Another Home Heart Broken

From Grandpa’s “My Soldier’s Record” booklet.

As September came to an end, in 1918, Grandpa had learned to live with the misery that now defined his life. In a landscape marked with shell craters, many made in the opening months of the war, he endured explosions, day and night. He drew breaths of air that combined the wretched smells of battle—decaying bodies left on the field, toxic chemicals, smoke, all clinched together in the dampness that hung in the grey French skies. Charred stubs of trees. Ruined and deserted villages. Barbed wire. Trenches. Abandoned dugouts. Mud. Rain. Soggy fields that doubled as beds at night and battlefields by day.

But there was mail. These three letters refer to mail he’d received, including copies of the King City Chronicle and photographs. The act of staying in touch was probably as important as the limited news that was shared with his loved ones back home. I’ve included these three in one post, as he wrote them in a cluster. He wouldn’t write again until the middle of October.

Where was Grandpa at the end of September? On the march north, from St. Mihiel toward Verdun. He belonged to a million-man American force, led by General Pershing. Over 47 days, between September 26 and November 11, they would fight to win the war in an offensive called the Meuse-Argonne, named after the wide plain of the River Meuse and the heavily wooded Argonne Forest. This was the southernmost part of a battle line that stretched to the North Sea, along which the French, British and Belgian armies forced the Germans into retreat.

The first two letters below were sent in one envelope. Both seem to refer to the earlier battle at St. Mihiel (September 12-16), but the story of a “miracle” probably refers to a battle in the Meuse-Argonne Offensive. So does the death of his buddy, Rolla, on September 27, which he writes about in the third letter.

Sept 25, 1918

Some place in France

My Dear,

Now over two weeks since I written you but I have not had a chance as I presume you have heard of the big drive that was started here about the twelfth. You have heard of going over the top. I have been over twice. The first day we advanced about ten miles having the enemy in full retreat. And I am sure you read in the papers of the great success. Although it was some hard job. Of course I cant tell you how many men we lost but our Major was killed the first day which I was awfully sorry as he was a good man. One thing we had to work against was the weather. It rained every day and every night. And we stayed right out in it where ever we may be, some times we found dug outs and some times we didn’t.

I slept several nights laying right out in the rain but after a person gets so tired he can sleep most any place.

We got our mail pretty regular while were up there and those letters were great. Gim Sanders(?) our supply Serj saw most all the old bunch a few days ago such as Rob, Laverne, Frank Veale and about twenty more he mentioned. Laverne and Rob both told him to have me write them but I haven’t had time yet.

There was a miracle happened to our Co in a big raid the other morn.

A boy by the name of Frank Hootman, one of the boys home on our trip, was among the dead and was left on the field dead. And tonight at supper time he walked in without a scratch. I tell you the crowd sure was glad to see him. He was stunned by a shell.*

Well my dear I must close on account of time

so with Love & Kisses, Tom

Thos W Alderson Co C. 356 Inf.

*Like Grandpa, Frank Hootman was a member of Company C, 356th Infantry, 89th Division. Although he survived this time, he would die on November 11, 1918, hours before the Armistice was signed.

Sept 26, 1918

My Dear—here I am again. I had to come to a close last night for several different reasons, one was that the shells was getting pretty close around and another I had to eat supper. I haven’t cooked any since the big drive started. I was right with the boys all the time and the whole bunch had plenty to do. I am in a dugout now, Key Ring is here with me. We had breakfast a few minutes ago. Things were real exciting here all night but no damage to our co.

Mother told me in her last letter that she thought they would move to town, and I am glad as that is what I wanted them to do before I left.

I see in the last paper where Jack Call was to go to training. I supose Ruby is taking it pretty hard but that is what war causes.

Every time I see an American soldier dead I say to myself there is another home heart broken.

But I think it is all for the best in the long run.

I am sending you enclosed a piece of German money that was among a bunch we taken off of some prisoners. The bunch sure had a lot of soveneer’s but we were unable to carry all of them. But the German people are pretty well fixed. I was in a few of their towns just after they were driven out and it was quite a sight.

If I fail to answer your questions in your last few letters the reason is that I lost all of them on the front.

But you know I am and will do my best. I look at the pictures real often and they are new each and every time.

Well my love I will again close

With lots of love & kisses

Tom.

Thos. W. Alderson

Co C 356 Inf

American E.F.

Via New York

Sept 28, 1918

Some place in France

Dear Inis, I should say some place in Germany as we are in a land that the Germans took away from France in 1861,* and as I told you in the other letter they are anyhow well fortified. I was in a dugout this afternoon that was at least twenty feet below the top of the [portion cut out] up to a town [portion cut out] all of their towns are practically torn down and no civilians at all, but when they left it the left lots of stuff.

