On Transport in Harbor waiting to be taken off. Cannot dock. Must go on lighters. At 9:37 this morning, La Belle France took us to her breast. We are not allowed, I understand, to tell where or on what date.
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Army food has too much meat and not sufficient vegetables for me. My stomach goes bad on it and I have to buy milk and lettuce to keep going. My head was whirling this forenoon, the hot sun beating down on this tarpaper covered house making it worse. After dinner I went and took a bath, put on B.V.D. underclothing and then rode the bus to Mebin and back to get stamps, but particularly to cool off. My stomach is better this evening, and my head is well.
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I am interested in a Chinese boy training a young bird. Just a common little brown bird, which he has found someplace. He pets it and talks to it; does not feed it bulk, but gives it one crumb at a time, chirping to it as parent birds do. Now he has it trained so that he takes it from the cage and sets it on the shed, then chirps and it will fly to his hand, and open its mouth for the crumb, chirping in answer to his call.
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Between supper and service, half a dozen of the noncoms dropped into my room to talk. They are all sick – really mentally sick and it’s affecting their appetites and tempers – with home sickness. They don’t think of anything else—one affects the other, so many have gone home – some of these boys have been in France 13 to 22 months – but because they have been with the Chinese and know how to handle them, they are kept while others who have been over for less time are sent home. The situation has “got their goats”. They growl and grouch, swear at the army as a completely rotten thing – the CO is a grafter, every “loo” except their own (who is always a pretty good fellow) is an incompetent who got his rank by pull and is simply in the way of the workers. Everything is bad and Europe bad. “Lets go home and pull up the drawbridge so that we can never see or hear of France again”. Poor fellows. They’ll recover. A dose of Atlantic Ocean salts and a bracer of home atmosphere, and they will saw wood again. But I fear General Pershing would not get a majority of the soldier votes if he should be a candidate for President.
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Many individuals have made money out of war conditions and contracts, some of them enormous sums. These and those formerly rich spend recklessly paying any price for what they want, using more than they need, raising still higher the level of values, while many go under-housed, under-fed, and under-clothed. Is it any wonder that unreasoning people turn to Bolshevism and I.W.W? These are not the real remedies but a vent for the unseeing rage against present conditions.
I have not much admiration for the French language or art or customs, or temperament. I do not mean that there are not admirable traits in all, but there is so much that is not admirable that it makes me not care to devote much time to acquiring knowledge concerning them. A strain of cynicism, of immorality, runs through all their arts, customs, and temperament.
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England has no standard of pronunciation. Every province in England, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales has its own variations. Some of them I find very hard to understand. What we use in the U.S. should be called the American Language.
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Today I was talking with a boy (boy of 27) who had been dismissed, and told him of my work. He seemed very much impressed that there should be a minister in the house. It has become known. I imagine there is unusual quiet because of it. A herd of the louder ones have gone out, the others sit in groups on the cots talking quietly. One came up now and examined my Bible saying, “I believe in that book”. He is a member of the Fleet of St. Poes Church of Albany N.Y. Another says, “I am a Baptist. Our churches have much in common”. An Irishman says, “My folks is Catholics”. Near me is a Cuban boy with a soft slow smile. He gets tired and shirks, but when I saw him boxing, crouching watchful as a cat to spring up suddenly and slash “Albany’s” head, I decided that if I were a Heine I should not want to meet him in the trenches. In the far corner is an Italian who plays remarkably well on a fine harmonica, the kind that has bellows and sounds almost like a pipe organ.
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This afternoon a tall gangling fair-haired boy came to my door and asked for a knife to sharpen a pencil. Some time later I went after water and saw him behind a house with paper on his knee and pencil in hand, looking perplexed. “Well” I called, “You must be writing a whole lot, or can’t you find words to express your thoughts?” “That’s just it”, he said, “What is there around here to inspire a fellow?” and he glanced disgustedly at the shacks, the trash, and mud, and stumps. I said, “You might look up. There’s beauty in the tree tops and sky, anyway.” He glanced upward, “Yes” he said, “I could tell her the sky is as blue as her eyes.”
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Now the plumbers are in a group-discussing going to Newport News to see about a local union. Some men are washing preparing to go to bed. Some are dozing in their clothes. Some are reading about Pershing’s big drive. At ten the lights will be out if I have my way, but I will have to be diplomatic. Now I have been over to join in a discussion of modern heating and ventilating systems.
