After nine hours of steady work with that deadly weapon, the typewriter, I feel I have done my share against the Germans and am ready to knock off for the day. These evening holds forth nothing more exciting than teaching some English, which I find I have forgot, in French, which I never knew, to a woman who wants to learn.
These French girls are certainly a warm lot, or at this time of year, humid, I should say. That statement sounds as if it sprang from experience but for me it is vicarious experience. I’ve been translating for some of the boys, and it’s everything from “regards from my mother” to poetic effusions about wonderful meetings, etc. etc. They vary in heat up to actual torrid ferveney. Sometimes I’m ashamed to read.
Today I had a letter from Joe Prehodzki, who was among those who were sent out to take pictures. I don’t know just where he is, but it’s near some action. Nellie is gone, too, and I miss him more than anyone else. He was such a nut I got a lot of amusement out of him.
Next post August 1.
Letters from Sidney Friend During The Great War 