DIY History | Transcribe | World War I Diaries and Letters | Conger Reynolds newspaper clippings, 1916-1919 | 1918-02-06 Clipping: ""Letters From Our Soldiers"" by Conger Reynolds

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Conger Reynolds newspaper clippings, 1916-1919

1918-02-06 Clipping: ""Letters From Our Soldiers"" by Conger Reynolds

Letters from Our Soldiers
Blank, France, Feb. 6, 1918.
My dear Louie:
I can't remember whether I have written to you since I arrived on land or not.  So I may repeat something I have already written.

Of course, I got all the way here safely.   The last part of the voyage to England, and again the crossing of the channel were a bit trying on the nerves, but they both were accomplished without harrowing incidents.  My stay in England was of only a day and a night, the half of it in a train and the other in a shivery camp.

Arriving at a port of France I was held for another day and night in a miliar camp where the casu were sleeping in tests on, bo floors.  Maybe you think that w fun in January?  I saw George D on while I was there and had pected to see other Iowa fellows, b was ordered away before I cou find time to look them up. Hard was not there, of course, befause he is in another unit.  Did I tell y that I met Dr. Beye just before eft America? He wa expecting nail soon.

Last Friday night I left with a m companions for the interior. W were in a special train, without hea nd we nearly froze to death bef morning. The train would ru long for twenty miles at about fiv miles an hour and stop at a station for an hour. By morning we had gone about the idstance an American train would cover in three hours.

Next day, we didn't mind much. We managed to keep warm, and at every stop we piled off and talked to the people and took a loog around. We arrived at ___ late Saturday night and stayed there, until yesterday. We were expected to sleep on straw ticks in an old barracks but matters turned out so most of us slept in hotels.

We are now billeted, like other American officers and troops, in a quaint little town of 4,000 inhabitants.  It is a tangle of white stone houses and narrow, cobbled streets, about a great old castle on the hillside above a quiet little river.  The castle and the church date back to the fifteenth century and I don't think much of the town was constructed after Napoleon's time. The people are the real French. One doesn't see many men, but the women hang always out of their windows or stand in the doorways staring at their unusual visitors and keeping up rapid-fire conversation with everyone in earshot about the astounding developments that have stirred the town as it has not been stirred for generations.  Wen the Americans came a few weeks ago, the people followed them, felt of their clothes, and generally marvelled at the strange creaturea.  Now they have become accustomed to them - not enough that they cease to gape, but enough that they understand.  I see everywhere I turn scenes such as you find in the movies and the pictorial sheets - American "Sammies" playing with the children, making up to the women, chumming with the occasional poilu.  It is marvelous how they manage to converse with the French people, neither knowing a word of the other's language.

Arthur Zimmerman and I are billeted in a three-room cottage with a nice old grandma.  The three rooms are one on top of another and the house is merely part of the wall of buildings that faces a street about sixteen feet wide.  Our room is the top one.  It contains two fine old walnut beds an dis otherwise comfortably furnished.  The accommodations are indeed the best we have had in Europe.  We eat at the chief hotel of the city.  It is a bit expensive - costs about $1.80 a day but the meals are great  They are served with that exquisite perfection of service that only the French know.  Loving French cooking and French ways of service as i do, I quite revel in the opportunity to escape an army mess.  There seems to be no shortage of food in France. At least it does not appear to have affected any of the hotels I have tried.  I have never found anywhere better or more satisfying meals.  The cost is a little more than the ordinary cost of a meal at home outside the very best hotels.

We are here only to wait for orders.  The only thing we have to do report at headquarters once a day. her times we are writing letters d studying. If the weather clears again we plan to take a bicycle ride over the excellent roads through the pretty country hereabouts.  There are many historic spots in this vicinity.

One's French improves rapidly when he gets where he really has to use it.  I find that I am able to understand nearly everything these people say to me even when they rattle at double time.  I'm not so good at talking to them, but I always manage to make them know what I am trying to say.  I am learning words and expressions rapidly, so that  have confidence it will not be many weeks before I can carry on a conversation easily enough.  It is great fun to talk with them if for nothing else than to see their characteristic grimaces and gestures.

