I came across this letter from Thanksgiving 1918 and discovered a summary of Great Uncle George's time in France in WWI. What a treat ~ most of his letters don't name specific battles and places since all they could usually say was "Somewhere in France" but this time he named lots of places and events.
14th. Somewhere in France. THANKSGIVING* ‘18
Tilly sur Meuse, France. 28th November, 1918.
DEAR ONES ALL
Here goes my first letter since the Censorship loosened up and I’ll try to make it a little Diary of my travel since I left Camp Merritt, New York, U.S.A. on that memorable morning of May 7th, 1918. We had our moving orders the night before, so were all packed up even to our blankets, but were sleeping more or less fitfully under our overcoats when the clear notes of Reveille roused us for the last time on American soil. Soon we were eating our last mess there, and then, just as the sun began to tint the east with rosy dawn, assembly blew, and with shouldered packs and rifles we silently swung out through the mist on our “March to the Sea.” It was a night to be long remembered as those long lines of silent men marched out through the deserted streets of the sleeping camp, the only sound breaking the stillness, the thud of marching feet, the metallic clang of rifle or bayonet, or the muffled tones of occasional commands. After a march of about six miles, MOST of it uphill, we came out on the Palisades of the Hudson R. above New York city. Below us several hundred feet lay the little pier of Alpine and how aptly named can only be appreciated by one who has made the precipitous descent with packs and heavy marching equipment as we did.
After a short wait here, the Newburgh (river boat) took us for a cruise down the Hudson to the piers where we were immediately loaded on the U.S. S. George Washington. The last thing we did in the States was eat a Red Cross Bun and drink a Red Cross coffee. They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach and I guess that is right as I have had a soft place in my heart for that worthy institution ever since. We lay in the harbor for a day, then all were ordered below and with decks clear we were tugged out by the Statue of Liberty and the George Washington started once more [toward] Sunny France.
For ten days all we saw was water, water, water and the other ships of our convoy. There were only three of us till we got well in to the danger zone, then we were picked up by some little torpedo boat destroyers. The last morning out we were wakened at four A.M. by the submarine siren and stood to at Abandon Ship stations for about an hour while we put back out to sea a little way and the destroyers did some hasty maneuvering but neither we nor the supposedly sighted sub were hurt. Then about eleven A.M. we sighted the most westerly point of France and sailed up the beautiful harbor of Brest. We disembarked with the first of the lighters which came out to us at about four P.M. of May 18th. We were stationed at Pontanezen Barracks; about five kilometers from Brest. These Barracks are supposed to be an old convent made over to accommodate Napoleon’s troops. They are old stone Buildings and tho in fair repair their appearance and the stone wall all around them seem to bear out the statements regarding their age and history. Here we first learned to think and speak in terms of kilometers and francs, and to eat beans and goldfish (salmon).
After a week in Brest we entrained and after a trip of two days on the odd little trains of France found ourselves in Oisemont, about 30 kilos northwest of Amiens. We only bivouacked there one night and then moved on to Avenes, where we stayed three weeks while we got used to the sound of cannon, and were equipped with British guns and gas masks. The first night we were there we were treated to a real Hun air raid. As I was still orderly at that time I was billeted in the Chateau Avenes, my first introduction to a real French chateau. From there we hiked to Araines where we entrained and went some 30 kilos to Poulainville. Got there about noon and by night were in our shelter tents in Pierrigot. Our camp was in a grassy orchard and was nice and clean for about three days, then it began to rain and we soon learned to appreciate what we had read of the Somme mud. We also learned our first lessons of experience with shells and bombs. This was supposed to be a training period for our Div (the 33rd), but it would be hard to tell it from a regular campaign. At the end of this period we were brot together as a Regiment at Quarian Woods, about ten kilos from Amiens. During our stay with the British the work of the lines companies was mostly done on and back of the line from Albert toward Amiens. While we were there I made arrangements to quit work with the Major as I could see nothing in it, and hoped to really get into a little more by getting away from the stables and horses for while. I might stop here to say that I saw such towns as Villers Bocage, Beaucourt, Contay, Vignacourt and last but not least Amiens (Cathedral[1] and all) while we were in this sector. We entrained at Amiens on August 25th and the next morning found us just passing through the outskirts of Paris. That afternoon we ran into the Chateau Thierry district , through the town itself and out along the river beyond where such fierce fighting had been done a couple of weeks before. The towns and villages we saw and passed through that afternoon were total wrecks, the stark crumbled walls of churches and homes bearing eloquently mute testimony regarding the ruthlessness of the War Gods. At two A.M. we arrived at our destination at Ligny where we at once unloaded. I saddled the horses and at 4 A.M. we moved out of town in formation. Not much like the ponderous moves we used to make in our training days in the States. I shall never forget that morning when we entered the sleeping little town of Ménil sur Saulk [Saulx]. I was sent on ahead on my horse to look up the billeting officer we had sent on the day before. I had lost my cap from the train so was compelled to wear my steel helmet, and with a knapsack of the Major’s equipment slung at my side, raincoat partially hiding the identity of my uniform, and spurs on my feet, I probably cut quite a warlike figure. Anyway that is the only reason I can imagine for the look of amazement