Don’t be mislead by newspaper stories about all the people who are coming home right away. You see they play up things like that because they are real news, and so if the merest rumor strays into a newspaper office it is seized on and run with a big head. It isn’t true. Some people have gone home. They have been mostly wounded men, aviators and a few regular outfits. I believe the number actually embarked on home-bound boats is less than 5% of the A.E.F. It is wrong to run these stories which leave the impression that practically everybody is on the way to an embarkation port, because they raise too many false hopes.
Of course, it is hard to face, but the fact is that we’re not ready to go home yet. Old Worry is the most disgusted individual in the world, by nature. He came into the army as Mr. M. of Vilanova, Pa., the richest woman’s son in town, or something like that. He was going to show them, you know. He’s still a buck private and not so fond of France. He wants to go home. But he said yesterday (to come back to the subject) “I don’t see why we have to stay here when there is no fighting going on, the war is over and the work we have to do could be done a hundred times better and cheaper in the states by a few civilians.” that sums up the point of view of the whole place here, and of the whole A.E.F., I suppose.
But it leaves out the fact that if we went home now we might have to come back in about two years and start all over again. The modern Prussian is a crafty devil, and I have no doubt there is a pretty good army in back of the Allied troops of occupation, nicely prussianized; for I know it to be a fact that instead of moving their entire army out of the occupied zone, the Germans demobilized many of them, and left them there as civilians. So we have in effect, a hostile country before and beside us and a hostile army (in civilian clothes) behind.
Moreover, the present government is entirely too undecided to conclude a peace in which any confidence could be placed. It looked a good deal like Russia after the revolution, and you know what condition that country is in today. American troops are aiding the fight against the Bolsheviks there now, more than two years after their empire was overthrown. What if we had to do that in Germany? Of course that wouldn’t include the whole army – I can conceive of their fighting Bolsheviks without a photographic division and making a fair job of it. But suppose we achieved a good set of peace terms, properly signed, and nice sounding, by April 1st, and on June 1st Hindenburg overthrew the existing government and decided to declare war on each of the Allies? That would be about as bad, n’est-ce pas?
It isn’t so cheerless as all that, however. Perhaps after a bit things will quiet down in Germany long enough for the people to assert their naturally quiet disposition to undisturbed currents of life. I am confident that it won’t be long before the dead weight of the German “gemütlichkeit” will stabilize the government. For after all, they are a well-regulated, orderly people and this is counter to all they hold right.
I believe also that it is very necessary for the Allies to stick around until such time as the conditions seem to warrant relaxing their protectorship. But I don’t want to be one of those who stick. It is all right for the regular army – they’re soldiers by choice. Most of us are not and we want to go home. It is wrong to keep us here, for they don’t need us, and the war is over, as far as photographers are concerned. Also, it must be known officially that a division of our kind is unnecessarily wasteful and astonishingly incompetent. When I get out of the army I am going to write something about this section that ought to at least get published. What I ought to do is draw up a plan for a better photo division. I think I will, and submit it to the government.
In England they are pushing a slogan: “No dilly-dally.” It’s a good thing – they need it more over there than in America, because once you get our government, they work fast. But if June finds me home, it won’t be far off my calculations. I hope I’ve made it three months too far away, too.
Not that we are not enjoying ourselves here, after the fashion of a soldier in a foreign land. The Christmas eve show was quite a success, it seems, but there were so many people there it was bad dancing. The much vaunted moving picture was rather flat, but there was a burlesque of the officers by themselves that was funny and clever. And some musical numbers. Right away they decided to run a dance only, in the same place on New Year’s eve.
Christmas Day was the best day I have spent since I left the states. Mme. Bellamy had invited me to go to see L’Aiglon at the Theatre Sarah Bernhardt, but after spending an hour in a slow-moving line on a very wet day, and after seeing that the Opera and Opera-Comique were both sold out, she decided that maybe I wouldn’t mind if we stayed home and attempted to pass a real French Christmas. So she sent her brother-in-law for me just as I got up at about 11 o’clock.
We went round and who should come in but Pep and another Italian named Cesario, also from the lab. This brother-in-law is Italian, sings, acts, knows all the operas and is very amusing. His wife and Mme. Bellamy are sisters, and their mother was Italian, so there is a strain of it in them. Italian and English flew round indiscriminately. No one of them sufficed for all present.
The dinner at one o’clock was quite Italian, even to the wines, and full of quaint eats that we never can know in the states. We stayed at the table until about five. The b-in-l (I don’t know his name) sang, Joe played his guitar, as only he can, and I played mandolin. Then we went up to see some friends of the b-in-l, also half Neapolitans, in their little café, and had more music. We returned at about seven-thirty and had supper at Bellamy’s until 11:30. Much merriment and many discussions which I am sure would interest you. They would shock most people in our country, but here they are no more to be avoided as a topic of conversation than the weather.
The result of all this is that I have conceived a love of the Italian language and am now head over heels in the study thereof; isn’t it sensible to do something like that – not a bit of use, never will be even if I should learn enough of it to get by. But if it were useful I shouldn’t like to do it, no doubt.
It causes lots of amusement. My lieutenant has been watching me translate the boys’ letters into French (I have about two a day to do) and kidding about getting paid for it. He says “Now one of your clients has an Italian girl, I suppose, and you’ve got to learn her language.” But it really is a fine language and I’d like to know more about it.
Today is another lazy, hazy Sunday. It isn’t raining and it isn’t clear. It’s warm, for the first time this week. Yet it’s never really cold here. I haven’t worn my overcoat this winter, except at reveille, which is at 6:45 AM.
L’Aiglon is a play in six acts by Edmond Rostand based on the life of Napoleon II, who was the son of Emperor Napoleon I and his second wife, Empress Marie Louise. The title of the play comes from a nickname for Napoleon II, the French word for “eaglet” (a young eagle). (Wikipedia)
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Letters from Sidney Friend During The Great War 