I have our dugout all decorated up about right and right over the entrance I have a frame with your picture and mine in it.

Undated photo of Grandma as a young woman. I don’t know which pictures Grandpa had in France.

So it with the rest of my pictures causes some comment. But I don’t think we will be here long as you know an advancing army cant stay long in one place.

They have given our Division a nick name (The Wild Cat Div) and I guess by the talk we have made some reputations.

I guess you [portion cut out] same Rolla** was in D I used to see him almost every day but it as some doings the morning we went over in the raid, I was with the first wave, and there sure was some resistance. We were under heavy artillery and machine gun fire all the way to the Germans line but we didn’t stop. Went right in on them. Although our Battalion had [portion cut out] it was a success, but if you ever get a chance to talk to Mr Tunks** [portion cut out] there [portion cut out] in an awful hard fought battle and I looked for half our Battalion to go.

We got paid this afternoon, drawed two months pay and nothing to spend it for. It is a nice day today and I sure am enjoying it as we have had so awfull much rain and mud. But I have several nights good sleep so am feeling quite a lot better. Ferris was to see me a few minuts ago also last night. He’s fine also Gim Parks [portion cut out] are here the King City boys had pretty good luck in this fight only [portion cut out] Ketchum. I helped take him back, also Joe Henson was wounded the same time. That is the Swede boy that your neighbor wrote to. Well there is a boy wanting me to cut his hair so I will close and do it for him and write more tonight.

So I close with love & Kisses

Tom

Thos. W. Alderson.

Co. C. 356 Inf.

American E. F.

Via New York.

*Did he mean 1871, after the Franco-Prussian War, when German seized much of this area?

* *Rolla was Rolla Newton Tunks, the son of Mr. Tunks that Grandpa mentions. Rolla was killed on September 27, 1918.

Bombs Bursting in Air

Capturing St. Mihiel Salient- 3 soldiers operating a cannon- pile of empty cannon shell casings in foreground. , 1918. [Sept] Photograph. https://www.loc.gov/item/2016650684/.

September 12, 1918.

St. Mihiel, France.

Weather: Heavy driving wind and rain.

At 1 a.m. Grandpa woke up (if he’d slept at all) to the sights and sounds of the first major battle fought—and won—by American forces. The artillery used 3,000 pieces of heavy equipment to fire more than a million shells. They lit up the night sky and caused, in eye-witness descriptions, a deafening rumble that felt like an earthquake.* For the next four hours, until 5 a.m, Grandpa and the other soldiers—nearly half a million—stood ready in dark, mud-filled trenches, their clothes soaked from days of constant rain, waiting for the command to “go over the top,” the term for leaving the trenches and running, guns blazing, into the no-man’s land that was the Western Front.

The battle of St. Mihiel lasted five days. The goal was to claim back an area held by the Germans since the opening weeks of the war in 1914. The area, or salient, was a triangle, with the Meuse River and the town of St. Mihiel at the western point, Haudiomont (near Verdun) at the far north, and Pont-à-Mousson, near the Moselle River, on the east.

My bad map makes another appearance, with a detail of the St. Mihiel Salient. Grandpa’s group, the 89th, moved from the south.

Forests and rivers cut through low hills, occasionally creating broad plains. The Germans had transformed the landscape into a warren of deep trenches, long barriers of barbed wire and hidden machine-gun nests.

On that morning of September 12, Pershing led the American First Army (including the 89^th Division), which attacked from the southern side, and the French forces, who moved from the eastern side. The French and British also participated from the air, with 1400 aircraft forming the largest air force to date.

General Pershing had long argued the strategic value on taking this area (which the French had tried and failed to do), as a way to approach Germany, and take the important rail center at Metz. He also convinced the Allied command that an independent American force was up to the challenge. The battle became critically important to prove Pershing’s confidence.

Pershing succeeded, and in part because the Germans had already anticipated this offensive and begun to withdraw from the area. A letter found on a German solider suggested low morale may have been a factor. “The men are so embittered that they have no interest in anything,” the German wrote, “and they only want the war to end, no matter how.” (1)

George English, a member of the 89^thDivision, and author of its history, described the final night of September 16. “The advance through the gathering dusk and the deep night, though devoid of excitement, was stirring to the emotions of every participant. The weather had cleared and brilliant stars were looking down upon the field of battle. The continuous roar of the artillery and the rattle of small arms had ceased.” (2)

 

September 12, 1918.

King City, Missouri.

Weather: Fair.