Here is the “Big Kid”, Irish Mike, 6ft. 2 inches, with massive shoulders and biceps, 21 years old, who dances around with the boxing gloves on and good-naturedly lets the other men see if they can hit him while they laugh at their own futile blows.
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I have been having a light form of Influenza but have not stopped working. I am nearly all well again, slightly hoarse, and a tickling in the throat gives a desire to cough. The best preventative of coughing, I have found, is to keep the throat moistened, and chewing gum causes a constant flow of saliva. So you can picture me chewing gum all day long.
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Paris, 1918 – second annual Thanksgiving Day Dinner: Menu: Marennes Oysters, Crème Darbay, Roast Turkey, Cranberry Sauce, Mashed Chestnuts, Pumpkin Pie, Fruits, and Coffee. There was some French wine also. We stood and drank to the health of President Wilson and President Poincaine, sang some college, army and other American songs. It cost three times what the dinner would cost at the Harvey House, but the home feeling was worth the money to a man who was missing his home folks.
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Today is very rainy. I have been told that this would be a dry dusty month, and have been thinking that we would get out of here before long. But 3 of 5 days have been rainy and we are likely to have two or more weeks yet. I thought it not worthwhile to have the roof over my office repaired and the consequence is that I am having trouble keeping anything dry. But my bed is dry, and so is one end of this table and my chair. My trunk and boxes and belongings are piled in another dry spot. So –what matters if the floor is wet? I need not get into the wet places and tomorrow if the sun shines, we will have the roof repaired.
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Yesterday, Sunday afternoon, I took tea and spent perhaps an hour with Messrs Gilbert and Burgess. The others were all away. Both are Scotch University men and we had a pleasant time. We were speaking of the Y.M.C.A. work in Britain and U.S. Burgess is quite an admirer of U.S. and asked about methods in our country. Then I told of Lyda’s work and said, “You can see what an immense work there is being planned when she is working in one out of 105 counties in one our of 48 states”. Burgess said, “And you have 105 counties and 48 states like that? How big is your state?” I told him its dimensions (Kansas is as big as England, Scotland, and Wales, but I didn’t tell him that). He and Gilbert exchanged glances, and Gilbert said, “I say, a whacking country, isn’t it!”
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These French workers, mostly young men, are good fellows to sing. I often hear them go by in groups singing and whistling, but many of them are not very honest. They steal a good deal, although I do not know that I have lost anything but one lamp, which has disappeared.
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The Chinese have all left the hut for their supper and there is silence here except for the teakettle singling on top of my office stove. Outside, though, there is noise. A lot of friction caps, like cartridges with no bullets in them, are being exploded. They were used in the war to set off the big shells by their explosion. The Company wants the metal in the shells, so about 200 at a time are put into a strong case made of heavy, netted wire, and the case is set over a fire until they get hot, as we would pop corn. After a while they begin to pop, and then the 200 go off in a great crackle and boom. Every one makes a noise like a giant firecracker. This goes on all through the day, about a blocks distance from me. I hardly notice it al times. They sometimes work at it until dusk, and then it is quite a sight. The smoke billows up toward the sky and the flame shoots through the smoke for ten or fifteen feet. Then all grows quiet again.
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Mr. Gray, the Secretary of this department, has committed matrimony lately. He and his bride are in the office, now after supper. I feel like an intruder, but I came in to have an interview via letter with my own wife, and I suppose I have as much a right to the privilege as they have, so I’ll stick.
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One day last week my Chinese orderly said to me, “Sien Seng, We can’t let these men have all the coal they want to burn in that big stove. We do not have enough (which is quite true). If I could attend to the fire all the time, it would be enough, but they waste it. O I just lie to them. I tell them that we cannot spare the coal that you are old and fear the cold and we must keep it for you. I told them today you had scolded me for letting them use so much and that if they wanted so much fire they must go out and find fuel. We could not furnish so much.”
Saturday evening as he left, he said, “Now Sien, Seng, if those men want a fire tomorrow when I am not here you tell them that we have no fuel. I have hid the wood and coal. Do not let them come and hunt for it. Just tell them to find fuel and make their own fires. If they come back here into my room they peep around to see what we have in our store and in boxes and carry things off.” Here he grew very confidential – “You do not know the disposition of these Chinese – It is very bad. They do not think of all the things you are doing for them, but only of what they want. If they all just had this disposition of mine, now, it would be all right. There is one thing I lack, I know. I have not become a Christian. If I had just eaten the doctrine, that would be well. But my memory is poor. I entered my name in the Catholic Church at Shanghai once but I could not remember all the catechisms, so I gave it up. But you just tell them tomorrow that we have no coal for them.”
