FIRST AID
ON FOUR FRONTS IN
WORLD WAR I
308th Medical Detachment
Letters written by,
Sgt. 1st
Class
William D. Conklin
JUNE-JULY
(Written
at Girecourt, Yieurthe-et.-Moselle)
June 15, 1918
It bothers me whenever I think of the gaps between my
outgoing letters. Perhaps I shall descend to using the
little printed British post cards., on which you simply
scratch off whatever does not apply to yourself at the
moment. We have moved around a good deal, and of course
that always means delay on mail, both ways. Since I last
wrote we have come a week1s journey by hiking and train
to a very different part of France. Before entraining we
marched over forty miles, and we were on the train, which
part of the time necessarily went very slow, for over two
days,
Six of us were so lucky as to have a 3d Class compartment
assigned to us, instead of the customary boxcar. This was
infinitely more comfortable., and it gave us a chance to
see some of the finest of country., especially a stretch
along the Seine, at various places we stopped long enough
for coffee to be passed out, and once long enough to
permit a dash into the middle of a good-sized and
attractive town, (This was Yelun. We returned to the
train laden with big loaves of crusty bread, and with
sardines, sweet chocolate and other commodities
calculated to relieve the travel rations of hardtack.,
bully-beef,, and jam. We rigged up a stove on the floor
of the car by piling up tins, and using candles as fuel
we heated the "meat and vegetable ration" which
when cold is almost inedible.
At night four slept on the two long opposite seats, while
the two others, including myself, made our shelter-halves
into hammocks and swung all night from the baggage racks.
The next morning we were ready to wager that we had slept
more comfortably than anyone else on the train. After
detraining (at Thaon, Vosges, on the Moselle) came
another hike, over a high plateau, with hills in the
distance--a region characterized by clear mountain
streams frequent patches of woodland, fine farms, and
some of the most picturesque villages, I suppose, in
France. Apparently the people have been enough isolated
to remain very individual, Certainly the architecture is
of its own kind. Everything is well kept up--and the
people seem to be much more concerned about the
appearance of their places, and generally of a higher
type, than in the area we came from.
The last night before we arrived in what is for the time
being our location., a temporary rest camp, we pitched
our tents in a field. An old lady from the adjoining
house came by and, perhaps attracted by the Red Cross
brassards on our arms and by, the fact that there were
only a few in our particular crowd, she showed us an
apronful of eggs. That was all the invitation we needed. We proceeded to
make arrangements with her daughter for
supper, and breakfast also. Both these meals turned out
to be all that we could have asked, To be sure the ladies
laughed at requests for strawberries and cereal, but we
decided that new-laid eggs, French fried potatoes, French
toast, coffee and milk and our own marmalade, made up a
feast fit for Louis XVI and his court,
We are now encamped in a handsome private park. There are
fine great trees and a stream that we had waited for a
week as we pushed the kilos under our feet, The water is
deep enough for a good bath, though not for diving. There
are also plenty of natural wash-boards--so what more
could a soldier ask? Across from us is a rambling old
chateau, belonging to a noble French family now adjourned
to Paris. I had a chance to go through it this morning.
It is full of handsome furniture, tapestries, and
fittings.
A reaction sets in after one has been marching day after
day, and temporarily one has to give up to it and sleep
off the fatigue, In one period of thirty hours, including
a night's sleep, we did twenty-two miles, which is
considerable if one has not become inured to a pack--at
any rate under a blazing sun, But I have never had to
drop out yet, and some days I have enjoyed it thoroughly.
I wonder if these odds and ends I put into letters sound
trivial, or are they expected? We are naturally
interested ourselves in the details and small experiences
of a new kind of life, As for the reason that
"eats" get mentioned so frequently, it must be
because a full soldier is generally a contented one. In
general, I know it is worth the world to many of us who
have always been rather cooped-up and city-civilized to
live so much outdoors, with military discipline to
counteract the tendency toward complete gypsyism. Now
that we are in an essentially American area, everybody
seems to be better satisfied, and with good reason.
As soon as the matter can be pushed through, I hope to
have a copy of the "Stars and Stripes." the
official paper of the American forces (and, I hear, a
mighty good one), going home regularly. It will be a
reminder at least, and I believe it should contain much
news, etc., that will be of interest, I can subscribe for
only one,, and only one-third of each organization can
subscribe. Otherwise I would send several.
There is a plan, which I have heard about vaguely, to
allow soldiers to send short cable messages home., say
once a week, at very low rates, enough to give
reassurance. We may be able to do this later., and if so
I shall take advantage of every chance, unless you would
be alarmed by the envelope.
