England has demobilized all but a few hundred thousand of an army that was nearly three times as large as ours. In about six weeks her job will be about done. At the end of the same six weeks we shall have sent home just a million men – half our force.
Still, it’s spring now, and decidedly better cheer prevails than in the damp, un-cold and unlovely winter.
Yesterday I made a very painful discovery. Here is the story: on Friday night I went to Bellamy’s as usual at eight o’clock. But it was M., not Mme. who answered my ring, and the drawing of many bolts told me that no visitor was expected. I found myself counting days, but could not make it anything but Friday. At length he opened to me. And asked if I had not received word. I hadn’t. Then he told me how Mme. Bellamy had been over-working and was so tired and sick that she had gone to bed. After a half-hour’s chat with him, I left. When I got back here there was a short English note from her, which the guard at the gate had forgotten to give me. It said that she had been out the night before to her father’s birthday celebration and was very tired. The two stories agreed like a Yank and a Frog.
Yesterday I got a letter, which I am enclosing. You will probably have less difficulty in understanding the French than the English. And you will find the French part no more of an enigma than I.
LETTER:
My Dear M. Friend, Vincennes the 12th April
If I remember myself, upon my letter of yesterday, I took an appointment with you on next Friday instead of Tuesday.
Will you please to rectify my mistake, and, if you can, come Tuesday evening, that would be for me a great pleasure.
Now, will you be so kind to excuse me of your disturb of yesterday evening. I had written a word for you, which I had given at my mother in law to put again to you and I don’t know why this word did not upstart in time.
J’espere qu vous ne rien voudrez pas.
Je souhaite de tout coeur que vous ayez toujours de bonnes nouvelles des votres – Quant a moi je sais mieux aujourd’hui – Ma santé s’altere un peu, pas l’effort que je fais a m’endureis, chose mes
[cut off mid-sentence]
My theory is that M. Bellamy beat her. That is no unusual proceeding in this country. I hope I’m wrong; but that French portion certainly sounds ominous. It reminds me of; “Perhaps it is right to dissemble your love, But why do you kick me downstairs?”
Rain spoiled most of my Saturday and Sunday, so I stayed in and read. I have just read a good detective story; “Monsieur Lecoq.” This morning I reached the end of “The Light that Failed.” This afternoon I began “Soldiers Three”. We have a very acceptable American Library Association stock here. There are about 200 books, many of them good. Quite a few Kiplings, but no Stalky. I wish he were here.
It has just occurred to me that by the end of this opening week, we shall have finished our present job. Allow one more week for a general clean-up and if the major then carries out his orders Lt. Cushing will go to St. Aignan for discharge. If I must stay and work I want to keep on with what I am doing. I can handle it better than anyone else and someone must be there.
I said good-bye to little Raymond Streiff Friday. His mother took him off to Nancy for a six months visit to her father. They think it will be good for him there in the country. She will come back in two or three weeks, but she is sure I’ll never see Raymond again. I hope I can miss him by four months. At any rate I know I’ll miss him.
Next post April 16.
Letters from Sidney Friend During The Great War 