Thousands of miles away from the war, Grandma awoke that same Thursday to a nice autumn day. The local newspapers reported “fair weather,” meaning mostly sunny but cool. She and her family started their day early, tending animals and having breakfast before working in the fields or the yard or the house, or going to town for supplies. Since March, they had followed President Wilson’s wartime program of daylight saving time, meaning their days no longer followed the sun, but the clock. Some farmers objected to this (and led the effort the next year to abolish it) and felt like a precious morning hour was being stolen from them.

I doubt Grandma’s family fussed over this. They were a hardy, no-nonsense bunch. If there was work to do, they did it.

From a family album, probably around 1915.

But on this September morning, when Grandma headed outside for morning chores, dew clinging to the hem of her dress and patches of fog lazing over the fields, I wonder if she let herself daydream about Grandpa. Did she have an inkling that he’d been moved from the safety of his cook’s job and sent to the front lines? And I wonder, too, what she knew of war. Both her grandfathers had been in the Civil War, one fighting for the Confederacy and the other on desk assignment for the Union. Did they ever share their experiences, or their opinions of war?

Grandpa Martin (as they called their mother’s dad) died in March, 1918. He was a favorite and might have shared stories. But if he did, the stories didn’t survive into my generation. Nor did those known to Grandfather Dykes (father’s side), who lived with them in King City until his death in 1901. Grandma was only nine when he died, and may have been too young to have heard (or understood) his war stories. Aunt Mattie, Grandma’s older sister, wrote in her 1971 diary, on a day spent researching family history, “Oh how I wish I had asked Grandfather Dykes about his war service.”

The events of World War 1 were slow to make their way back home. The King City Chronicle, which only published on Fridays, ran stories a week or two after major events. On September 20, under a headline of “Verdun Freed by Americans,” they wrote, “Official dispatches were still delayed and the full scope of the victory won by the Americans in their first independent action could not be gauged.” They also ran a photograph (as did many American papers, all using the same caption) of a French village liberated by the Americans in August. The unnamed photographer focused on the women and children walking in the ruins.

King City Chronicle, 10 September 1918, p. 7.

Letters took 2-4 weeks to cross the Atlantic. In the meantime, I suspect Grandma did wonder and worry about Grandpa. She would have to wait for the first letters to arrive in October to hear about his experiences during the St. Mihiel Offensive; I’ll post those next week. While she waited, Grandma carried on with her chores.

From a set of tea towels my sister and I have, probably wedding gifts from Grandma. Monday, wash. Tuesday, iron. Wednesday, sew. Thursday, market. Friday, clean. Saturday, bake.

*This summary is pulled from many sources, all agreeing on the major points.

(1) Coffman, Edward M. The War to End All Wars. The University Press of Kentucky, 1998: 280.

(2) English, George H. History of the 89th Division. The War Society of the 89th Division, 1920: 109.

 

 

 

 

Write Home! That’s an Order!

Grandma kept the letters from Grandpa in a shoe box. Envelopes marked with “Soldiers Mail” (upper right corner) identified mail from France, which didn’t require postage. Photo (c) Charlene Reichert.

The army encouraged soldiers to write letters, lots of letters. Staying in touch with folks back home would keep up a soldier’s morale, the argument went, and also maintain the public’s support for the war. Over the summer of 1918, as more and more soldiers were deployed to the Western Front—including my grandfather, newspapers across the country ran General Pershing’s official order to “write home often.” The New York Times ran the full order, a portion of which read:

Duty to one’s country does not end on the parade ground, nor even on the battlefield, but consists in doing everything in one’s power to help win the war. To write home frequently and regularly, to keep in constant touch with family and friends, is one of the soldier’s most important duties. (1)

Service organizations like the Y.M.C.A., Red Cross, and the Knights of Columbus, provided writing paper and envelopes to soldiers, both in military training camps and also overseas. Postage was waived for all mail sent from Europe.

The army provided rules and advice. For example, once they boarded a ship, soldiers could not mention specific details of location or troop movement, the numbers of troops, and, later, the numbers of wounded and killed in battle. That information, if it fell into the hands of the enemy, posed a danger.

Of course, for this danger to present itself, soldiers had to carry letters with them. And they did. Grandpa once apologized for not answering some of Grandma’s questions, explaining that he’d lost her letters on the front.

Friends and family also received advice. Trench and Camp, the weekly military newspaper, often ran advice columns for the public. In one, the author recommended keeping letters “hopeful” as a way to counteract a prevailing notion that most soldiers would die.

Do not get the idea that our boys are “going over the top” to die. Ninety-three in each hundred will return. Do not let the “Well, if I do not see you again, good luck and God bless you” farewell send a man off with a stone where his heart should be. Keep this idea out of your letters and their thoughts. To be victorious they must be hopeful. (2)

Keep the letters newsy–with stories about neighbors and happenings at home. This would help remind the soldier of the life awaiting him after the war.