(Written at Pexonne and Bertrichamps,
Meurthe-et-Moselle)
June 29, 1918
It was a truly handsome bundle of mail that I got
yesterday, after about two weeks wait. Another big batch
came to us when we were having a breathing spell of four
days in the midst of a change of station. My impression
and hope is that I did send off a letter two weeks ago,
but I am not sure, There was certainly no time avail-able
before and has been none since. The six letters that came
yesterday were postmarked between May 30th and June 8th.
But this is how things happen in the army: before I could
finish reading them came the order, "Get ready to
leave at once." We have reached the point where we
almost yawn when that sort of performance is required. It
happens often. By the light of a candle or an oil lantern
we can dismantle our infirmary and have everything
nailed., locked, tied, and screwed down ready for
transportation in two or three hours. But it takes
concentration., especially if one expects a bombardment
presently, with a possible gas attack.
We had our first real taste of high explosive and gas
shells rather recently, but the "Medical" were
provided with a good dug-out--a deep cellar under the
building where our equipment had been dumped. In this
cellar we slept every night for a week on fine box-spring
beds that had been left by some other outfit, and had
probably come originally from the fine houses that got
pretty well smashed up in the early part of the war. We
see very little of aeroplanes lately. (The town here
referred to was Badonviller-.unlike Rambervillers, this
name apparently does not end in "s.")
I hope I shall remember some of the incidents connected
with each place we stop at, when it comes time to trace
back our wanderings on the map. At the moment, I am
sitting at a school-teacher's desk in a room lined with
maps and blackboards, and on the-book-shelves I find
"Gulliver's Travels" (in French) and other
juvenile classics. Outside is one of the village street
fountains that are so common, around the corner is a
church possessing chimes and a curious bulbous tower, and
near by is stationed an American Field Hospital and
Ambulance organization, The streets are full of French
and American soldiers. (This was Pexonne.)
(Interim here of a night's march)
By now we are sufficiently used to the hiking to travel
as light as possible, but one's physical condition at the
time makes all the difference in the world. Last night.,
for instance (this is now June 30)., 1 was glad enough of
a chance to put ray blanket roll on a G.S. (General
Supply) wagon. I know what it means to almost fall asleep
while keeping on the go; in fact the regular rhythmic
marching step has much the effect of a rocking cradle.
Twice during ten-minute halts I had to jump up out of a
nap., but that was because the day before had been rather
strenuous, and we had slept on the boards of a floor the
preceding night, upstairs in the schoolhouse,
One hike I don't expect ever to forget; that was nine or
ten nights ago. We had been' on the outskirts of a large
town for a day, and I had been roaming around like
everybody else who could get off, visiting the Y.M.C.A.
and shops and ferreting out an old castle and other
curious places. About 9 P.M. we started, with the
prospect of getting considerably closer to the front
before morning. A heavy shower wet us thoroughly soon
after we got beyond the town, and we marched along a dark
road with communicating files between units, We followed
a valley (the Meurthe, from Baccarat) for a few miles and
then turned to our left through deep woods. For several
miles more the road climbed steadily and it remained
fairly good till we had passed the crest and dropped down
suddenly into a village (Neuf -Maisons). Then we struck
off into a poorer road that rapidly degenerated. The
night had become so black that one could not see the man
ahead of him--could only follow by hanging to his coat
tails. Halting every few seconds, stumbling (and
grumbling), we straggled along in as little semblance of
a marching column as could be imagined. Yet each of us
knew that to drop out would mean that he, and all those
behind him, would be lost, temporarily at least. (There
are no ambulances solicitously chugging in our wake any
more,) As it was, we were pretty sure the whole outfit
must be lost. We knew that the line was not far away and
that we were taking this round about course to avoid a
road that Jerry liked to shell, and also we expected a
gas alarm at any minute. The Division we were relieving
(this was the 42nd) had been gassed the night before.
Just when there seemed to be no trace of a road or path
left, small lights suddenly appeared through the trees.
They proved to be candles just lighted in some large
board shacks, where the men Who had headed our column
were getting ready to turn in. It was only a few
minutes-till we had threaded a maze of duckboard walks
and been assigned to our own particular shack in this
rest camp in the woods (Camp-Ker-Arvor). We had done
eleven or twelve miles in six hours. It was 3 A.M. then,
and it was 1 P.M. the next day when I woke up!