Fortunately, I was not called upon to practice an elastic conscience, for the day was warm. I made no fire, and towards evening when they wanted to heat water for some tea, some of them found materials. Some of them are adept at “finding.” Their accomplishments in that line were considerable while in China. Army experience completes such education. Yet there are some straightforward, upstanding men among them, too, of course.
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Peace has been signed with Germany. The working out of the peace projects will require time, probably until “time shall be no more”. Ideal conditions are not yet with in the limits of human vision, except by faith.
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It is just as well that I am not ready to go to London. I left a suit, last Friday, at a shop here to be cleaned and pressed to wear to London. Went to get it today. The old French woman with much volubility of word and gesture explained that a British soldier had laid his Macintosh over the “pantaloons” and after he had gone the pantaloons were gone too, and anyway, the coat was not cleaned yet. I might have given her the coat also, but I did not. She would make no reparation and to try to compel it by French law would be a waste of time and money.
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Mr. Chuan thinks they will want me to go north into the battle area near Ypres, where 200,000 Chinese are working under British and French direction. He says that neither the British nor French have decided as to the repatriation of the Chinese. His impression is that the British will gradually send theirs home, but the process will extend over a year’s time. And the French will possibly keep theirs for the full five years, of which time the Chinese have now filled one to three years. There is even a quite reliable report that the French agents are about to (or have) make an agreement with the Chinese government to secure 200,000 more contract laborers. So you see, the work will continue here for some time.
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The franc has depreciated in value. When I came here one dollar was worth fr. 5.45. Now I have to pay 6.46 for one dollar. As my allowance here is fixed in francs, the cut is on me. The 50 plenning (German) piece formerly was worth about 10 cents U.S. Now it is much less, possibly about 3 cents.
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Mrs. Thomas W. Houston
My dear Madam,
Your respected letter of the date of April 10th has not arrived. But I have a feeling it is on the way. I await its arrival with much anticipation. I assure you I am very deeply interested in your epistles and in all that concerns you and your most lovely and estimable family. Your gracious daughter, Sara Gladys did me the honor to send an epistle writ by her own hand from which I learned much about you and your felicitous associations. She was pleased to mention that Master Wallace was continuing the process of “growing up”. I am curious to know how far he has come in this and about when he expects it to be completed. When his arduous and most worthy feat shall have been accomplished I should be pleased to have him inform me of its process and extent.
Sincerely yours,
Thomas W. Houston
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Mehun-sur-Yevre, France,
February 24, 1919
Miss Marjorie Grace Houston
Kansas City, Mo.
My very dear grand-daughter:
Possibly you do not remember Grandfather Houston but I remember you quite clearly. I can tell you this: I knew your papa for a long time before you did, and I had the privilege of becoming acquainted with your mama some years before you saw her. And I can remember the first time I saw you in my home in Syracuse, Kansas, where you came with your mama when your brave papa went to the army to help our poor soldiers fight the great world battle for freedom. That was in December of 1917. And you were with us on December 25th, your first Christmas day. At first you were afraid of me but you soon learned that I loved you and we would go to see the chickens and the pigs. We hunted for cookies together and had lots of good times. Then the next spring you and your mama went to see your papa at Austin, in Texas, and I did not see you until in August of 1918, when I was coming through Kansas City on my way to France. Can you remember that you called me ‘Dum’ and that you and I went one day to ride of the street cars away out to the green hills and came back to mama about dark? Perhaps not!
Now I am away over here and I hear the most wonderful news about a sister in your home, a little girl named Dorothy Ruth whom some one has brought to your house. So I tell everyone that I have two granddaughters. I will tell you what I would like to do. I would like to have your Grandma Houston and as many of your uncles and aunts as possible, with your papa and mama and you and Dorothy Ruth visit me in June of this year, here at this old town where King Charles V11 of France lived before he became king. We would go to the canal here in Camp Marmagne and hire one of these long, deep, narrow canal boats and clean it all up, put some seats in it and an awning over the top and some good things to eat in boxes packed on the boat. Then we would say to the finny little bow-legged French boatman, “Please let your fuzzy little donkey pull this boat down the canal”. And he would fasten one end of a long rope to a stick in the boat and the other end to the donkey that walks by the canal. Then we would sit and look at the country. We would have plenty of time for everything because the donkey is not in a hurry. We would start ten miles west of the big city of Bourges and go on west toward the Atlantic Ocean. On our right would be the pretty Yevre River, its clear water winding among many trees. Across the river are low hills and nice farmhouses and small villages and we see water-wheel cement works and pottery and a little flourmill. And the boatman’s little girl who lives in the tiny house on the end of the boat would want to come and play with you and Dorothy Ruth. Then we would ask the boatman to let the boat go to the side of the canal and we would get out, you and I, to get some flowers. Ruth would be too little. She could not run like you can.