Don’t use letters to explore any misgivings about the war. Criticism was seen as unpatriotic and, in extreme cases, illegal. The federal government, under the direction of President Wilson, enforced the 1917 Espionage Act and 1918 Sedition Act against pacifists and dissenters, or anyone it deemed disloyal. (3) These acts were seen at the time as violations against free speech, and parts (though not all) of these acts were repealed after the war. But their role in the national effort to keep things positive, maintain high morale, and support the war that would end all wars . . . informed the public conversation, including private letters written to and by soldiers. Grandpa sometimes mentioned that he was supposed to keep his letters cheery, and in one poignant example from the battlefield, he remarked,

You know we all write home and send the bright side, although you know we are not having a snap. (from a letter I’ll post in October)

The War Department stepped in with restrictions on second-class mail, especially packages. Cargo ships were needed for military equipment and personnel exclusively, not gift packages from home. Also, these packages slowed down the delivery in France of first-class mail–those all important letters.

Published in Trench and Camp, January 5, 1918. Courtesy of Kansas State Historical Society, Copy and Reuse Restrictions Apply.

“A letter is a gift that is always timely and never in the way,” appeared in another column published in Trench and Camp. The letters need not be fancy, the author noted. “Literary quality isn’t the thing most needful in them, of course.” (4)

This may explain the quality of a poem Grandpa included in the letter I’m posting below, which he wrote in early September. The poem had been written (or copied?) by a girl “back home” and sent to one of Grandpa’s buddies. The rhyming is forced at times, but the ending makes it worth the read!

(1) “Asks Men to Write Home.” New York Times. 9 June 1918: 9.

(2) “Rules and Suggestions Regarding Soldier Mail.” Trench and Camp. 12 January 1918: 3.

(3) For full discussion, see Patricia O’Toole, The Moralist: Woodrow Wilson and the World He Made. New York, 2018: 290-301.

(4) “Home Letters Revivify Soldiers and Play Important Part in War.” Trench and Camp. 23 March 1918: 3.

 

Sept 1, 1918

Some place in France.

My Dear Girl.

Almost a week has past since I written you although I have thought of you quite a bit of time. I got three letters from you last night, one from Marshall and one from Mother. So you see I was pretty well fixed for a while. One of yours had the pictures of your dogs Jack loving Ruby and the others and a few days ago I got the other one with the pictures. They were sure gladly received even if they were not extra good. So keep the good work going as the letters are the best thing we get over here.

I haven’t been working so hard for the last week as we have been in reserve. But I think we will go up again soon. I am feeling fine. The weather has begun to get cooler here already. I sure am scringing* for this winter as France is a great deal cooler than Mo. But every thing looks bright so far. We have had four men promoted for their bravery already. Rube Dunlap was made Sergeant, for one, and Clyde Findly made Corporal and a couple more. This event of bravery was while the bunch was under the heavy artillery fire I told you in the other letter. So I guess Mr. Moulton was right when he said there was some in this bunch that could give good account of himself.

Ferris showed me a letter with some pictures he received the other day from Loretta. They composed of her and another girl dressed in bathing suits so you know they were keen. Well My Dear there isn’t much I can tell you only that I am sending with this an extra amount of love and kisses being as it is Sunday afternoon.

So I close

Lovingly Tom.

Thos. W. Alderson

Co. C. 356 Inf

American E. F.

P.S. Below is a couple verses of poetry that a boy in our co received from his girl in Omaha Neb.

*scringing is likely cringing, as in dreading the upcoming winter. In 19th-century American folk language, scringe was often used for cringe.

 

To My Soldier Boy

I’m feeling pretty worried over all the things I hear.

Of the Shrapnel and the canons that are roaring around you Dear.

Of the Zeppelins and aeroplanes and the sneaky (?) submarines.

But the worst of all the things I fear

That nearly turns me green

Is the fear of all the damsels you’ll be meeting over there

The Parisiennes and the Belgian Maids with fascinating hair.

So be loyal Honey, don’t forsake the girl back home.

No matter how they smile on you,

Don’t let your fancy roam,

For the French girls are so pretty and the nurses are so kind

But do not be a traitor to the girl you left behind.

 

I know that you are Loyal to the old Red White and blue.

And I hope you’ll be loyal to your little girl, too.

Against the Hun’s they spell with “U” you’ll hold your own I know.

But I fear you may be ambushed by the huns they spell with “O.”

Stand guard against temptations

Don’t surrender to their charms.

And wait until you get back home before presenting arms.

Leave the French Girls to the French men and the Nurses for the Doc’s.

And the soldier in Kaki for the girl who knits his socks.

Tho the French girls may be pretty and the nurses may be kind

Oh do not be a traitor to the girl you left behind.