Letter 73

Letter #72

                                                                                                            Camp Dodge, Iowa

                                                                                                            August 4, 1918

My Dear Sweetheart,

   

            Sunday again and all dressed up and nowhere to go. I suppose you think that a terrible thing!  Well it is, but where could I go? Only walk the hot streets. I find more pleasure writing to you, dearheart. I’m at the Y, for it was too hot down at the barricades. I’m going to stay here and hear some music on the Victoria once more, for I have not heard any since leaving Boulder. I could get a pass until midnight, but Sunday is no day to go pleasuring anyway. So you can see how I’m fixed, especially on Sundays, for I’m trying to live my religion on Sundays as well as other days. I know I can’t go to Sunday School and meeting, but I can stay home and rest, and not be a pleasure speaker. Well dear, I fasted today until noon. I did not feel hungry.

            As I told you last night I was going to Des Moines again. Well I went, and oh what a time we had going and coming. At the station, they had three cars to just going to put 6 to 7 hundred men into.  I managed to get in but that was all, and when we did get in, the smoke was so thick you could almost cut it with a knife.  I surely wished I were somewhere else than there, for I almost choked to death. I don’t know how some people can stand so much smoke, for they are always smoking.  Their fingers are stained with nicotine.

            When we got ready to come home, we got into a traffic jam at 10:40, and by 11:10 we were still in it, and in a building with but little air.  Talk about sweat! Why I almost melted, but I lived to tell the tale. We were to have been in by 12, but I was 25 minutes late.  This was due to the slowness of the train, for it took over an hour to go 12 miles. So you can see how fast we were traveling. If we should travel at that gait over the continent we would never get to France.

            We walked all over Des Moines, and then did not see anything but the same thing over again, but that is not what I went for. I want you to look out and see for yourself when the mail comes. It was for you and Mother. I sent them off this morning.  They are not very much, but just for a remembrance of Camp Dodge. I’m going to try and get something from every camp I go to, for they will be of great value later.

            We were all examined again this morning.  Everything is all O.K. which I hope I will always be the same.  For there happened to be a young man who stood beside me in the line, and he has been turned down because he has been infested with one of those dreadful diseases, which is incurable.  But he says he can be cured. Oh how I hate to be near him, for it shows on his face and back.  I surely try to avoid him for I don’t like him even to touch me. Such a fellow should never be allowed to mingle with those who are trying to live a pure, clean life as many are doing. I do hope they will separate him from me, or take him from entire platoon: I don’t think he will be allowed to go with us when we do go.

            Well dear, you can see for yourself what kind of men your lover must mingle with in order to fulfill this great task I have been called upon to do. But by the help of God, and me striving to do all I can to protect me, I will be protected and returned back home to my loved one again.  This surely would be a great pleasure to me. For if ever I get homesick, it is on Sunday, when the men’s friends, mothers, wives and sweethearts come to see them. As I look out of the window just now, there waits a young lady and here comes her young man. Ah, you know the results.  I just have to turn my eyes and pretend I do not see what was taking place. But something of my innermost soul creeps up into my throat and I just have to hold back the tears, for my heart aches for the company of my dear sweetheart from home.   Women do not seem to bother me anymore here, for all my thoughts are for the one who is waiting at home.  I just thought I could not be without you, dear.  Well, in a way, I have done without your presence in person, but in love and thought and encouragement I have withstood the great trial, which I want to tell you is great.  I have heard missionaries tell how hard it was to be on a mission, but I’ll bet there is nothing compared to being separated from all your friends and being cast upon a small piece of earth which may be called a camp, not knowing anyone, what you could call your friend.

            Note:  The Y is full of folks waiting for their boys, but no one is waiting for me here.  Now dear, don’t think I’m blue, for Sundays I always get a little downhearted, but it soon passes over.  For how could one be so, and have your religion taken from you in one big swath, as has been done to me.  Should this war cease at present, it would be nearly a half year before we could get back from home. So dear, don’t be like Elna and set your stakes too deep, for you may have to pull them up.  Elna should not look so forward to Harold coming home, for army life changes a great deal.  One minute he may think he is going to get off, and the next moment, something comes up and everything is broken.

            You mentioned going to the motion-picture show at the Strand.  I’m glad you went, for you could see me in action.  As to the Mr. Catherwood, why, I should say I do know him!  For he is in the same company as I am.  I told him about it, as he was sitting on the tool shed which stood in the background.  He is a small fellow and wears glasses. We call him, ‘Lily of the West.’ In turn he says, ‘Good Old Soul.’  He seems to be liked well by all the fellows. He leaves a wife and one child at home.

            I received your sweet loving letter today just before noon. It surely made me feel fine to hear from you dear, for I just have the Spirit to go forth and do my duty with much more interest and pleasure.

            Now I don’t want you to stay home all the time. For if you stay home all the time, I will think you are not enjoying yourself, but just pining away your life for me.  But if you are like me, home is far better than going out, for I can’t enjoy myself without you, dear, also.  But I guess you will do as you please, won’t you, dear? 

            Deloras said you were prohibiting people from bathing in your pond.  Well, if I were there this moment, I would just take a plunge with all my clothes on, for it surely is warm here again today.  I am sitting by the window with my shirt unbuttoned and my handkerchief at my side, wiping my hands and face every five words.

            Well, dear, I must go and find George and find out how he is.  Don’t be worried if no word comes.  May you ever be protected and guided and that we may be able to meet again. Give my love to all.

                                                                        As ever yours,    Henry   X