Then we would get in the boat and ride past the ruins of the old moated castle where King Charles lived once. Or I expect we would all get out and look around it and the old church beside it. Some of us would want to climb up inside the great tower and see the wonderful view from its top. We would go into the long narrow lock and a gate would shut behind us. Then another gate would open ahead of us and the water under the boat would run away and the boat would slowly sink until we could not see over the stone walls of the lock and we would boat out under a bridge into the open canal below and go on through the town of Mehun toward Foecy. The great old trees with cool green leaves would meet over our heads, the birds would fly along ahead and maybe a squirrel would scold us for frightening his playmates. And Mama would get out the boxes and see what there might be good to eat. And we could throw crumbs to the ducks in the canal and maybe some fishes would get their dinner that may. Wouldn’t we have a good time? Just tell Dorothy Ruth about it.
Now I must go and do some other work. Will you please tell your mama Clara that Grandfather Houston sends to her his love and is sorry that she has had to pass through some hard times without her husband there to help, but that he hopes all is now well. News comes slowly to this far away corner. And ask here to send my love to papa David. I do not know his address or would write to him. I hope that Dorothy Ruth will prove as great a blessing as Marjorie Grace has been and that both will be blessed by the Father above in life and character. I hope to see you all in due time.
Your affectionate grandfather,
Thomas Watson Houston
My address is
Y.M.C.A. Headquarters
12 rue d’Aguesseau
Paris, France
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Dear Wife:
I think no letter has come from you since I wrote last, therefore there are no special questions to answer. We have had better weather lately, enough sunny days so that roads are generally dry. Much baseball and soccer ball and tennis is being played by the soldiers in their non-working hours. But for two days now rain has been falling and it is cool. I hope the drier season is approaching and all who have been here in previous summers say that we have dry summers.
The peace negotiations stretch out. Just now Italy is holding back. I suppose you see it all in the papers. Matters between China and Japan have not been settled there. Japan is the aggressor and must be checked somehow.
I think I wrote you that I have promised to stay here until June 1. I do not suppose the peace will be declared before that time anyway. If then it seems that this camp will be turned over to the French soon (this seems now quite likely) it may be right for me to stay until that is effected. So you see I cannot plan ahead.
A Lieut. asked me if I could get him some Sat. Eve. Posts. I found the copy for April 5 and read it before giving it to him. There are several notable articles in it. One on Roosevelt and his times. Then there was a part of a continued story entitled “A Woman’s Woman”, the conclusion. In it were some fine ideas and descriptions. Perhaps you have seen it. If not you would like it. I copied one paragraph, herewith enclosed. It applies to you very closely. I have felt, very often, sorry that you have not had the opportunity to develop and exercise your own special talents. But still I believe that you would rather have our children and their love than the other. I thought also of Mary, when reading it, and I pray that her and Franks home may be made a blessing to both. You spoke in one of your letters of her having visited Lyda. I know they both enjoyed it. But I do not have any idea where she is now so I’ll enclose a note to her. Please send it on.
Still hoping for letters from the children. But I love each one none the less, even if ehey are too busy at other matters to write. And I love my wife also even if the duties of life keep me away from her for an indefinite time.
May God keep you each one.
T. W. H.
“That multitudes of women whose lives have been spent in being “just mother” have longed to express in shining glorious fashion the talent latent within themselves, and yet a good dinner and a basket of mended clothes have been their only medium. Poet, painter, statesman, actor, artist, lie dormant in the hearts of prosaie and often under estimated home-makers. Yet it must be so.”
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November 25, 1919
Mr. Thos. W. Houston,
Y.M.C.A. HQ.
Calais.
Dear Mr. Houston:
We are booking passage for you to America, sailing from Boulogne on December 6th by the Niew Amsterday. You should come to Paris about the second of December in order to have time to get the necessary visas and close up affairs with headquarters.
I want to take this occasion to thank you for your loyal devotion and unselfish service which you have given during your stay in France.
Yours sincerely,
R.M. Hersey
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