April 17, 1918 Dear Sweet Girl,
Last time I wrote you three or four days ago, we were in another place and we are now just beginning to get settled in our present locality.
The afternoon we moved I had been over to a town with most of the boys taking a bath. In getting back to the echelon a formation was called and the order issued that every team be harnessed ready to go to the front. Something was up, but nobody knew what. On the way up I again met Baker, who I met at the YMCA – Mr. Price knows him well – and I met him for a third time in this town.
Everything seemed strangely quiet at the front as we approached our position. Other outfits on the road waited marching orders, and we knew that some big movement was on. Spies infest the towns around our position, and it seems uncanny that they can’t discover them. When we came near, lights and signals began to flash in the town nearby, giving our presence away to the enemy. I wondered why it was quiet as we approached the position, and I found out. They were holding back for the signals, and the minute they came, a can of hell opened up on us.
Our pieces came out with little trouble and our caissons were loaded with ammunition. We made our way through a field, when in the town klaxons began to screech. The cry, “Gas, gas!” went up on all sides. Our masks were in the alert position, and we put them on in jig time. We stood in the field without advancing until the klaxons ceased screeching fifteen minutes later. Off came our masks at the command, and we proceeded to the road, through the town and well on our way.
Five minutes later, again went the cry, “Gas!” Once more we put our masks in place. We dislike wearing them, for it is hard, dry breathing and we can’t see where we are going. Instead of stopping till the gas attack was over, we kept moving along the road. We could scarcely see the white of the road, so we trusted to God. Ahead of us German shells were bursting on each side of the road and high above it. But we kept right on.
If ever I declared the Truth it was then, and it gave me lots of comfort. We rode right through the barrage, and no one was touched. Because we could not see for the mist on our mask glasses, no one realized the full danger of the situation till we were again in safety and gas masks were off.
Back at the echelon to our surprise drivers were told to go in and make up their rolls, for we were moving to a new place far away, and we had to make it that night. We scarcely reached our quarters before they ordered us drop everything and move out. I grabbed my saddlebag and left my roll. Most of us grabbed nothing, so I was fortunate.
All night we traveled till noon the next day. Whenever there was a halt we drivers lay down by the road and slept. We were half asleep in the saddle most of the time. When we started it was without supper; we had no breakfast, and all we had for dinner was a handful of hardtack and two sardines, for the ration carts were delayed. We pulled the guns into position that afternoon. That night we devoured our first real meal in twenty-four hours: soup, bread and butter, and coffee. It was great! The next day wagons were sent back after our equipment and nothing was lost. I recovered all my stuff.
How much I love my dear partner! You and I are getting desperate to find new ways to say it, but we like it anyhow, even if said in the same old way, don’t we dear wife of mine? So again I say that I love you as much as you love me and then some!
Ever your true partner and lover
Clarence
© 2006 Lyn Allyn
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Contributor's Note
Nonfictional, autobiographical excerpt from the book, "Love From Chezeaux: WWI Memoirs of Clarence Bush" by Lyn Allyn Amazon.com 5-Star Review
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