cooked by steam and I get sick every time I try to eat. This is the 10th day out and we expect to see land tomorrow, and we will go ashore Sunday morning, and I think I will be close to Funstan by the time this letter reaches you. We will land in Newport News and there we will drop all the new men we got in France. Only the old men will go to Funstan. We landed in France with 123 men and we are coming back with 81. I am enclosing a copy of our newspaper and also a picture of the boat. I will write you again as soon as I can. All my love to you dear. Always your own Carl [NOTE: Souvenir postcard set of Norfolk, Newport News, Old Point Comfort, Va. and Vicinity mailed from Newport News May 1, 1919. No personal note.] Camp Funstan, God’s Country May 5, 1919 My dearest hazel, Arrived here 7 o’clock this a.m. and we are sure glad to be back again. We reached Kansas City last night at 9 o’clock and I think there was about 15,000 people at the depot, and you never did see such a demonstration. They closed in on us and nearly smothered us. We were taken up to Muehlenbach Hotel and served supper, and we left again at midnight. We can never forget the reception that Kansas City gave us. General Traub was there. Why, it seemed like Kansas City had gone mad. I was very embarrassed when we came in, for someone had spread the news over the town that I was the big hero of the Company, and all my friends were there to meet me, and they almost carried me through the streets. I expect to get away from here in 3 or 4 days, and I am going to spend a few days in Kansas City, and I am going up to St. Joseph to see an old lady wose only boy died in my arms up in the Argonne. I promised him to go and see her if I came home alive, and then I am coming down to see you. Write me c/o General Delivery, Kansas City. I don’t know where I am going to stay, but I will come down as soon as I can. I think there is a letter for me from you here. All my love to you, dear. Always your own Carl Camp Funstan, Kansas May 6, 1919 My dearest Hazel, I have just received your letter of May 4th, and I was so very glad to hear from you. Again, it seems an awful long time since I have had a letter from you. Yes, dear, I too wished that you could have been in Kansas City when we arrived in to Kansas City, for I wanted to see you worse than anyone else. Will it make you jealous, dear, when I tell you that I was hugged and kissed by many women and girls? And many of them I had never seen before. One girl told me she couldn’t find her soldier and she just had to kiss some soldier. We had hoped to be able to leave here tomorrow, but I hardly think we will get away from here until Thrusday evening. We are not doing a thing here, just sitting around waiting for our final paper, and the days are so awful long. We have had our physical, vaccinations, and we are waiting for our discharges to be made out. The machine gun battalions from Joplin, Webb City, and Carthage left here today, and the ammunition train is going out early in the morning. If I get away from here Thrusday evening as I hope I will, I am going to spend a few days in Kansas City and go to church there Sunday, and then I expect to go to St. Joseph the first part of next week. And after that, I am coming down to see you, dear, but I am afraid you won’t know me when I come. My friends tell me that I have changed so much and I know I have. I have aged at least ten years and I am going to ask you to come up to Joplin and meet me when I come down there. I am going to ask you to write and tell me that you will come up to meet me and what time the train from Seneca comes in to Joplin, and I will be there to meet you. Sweetheart, you asked me to write you a long letter, and I would like to, but I can’t. I am so restless and there is such confusion here. Everybody is busy preparing to leave, and I am going to close this now, and I will write you again real soon. I send you all my love. Your Carl c/o General Delivery Kansas City, Mo

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