Love Letters

Love Letters
136 letters from 1918, WWI

Monday, July 27, 2015

March 12, 1919



                                                                                                         March 12, 1919
                                                                                                                                                                    
                                                                                                      Mauvages, France
To the One I Love,

         Do I hear you say, “Something must be wrong?”  No, dear, I’m the same dear sweetheart writing to the one I hold so dearly to my heart.  Tonight being Wednesday and no amusement, I thought of you, dear, back there with the sparkling eyes.  My mind has traveled back there many times since our last Friday.  You know why, dear?  It’s because you stand so close to me and yet I can’t touch you.  But it makes me feel better just to be allowed to go back to you in my mind.     Oh what a cold world this would be if imagination were to be taken from us.

            This week so far has been one of joy.  For we have had a few hours of sunshine.  The mud is beginning to dry, the trees beginning to bud, and a few of the spring flowers are in bloom.  Really, dear, things look like spring.  I’m afraid I’ll get the spring fever myself.  If I don’t, it will be a new thing.  We are just finishing up with the last barrack.  When we get that done, I think we will go back to the company for there is something waiting for us there. No, not letters, but inoculations again. I surely dread them, but I think I can stand it, if others can.  I hope it is the last one. 

         I haven’t received any more mail since last Friday, but we are looking for some any day now.  Now don’t laugh, for I’m going to tell you something.  Last night I went to the YMCA.  I went to the counter.  To my surprise, they had some real American gum.  I asked them how much for 6 packages (1 franc).  Did I buy a franc’s worth?  I say, I did.  Now, don’t think I won’t appreciate that which you send, for I do. So the results are, I am chewing all the time now.  I am going to save some for George.

            Well dear, everything is going fine.  Even to the number they are sending home.  For they are increasing every day.  I see by the paper tonight that the “Peace Terms” will be ready to submit to Germany by March 20th.  Well, the sooner Germany hears her fate, the better.   For the sooner peace is signed, the sooner we will get home.  We hear rumors every day as what we’re going to do.  You asked if we were in the army of occupation.  Not at present, no.  But I surely wish we were, for I would like very much to see some more of Germany. Now dear, don’t think I don’t wish to get home, for you know how I feel, but this is my idea if we have to stay here.  I would rather be somewhere else than here, although we are being treated as well as we can expect.  But what I want is to see things that will be of value to me in the future.  I would like to be studying French history.  But I am away from the school they have at the company.  So I’m being left out.

            You have often asked me to tell about conditions.  There are a few things I have mentioned before, but there are things going on near me every day which almost makes my blood run cold to hear them.  Profanity is so common among the fellows that I have come to the conclusion that they really don’t know what they are saying.  I hear a man use the name of God repeated several different times in succession to the top of his voice. If you should say something to him he would only laugh and sneer back at you, like he was the only living man around. He is the kind of man that can’t recognize things which are better and uplifting to mankind.

            I often have talks with the men on morality.  There are some that side in with me and others, but there are others who uphold their lifestyle.  They continually say they can’t have a good time unless they are drunk and at the houses of sin.  Their idea of man’s creation is limited.  They seem to have no love for their parents and that dear sweetheart girl that they claim that they have back home. The only excuse they give is, well, I told her to go and have a great time, too.  If they are not doing it, it’s their fault.  They don’t believe that there are true, pure, clean women living.  I told them they either avert their eyes or don’t know what they are talking about.  For I have one at home, and that is not all.  There are hundreds of them.

            Going back to the subject, after the fellows have been out on one of their wild tares, they come back and tell of their experiences.  After they have had their pleasures, as they call it, they begin to run down those women, as if they happened to be disappointed a little.  In most cases, they are.  Why should they talk about her as if they do, for they don’t stop to think that they have been just as low as she has?  But she, only, is held as a past time.  If such persons who indulge in such immoral past times would only keep it to themselves, it would not be so bad for those who are trying to live a clean, pure life.

            At present, I am sleeping with a Catholic.  He appears to me to be a very nice fellow; good, pure, clean ideas of life.  He was a married man who lost his wife and baby.  When the men come telling their funny tales, as they think they are, it makes him speak up to them.  He is one of few words, but straight at the point.  They try to tell him things, which he knows to be untrue.  Well, by coming in contact which such things it proves to me the real value of the true teachings I received from my dear parents, which I thank God for.  The blessing I ask of him is that he will give me faith, courage, and strength for the trials and temptations that are continually being placed before me.  I have my weaknesses, I know.  I should be more like the Bible says, “Let him who be without sin cast the first stone.” 

            I am trying to be, as my dear mother said before I came away, “Though you may never say a word in regards to the gospel, let your actions have the true worth of your teachings.”

            Well darling, it is getting late, and the night goes so quickly, I must say goodnight.  May God grant to us life, love, and protection through life and love.  I sent this letter from the bottom of my heart, to the one I hold so dearly in my heart.  May He hasten the day of our glorious meeting when we shall be united, and we will have life, love, and be happy through coming years.

                                                               Yours eternally, Henry X O X O X

                                                               Corp. H.D. Call, Co. A.  #313

                                                               American Expeditiary Forces in France, APO 795

P.S.  Give my love to all.  By the time you get this, spring will be there.  I am going to send a little poem made at random. I wrote this one day when it was raining.  It has not much to it, but, it kind of gives the idea of our past, present and future times.  You may add the last two or three verses if you like.                                                                                                                   

                                                                         With love, Henry.  Good night, dear.

    
 “My Sweetheart” Mar. 3, 1919
Time was when we were young and free
We did not value each other’s love
But Time has changed that, you see
So why were we like wooing doves
Time was when we were longing for
Longing for each other’s company
But time has changed that
Then I was always before thee
Time was when we were happy together
Casting sunshine upon each’s soul
But time has changed that for no other
Than to prove ourselves in fact
Time was when we were gloomy and dark
Longing for each other’s tender caresses
But time is changing that like sunshine for a lark
For the time is near for spring and daisies
Time will be when we are knowing
Of those stored away kisses
Then time will be forgotten unknowing
                 Those lost evenings of NO joys.                    
                                                                    Corp. H. D. Call

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