Life is picking up again here, thread by thread, where it left off after the armistice was signed. We’re routining along again. The only difference is that now we have a new going home rumor every day. We used to meet and say “Ca va?” The answer to with was “A-a-h- ouie.” Now it’s “Say, George, when to we go?” And the answer always begins “You know what I heard? —” Then bz-z-z, confidential stuff, etc. All of which means nothing at all. No one really knows.
It is good to have Nellie back. We were out last night. He’s still pretty dizzy and very Chicago. We had set out for the movies but took a walk because it was early. We met two of the other fellows who had seen the show and declared it no good. The other two possibilities were closed last night (you know the law allows them only three or four sessions a week). So we all went to a little café where there was a tall stove with tile sides and an isinglass front. We sat and talked till they closed up at 9:30 (another law). Jean had a good time at the front.
My English pupil shows signs of wanting to begin again in earnest. We are going to try to have a lesson every Wednesday and Friday evening.
We’ve had several reunions. The other night Ernie, Nellie, Mount and I were up in Billy’s room. Johnny and Ivan and Bergmark live there too. And we got old Mount to tell his story. He waved his arms and acted a whole war for us. Smith and Liddell also put on a reunion.
The last time I strayed as far from home as Broadway, Vincennes – the main street, which leads to Paris – I couldn’t help noticing that peace was indeed on the way. One café has reduced its prices on coffee, coffee with milk, and chocolate; it was proud to blazon for the fact. Also there was a little wagon selling bread and chocolate – unheard of luxuries a month ago. It must tickle a Frenchman’s heart to be able to buy them again freely; without ticket or struggle.
My lieutenant told me today I must see Chaplin’s “A Dog’s Life.” He described it as “an intellectual treat.” I like people who appreciate Charlot (as they call him here.) So some night I’ll go downtown and see him.
Next post December 9.
Letters from Sidney Friend During The Great War 