I created on the countenance of the first simple French woman I roused in the town. You see it was just breaking day as I rode into the village and even the ever-present M.P. was not in evidence, as we were the first American Troops to billet in that town. So I rode up to the door of the only house showing a light and knocked loudly. The face of a woman showed for an instant at the window then was as hastily withdrawn and the light extinguished. But in that fleeting glance I had seen such a mixture of incredulous amazement and fear that I thot then, and have still an idea, she took me for a German Uhlan[2] as I stood there holding my horse in the uncertain light of dawn. At any rate I got no more response tho I knocked loud and long again. So I mounted my trusty steed again and did a Paul Revere down the cobble paved street, across the quaint old bridge to the other side of town where I got a surprise. I saw a fairly elderly man walking in the street just as I crossed the bridge, so I rode up to him and said in my badly mutilated French, “Bon Zwar, Monsieur. Parlez vous Anglais.” What was my surprise when he replied, “Nein, aber Deutsch.” I had tried a few times to talk to some of the French in German before but had long since given it up as the language was so very unpopular. This is the only time I have used it to any advantage since I landed but I got along famously as the man’s vocabulary seemed to be almost as limited as mine. At any rate I was able to get what little information he had to offer and by ten A.M. our Battalion was all in the village and comfortably billeted. Being the first Americans in the town we were quite popular while there. In less than a week we moved to an adjoining town known as Stainville where we staid four days and where I gave up my work as orderly for the Major. I celebrated my return to the ranks of Hdqts. Co. by working all day as runner, then rolling my pack and hiking full equipment to our next stop at Gary (or Gery) a distance of about 18 miles. That is the longest and the hardest hike of my army career and I’m satisfied to let it hold first place for the rest of my life, tho I believe I could do a few better if I knew every step was taking me HOME.
A few days at Gery, then a short hike one evening and we loaded on a French Truck Train and after an all night ride of some sixty kilos we landed at Blercourt, and marched back to Nixeville Wood and billeted in some French Barracks where the size of the cooties was exceeded only by their appetites. The accepted by unwilling hospitality forthwith and have been very faithful ever since in spite of repeated hints and rebuffs. As soon as our stock and transport caught up with us we moved to Sivry-la-Perche where we had our headquarters for about a week. While there we were shelled two night s in earnest. Then we moved to Ft. de Sartelles for about a week. All three of the last named places are within 12 kilometers of VERDUN. The line Cos. had now been in the lines for two weeks and rumors of a drive in the sector they had just taken over from the French north of Verdun on the Meuse R. were prevalent. There were batteries of artillery in the woods on all sides of us and three 12” Naval Guns mounted on the railroad in the back of us were all ready for action. On the morning of Sept. 26 we were awakened in our dugouts by what felt like a young earth-quake, and from the steady roar and tremble of the ground knew that the guns had opened up the barrage for the drive that was destined to liberate the hills of Verdun from the Huns. I was Regt. runner that day and believe me the suspense was fierce, wondering how they were getting along up at the line, wishing I might be there. The smaller batteries of the Fort and in the woods near and far kept up a deafening roar, punctuated occasionally by the bellow of the 12 inch Navals back of us, or a Jerry shell at long intervals. The letter you got from me dated Sept 26 was written while the barrage was going on and the first step of that momentous drive was drawing to a close some ten kilometers north-east of where I sat writing between runs. That afternoon the order came for every available man in Headquarters to go up to the front and help in the emergency so we were loaded into trucks, and up we went to Cumiers. I was in the village 10 min before I knew it was a village which is eloquent proof of what was left of it.
The two weeks we spent up there were the pleasantest I have spent in France for tho we were only operating an engineer dump and working on the roads it was a mans size job and we were making it possible for our infantry to hold what they had gained and prepare to drive Jerry still farther back out of the hills where the French had striven so hard for the last three years. Well, the next move was back to Germonville, where I worked as telephone orderly and runner until we moved out of the lines, through Verdun to Dugney. After a few days there we moved down there and the line Cos. moved up into the lines in sight of the Metz. Things were just promising to get interesting down in this sector when Kaiser Bill Capitualted and Marshal Foch was able to make a peaceful entrée into delivered Metz, instead of the warlike one that was inevitable soon. If you cannot find the name of this village on the map just follow the Meuse R down about 20 kilometers and you will have [come]pretty closet to our present location.
There is little doubt that the war is over as the terms of the Armistice make it suicide for Germany to make a false move, so now we will try to be good soldiers and patiently do the hardest part of all – wait until the victory won at so much sacrifice on both sides of the pond is secured beyond shadow of doubt for all time. Then how happily will we return to you all and those civilian pursuits we temporarily laid down that the right to follow them might be preserved, not only to the States but to the World. So hurry up and prepare the “fatted calf.”
With love and hope for a speedy return to God’s Country and our loved Ones.
George S. Sherwood
Pvt. 1/Class
Censored
WmAPeterson
CaptUSA
[1] See photo of the Cathedral at http://en.structurae.de/photos/index.cfm?JS=68732
[2] See example at http://flickr.com/photos/33784579@N05/3217736015/in/pool-73218976@N00/page2/
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