DIY History | Transcribe | World War I Diaries and Letters | Conger Reynolds correspondence, April-December 1919 | 1919-07-18 Conger Reynolds to John and Emily Reynolds Page 3

Transcribe
Translate

Conger Reynolds correspondence, April-December 1919

1919-07-18 Conger Reynolds to John and Emily Reynolds Page 3

Conger said they were officers.  I don't care what they are.  I'd keep the whole lot at hard labor within five minutes of time for the train that was to take them back to Germany.  I think it would be lots of fun to take the whole Hohenzollern outfit and make them get to work and rebuild all of France that has been destroyed.  When they finished, I'd give them a vacation to Belgium.
In the underbrush and shrubbery along the roads we could see the remains of "dug-outs".  They struck me as being awfully small and inadequate, but they were great compared to the ones we saw in Belleau Wood, later.  Conger said, when I spoke with him about it that it was surprising how small a place a man could squeeze into while under fire, and besides, there was no time to dig better ones.
The driver put us out at the foot of a hill, with the instructions to meet him in the village in an hour.  We climbed the hill and found ourselves in an American cemetery.  It was severely plain looking and showed that it hadn't been there long, but it was neat and well kept.  Every grave is marked with a white cross bearing the name, rank, etc- of the boy.  There were a very few marked "unknown" and those were the ones on which I'd like to have strewn the violets I was wearing, but oddly enough, I remembered a woman telling me how she had covered the grace of Dickens with violets and tears-you remember, too, Muttie, - and I couldn't do it.  If I'd been alone, it would have been a different matter.  There isn't much use in telling you more because this noon I found that Conger has written the thing up, and I am sending the clipping.  One thing that he may not have mentioned - I haven't yet read his account is the horror of walking among what is left of human bodies, uncovered and decaying.  Of course the Yanks have all been removed to the cemetery, but one sees bits of matted looking German uniform that one wouldn't care to touch, and every where bones of all kinds.  Norris had me simply wild by poking his stick into everything he he saw.  I don't know whether it was because the thing was making me horribly nervous or whether the horrible odor of the place was too much.  I know I could hardly speak a civil word to anyone the rest of the day.  We took a long hike around the woods after we had walked thru them.  I'd have walked miles rather than gone thru them with Norris and his infernal cane again.  We crossed a field to the village and stumbled along over shell holes and - goodness only knows what else.  I was dying of thirst, but when Conger got me a glass of water, two sips were all I could get down.  Going back in the truck, he told me more than he ever has before, of the war.  I don't ask him about it yet, much as I want to, because I can see he doesn't particularly enjoy telling about it yet.  It will come later, I hope.
We noticed a store in the city which flaunted a sign reading "English spoken -- American understood", which reminded me of the time the Concierge asked Conger if I were American.  On being assured I was he said, "But she understands English".  Conger kept his face straight and remarked that the languages were somewhat similar.
On the train coming back to Paris were some American girls from some organization or other.  It was lots of fun before they discovered we were American. They spoke of Norris as "that little man" and even after they found out, one commented on Conger's hair.  It is so easy to forget that everyone else in the crowd may know English.  I know from experience.
Now I must dress because Sanborns are coming for dinner.  I have made a coconut-cream pie, using cold boiled rice as crust.  It's good, more digestible, and the only crust we can have in this man's town, so there you are.
Write us big gobs. Youse know us, guys. We love you lots. Herza kissa piece.  Conger and Daphne

Saving...

Conger said they were officers. I don't care what they are. I'd keep the whole lot at hard labor within five minutes of time for the train that was to take them back to Germany. I think it would be lots of fun to take the whole Hohenzollern outfit and make them get to work and rebuild all of France that has been destroyed. When they finished, I'd give them a vacation to Belgium. In the underbrush and shrubbery along the roads we could see the remains of "dug-outs". They struck me as being awfully small and inadequate, but they were great compared to the ones we saw in Belleau Wood, later. Conger said, when I spoke with him about it that it was surprising how small a place a man could squeeze into while under fire, and besides, there was no time to dig better ones. The driver put us out at the foot of a hill, with the instructions to meet him in the village in an hour. We climbed the hill and found ourselves in an American cemetery. It was severely plain looking and showed that it hadn't been there long, but it was neat and well kept. Every grave is marked with a white cross bearing the name, rank, etc- of the boy. There were a very few marked "unknown" and those were the ones on which I'd like to have strewn the violets I was wearing, but oddly enough, I remembered a woman telling me how she had covered the grace of Dickens with violets and tears-you remember, too, Muttie, - and I couldn't do it. If I'd been alone, it would have been a different matter. There isn't much use in telling you more because this noon I found that Conger has written the thing up, and I am sending the clipping. One thing that he may not have mentioned - I haven't yet read his account is the horror of walking among what is left of human bodies, uncovered and decaying. Of course the Yanks have all been removed to the cemetery, but one sees bits of matted looking German uniform that one wouldn't care to touch, and every where bones of all kinds. Norris had me simply wild by poking his stick into everything he he saw. I don't know whether it was because the thing was making me horribly nervous or whether the horrible odor of the place was too much. I know I could hardly speak a civil word to anyone the rest of the day. We took a long hike around the woods after we had walked thru them. I'd have walked miles rather than gone thru them with Norris and his infernal cane again. We crossed a field to the village and stumbled along over shell holes and - goodness only knows what else. I was dying of thirst, but when Conger got me a glass of water, two sips were all I could get down. Going back in the truck, he told me more than he ever has before, of the war. I don't ask him about it yet, much as I want to, because I can see he doesn't particularly enjoy telling about it yet. It will come later, I hope. We noticed a store in the city which flaunted a sign reading "English spoken -- American understood", which reminded me of the time the Concierge asked Conger if I were American. On being assured I was he said, "But she understands English". Conger kept his face straight and remarked that the languages were somewhat similar. On the train coming back to Paris were some American girls from some organization or other. It was lots of fun before they discovered we were American. They spoke of Norris as "that little man" and even after they found out, one commented on Conger's hair. It is so easy to forget that everyone else in the crowd may know English. I know from experience. Now I must dress because Sanborns are coming for dinner. I have made a coconut-cream pie, using cold boiled rice as crust. It's good, more digestible, and the only crust we can have in this man's town, so there you are. Write us big gobs. Youse know us, guys. We love you lots. Herza kissa piece. Conger and Daphne