I didn’t tell you that Frank and I were down Monday night to see old man Lozach, the photographer. He isn’t really old, but seems so, when you first notice his face. He is only about thirty-five or –six but seems old enough to be my father. That is one thing common to both men and women in this country – at thirty they look forty.
We had not seen Lozach since last summer. On account of the high cost of materials and so forth he was obliged to quit the photo business and take to aeroplane electrical work. This paid him much better, but he is an independent soul who preferred to be master. However he had no choice; he is still in the plane place, working very hard, getting good pay (40 francs a day) and saving up. In April he is going to take his own photo shop with a partner in the picture frame business.
The important part of the visit was that he had moved from his old bachelor quarters (he is a grass widower) and in the process of moving, had acquired a family. He is now in the smallest apartment I have ever seen, living with a pretty and very agreeable young woman, name unknown, who has a little girl aged four. It is all right in France, and hardly the occasion for comment. They could not understand a country like ours, where such domestic (let us say) arrangements do not exist. To them it is just this; A not old man, an attractive woman, each lonesome, why not? Perfectly logical. But it was funny.
Today I have worked little and loafed a lot. The day turned out just as I had expected – very beautiful and sunny, too springy in fact for any real work. Tonight I am going to Bellamy’s. Mr. is a pretty keen chap, and as I think I remarked once before, too rational for a Frenchman; he should be an American. Sunday I shall go there for dejeuner, also.
Next post March 8.
Letters from Sidney Friend During The Great War 