Now, with our little experience of the trenches behind
us, we are inclined to feel like veterans, although the
"Medical," being non-combatant, doesn't get the
worst of it. I have seen what a front-line trench looks
like a few hours after a barrage and a raid and cannot
honestly be sorry that we are not likely to be exposed to
that sort of mix-up. I would rather run the chances of
ambulance work than to endure the trench existence, And
yet it is fine to see what a spirit is shown, for the
most part, in the Infantry, among these drafted men. Most
of the first sergeants and a few other non-coms and
privates were in the army before last September, but not
many.
The first sentence in the above paragraph would have been
worded very differently, later; but it will have to
stand. Recalling the Badonviller raid. Captain Miles
wrote in his History: "The one figure which most
strikingly dominated the whole strange scene was that of
Captain Condon, Hatless, his sleeves rolled up, and his
arms red to the elbows, he worked feverishly to save the
life of every man in whom any life was left." (See
also 77th Division Citations.) Well, here we have come
"back," for at least a week, I suppose, to a
village (Bertrichaas) which we touched on our march into
the line. We shall have a chance to get rested and
washed, and caught up on our letters, It is a fine place
for the purpose. There are plenty of clean barns for
billets, so closely connected with the houses that the
residents can walk out of their second-floor rooms into
the hay- mow. There is also plenty of water. It comes
rushing down from the hills and flows constantly into big
troughs where the townsfolk take what they want and waste
the rest. At a big town down the valley (Baccarat) we can
got real hot-water baths at the end of a two-mile walk.
We are also promised a new issue of clothing.
The scenery of the region is as pretty as one could ask
for. It reminds me a good deal of the Highlands of the
Hudson. The civilians (mostly women, of course) have been
coming from church this morning, looking surprisingly
well dressed. There are a number of children, all togged
out in their best. It is odd to hear the French speak of
them as "pickanins" --that represents their
pronunciation of the word,
Lately we have had no hot weather at all, and we had
forgotten how uncomfortable it could be till a little
extra warmth brought swarms of big vicious flies; this in
the trenches.
I am much obliged for all the offers of things to be
sent, but I don't know what to ask for, unless perhaps an
occasional magazine that I would feel free to read and
leave behind for others, The ships coming over have to be
saved for necessary supplies, and as a matter of fact
whenever as now we get nearer the shops and the
"Y.M." we can use a little of the money that
usually hangs heavy in our pockets--for such luxuries as
chocolate, crackers, oranges, eggs, etc.
(Written at- Neuf-Maisons.,Meurthe-et-Moselle)
July 25, 1918
Everything has been going well, and quietly, since my
last letter. We have a new Regimental Surgeon who in many
ways is a good deal like Captain B (Brant) whom I had
back in camp. Captain W (Wagner) is a very likeable man,
knows exactly what needs to be done, and has a fine
executive grasp. We are getting things down to a good
system, which has really been impossible before, for
various reasons. Set up, as we are now in an office
separate from the Battalion infirmaries, we can work to
much better advantage.
You need have no fears about my being overworked. As soon
as the chance comes to ease up I shall do so. I picked up
a paper -covered volume of Howells several weeks ago.
Some of these days I shall make a start at it.
The excitement of this evening has been the opening of a
new Salvation Army place in town--very attractively
decorated with flags, etc., and boasting an orchestra. A
canteen, where fresh home-made cookies and doughnuts are
sold, draws a crowd ten deep. Two Salvation Army girls,
very trim in their olive-drab semi-military suits., help
to run the place., which is evidently going to vie with
the Y.M.C.A. in popularity.
These two girls, we learned later, saw some very active
service with the Division that relieved us, accompanying
it from the area. They were sisters and Mt. Holyoke
graduates.
We had one real entertainment several days ago. Elsie
Janis, who has done more than her part to cheer up
American soldiers all through France, came our way for
about half an hour one noon. She told some good, fresh,
funny stories, sang us some new songs, and did some very
lively dancing on an outdoor stage. Altogether she
provided the biggest chunk of good fun that we have had
since we got to this side.
I thought when I got ready to compile a list of articles
not to be had (so far as we could see) in France, and not
weighing more than a total of seven pounds, I should head
it with a box of real American candy. But this afternoon
a good friend of mine in the commissary called me into
his sanctum. He had set aside for me (they were not yet
on sale) a tin can of McAlpin's Chocolates, direct from
the McAlpin Hotel kitchens in New York. So the list of
what I want and can't get here may grow smaller and
smaller if I give it time. Of course what we all crave
most are the homely, homemade, home-grown things that all
the paper money in France couldn't buy (except for the
S.A. offerings mentioned). But were not pining away by
any means, so don't let these remarks worry you.