Yesterday was pretty rosy. All day long I had a good time and didn’t work too hard. At noon I got many letters; and after supper many more.
Later as I was rounding a corner, I ran bump into Nellie and Jimmie Bennett coming into the place from four months of the front. I was so delighted I hugged them. This morning I woke up to find someone at my head saying, “I want my bed back.” At first I tried to recall what I’d got drunk on. Then I banished the half-light by pushing the button, and there was Md. Peters. You remember my telling how he’d built the bed in our room. I guess we can expect quite a few reunions from now on as the boys come in.
Nellie and Ed have been close together all the time. The 27th and the 30th divisions, to which they were respectively attached, fought with the British in northern France; they took part in the capture of Cambrai and the breaking of the Hindenburg Line. They have great things to tell. Now I wish I’d gone out. Remember Sgt. Howe? He was out with Grunnelle and Bennett and was wounded in the leg. He isn’t back; he’s in some hospital – England I believe.
This is Thanksgiving Day. They opened a new mess shack – a big affair build in the grounds of the villa. We had turkey; mashed potatoes, salad, bread and butter, pie and coffee. Not bad for the army. Our jazz band played during dinner and the major spoke. He told how well we fought in this war by sitting in armchairs. I guess we really ought to be horribly thankful it’s over, but, truth to say, I haven’t seen enough yet to make me crave peace.
However, I was glad the armistice was signed – it was such a fine celebration. We, too, had the rumor on Nov. 7th. One of the heads of the Pathe plant telephoned up and said the news was posted in Paris and people were wild. That was about 11 o’clock. But the afternoon papers carried a little paragraph telling that a false rumor had been circulated and so work went on. I am surprised that the conservative old Evening Post should have tumbled for that story. It was a good one, though.
It is surprising how rapidly the march of events about faced. Troops that had been moving in moved out; some were quickly gotten under way for the states; immediately there were official statements playing upon such words as return and demobilisation; even little details, like the lifting of the censorship, were not forgotten.
There is not let-up in the amount of work for us. Stuff continues to pour in. I don’t know what the future of the photo section holds forth. All sorts of rumors have been rife. One, that Pathe will demand its space back as soon as the peace is signed, has been officially denied, but will not down. I take no stock in them. One doesn’t have to be long in the army to lose confidence in “They say”.
Yet there isn’t any good reason why our work must be done here. Now that the war is about over, it is almost impossible to get real service out of the men. Somewhere, concealed and masked, each one had a real sense of duty, even of patriotism, while things were humming along. But now the feeling is not “what can I do in this war for America?” but “what can I do to get out of the is war and to America?”
Consequently I believe it would be wise to get interested persons to do the work civilians, whose jobs depend upon the execution. And there is nothing so intense and essential now that it must be done in France.
My own little job is a very good example. We used to use about 8 per cent of the pictures that came to the desk, as news. Now our rate is about 3 per cent. Compared with war pictures, such as we used to have, the present product feels cold and commonplace. We certainly had some fine photographs. Conditions were all against us. The French, being at home, had the superiority in equipment, knowledge and facilities, but even that handicap availed nothing on several occasions, when we beat them hands down on news. Back in July, when the France-Americans cleaned up the pocket from Chateau-Thierry toward the Veale River, they came upon the emplacement of a “Big Bertha”, the gun which had been firing 60 miles into Paris. We got our pictures in and out ahead of the French. Later in the same offensive when Quentin Roosevelt’s grave was discovered, we scooped. And the St. Mihiel drive of Sept. 12th put us out ahead. Our pictures came in three days after and by the 18th were on their way to the states. They were far better than the French, too.
I am very sorry I didn’t get over here last winter. I never knew that it was to be part of an army which was on the defensive. By the time I got here, in fact just as we arrived, the Allies were moving ahead in the inception of a resistless offensive. Setbacks there were, but they were only temporary. The end seemed plain.
So there was a lot that I missed, and now I regret it almost to the point of shame. Creature comfort called and I remained one of the armchair army. It is small comfort to know that there were thousands more. They’ll all go home with a glorious recital which they’ll end by believing. The folks at home are easy. They have a preconceived idea of war, which does not include a steam-heated office. The recitals will be more to their taste.
You are right about belittling the enemy. That was the one unconscionably wrong and silly thing. Let no one tell you they wouldn’t fight without odds. They put up a wonderful struggle, single-handed, against a coalition of the world’s strongest nations. Individually too, their personal courage was high.
But preserve me from war plays. I know in advance what Brady can do with Wm. Hull, Mary Nash, a Scissons theme and a couple of spiked helmets. I’d rather see Fred Stone.
Last night I went around to Streiff’s, let the kids crawl over me, drank a glass of wine and had some roasted chestnuts and coffee. They’re fatter here than in the states (chestnuts, I mean) and very good.
They are talking of sending Mme. Bellamy, my English pupil, to the states. She is now in the color department of Pathe and the moving of the whole thing to America is under consideration. She was far-sighted, all right, in beginning English. Since her little boy is home I see her only about once in two weeks.
You know I have just discovered the wisdom of my determination to write little while here. I’m slow. This letter is not unduly long, but I began at 2:30 and it is now 5:30. I talked a little, smoked some and chopped a few scraps of wood, but otherwise wasted no time. I’m up in Billy’s room, with no one else home but Johnny Geisel, whom you don’t like, but who is really a nice kid. He’s just come back from a trip which included Metz. There’s a whopper of a log on the fire that is too big and wet to burn well, so occasionally one of us turns to and chops some firewood. I’m warm and comfortable this rainy, raw day.
Here I am again. I got one look at the supper and then took Johnny out to Mme. Jeanne’s for supper. We had more turkey than at noon and better cooked. I like French cooking.
Frank has now become Egbert and doesn’t know what to make of it. He’s funny. He’s always beating the army. Reveille blows and he cusses the company, the bugler and the day. “I’ll fix him, I’ll show’em,” he says, and I foresee dire happenings. He shows’em by going right out to reveille just like everyone else.
Drawing clothes is pretty much of a job. You have to stand in line an hour to have your old ones condemned and then you must talk fast. Two weeks later you stand in line again to get the new things. Egbert says, “I’ll fool’em.” He does. He passes up the clothing issue and goes around looking like a tramp. But he is a good soul and undoubtedly in high favor with Martha.
Next post December 3
Letters from Sidney Friend During The Great War 