When I have seen more and had adventures that might interest your friends I may write you a little descriptive stuff.  In the meantime I hope that I am going to find somewhere a letter from you.  It is years since I heard from you.
Sincerement,
Conger Reynolds.

Saving...

Letters from Our Soldiers Blank, France, Feb. 6, 1918. My dear Louie: I can't remember whether I have written to you since I arrived on land or not. So I may repeat something I have already written. Of course, I got all the way here safely. The last part of the voyage to England, and again the crossing of the channel were a bit trying on the nerves, but they both were accomplished without harrowing incidents. My stay in England was of only a day and a night, the half of it in a train and the other in a shivery camp. Arriving at a port of France I was held for another day and night in a miliar camp where the casu were sleeping in tests on, bo floors. Maybe you think that w fun in January? I saw George D on while I was there and had pected to see other Iowa fellows, b was ordered away before I cou find time to look them up. Hard was not there, of course, befause he is in another unit. Did I tell y that I met Dr. Beye just before eft America? He wa expecting nail soon. Last Friday night I left with a m companions for the interior. W were in a special train, without hea nd we nearly froze to death bef morning. The train would ru long for twenty miles at about fiv miles an hour and stop at a station for an hour. By morning we had gone about the idstance an American train would cover in three hours. Next day, we didn't mind much. We managed to keep warm, and at every stop we piled off and talked to the people and took a loog around. We arrived at ___ late Saturday night and stayed there, until yesterday. We were expected to sleep on straw ticks in an old barracks but matters turned out so most of us slept in hotels. We are now billeted, like other American officers and troops, in a quaint little town of 4,000 inhabitants. It is a tangle of white stone houses and narrow, cobbled streets, about a great old castle on the hillside above a quiet little river. The castle and the church date back to the fifteenth century and I don't think much of the town was constructed after Napoleon's time. The people are the real French. One doesn't see many men, but the women hang always out of their windows or stand in the doorways staring at their unusual visitors and keeping up rapid-fire conversation with everyone in earshot about the astounding developments that have stirred the town as it has not been stirred for generations. Wen the Americans came a few weeks ago, the people followed them, felt of their clothes, and generally marvelled at the strange creaturea. Now they have become accustomed to them - not enough that they cease to gape, but enough that they understand. I see everywhere I turn scenes such as you find in the movies and the pictorial sheets - American "Sammies" playing with the children, making up to the women, chumming with the occasional poilu. It is marvelous how they manage to converse with the French people, neither knowing a word of the other's language. Arthur Zimmerman and I are billeted in a three-room cottage with a nice old grandma. The three rooms are one on top of another and the house is merely part of the wall of buildings that faces a street about sixteen feet wide. Our room is the top one. It contains two fine old walnut beds an dis otherwise comfortably furnished. The accommodations are indeed the best we have had in Europe. We eat at the chief hotel of the city. It is a bit expensive - costs about $1.80 a day but the meals are great They are served with that exquisite perfection of service that only the French know. Loving French cooking and French ways of service as i do, I quite revel in the opportunity to escape an army mess. There seems to be no shortage of food in France. At least it does not appear to have affected any of the hotels I have tried. I have never found anywhere better or more satisfying meals. The cost is a little more than the ordinary cost of a meal at home outside the very best hotels. We are here only to wait for orders. The only thing we have to do report at headquarters once a day. her times we are writing letters d studying. If the weather clears again we plan to take a bicycle ride over the excellent roads through the pretty country hereabouts. There are many historic spots in this vicinity. One's French improves rapidly when he gets where he really has to use it. I find that I am able to understand nearly everything these people say to me even when they rattle at double time. I'm not so good at talking to them, but I always manage to make them know what I am trying to say. I am learning words and expressions rapidly, so that have confidence it will not be many weeks before I can carry on a conversation easily enough. It is great fun to talk with them if for nothing else than to see their characteristic grimaces and gestures. When I have seen more and had adventures that might interest your friends I may write you a little descriptive stuff. In the meantime I hope that I am going to find somewhere a letter from you. It is years since I heard from you. Sincerement, Conger Reynolds.