Brodhead's Tribute to her Men of the Service

1914-1918

Compiled by The Civics Club

©1921 Brodhead, Wisconsin (Cantwell Printing Co., Madison, Wis.)

Extracts from Letters of the Boys With the Colors

(Copied from Newspapers)
From Sergeant Roger Skinner (pp. 125-128)

Roger Skinner has the distinction and honor of being the first young man from Brodhead to reach France.

Atlantic Ocean, Hotel de Roll, September, 1917.
"Dear Family: "You perhaps remember that many times in the past I have talked of a trip abroad. Well, you can believe me when I say
that my idea of comfortable travel is not in a U.S. transport. We sleep in the second hold, about on the water line. The bunks are of canvas, swung between poles, three in a tier. They are really very comfortable. The worst thing about the sleeping is the air; very poor, as you can imagine, with several hundred men and no ventilation, except what comes down the hatch, and is not absorbed in the first hold, where the kitchen and mess hall are. We are apt to have a couple of fire drills during the day, and get ready to leave the ship, every one running for the life preservers. Then in the afternoon, we have our exercise, walking and running around the deck. That helps. We are allowed in the lounging room and saloon for about an hour a day. That seems sort of tough, for there are so many of us and so few of the officers. Also, they have their state-rooms and we hare not even allowed to go to our quarters during the day, except on a special trip. Yesterday morning the convoys sent out to meet us from the other side, came over the horizon. It sure gave us all a thrill. They were destroyers, and they came almost up to us, then turned around and we all kept right on going. No monkey business about it with them. Then the cruisers and destroyers that had brought us this far, whirled around and let out their speed and ploughed through the sea for the U.S.A. Some sight! When you see something like that, it makes you glad that you are even a small cog in the machinery of war."

October 3, 1917. "Am going to write you something more of our trip over this time. The morning we were supposed to sight land, I was
on the port bridge watch. I saw something that looked mighty like a shore line, and was about to call the Bridge to report it, when the whistle blew the signal for Subs. Then happened what to me was a wonderful sight. It seemed that in no time at all the transports had circled out and the destroyers were playing around them like dogs around sheep. The action then started, and believe me, when three inch shells started to whistle around, I began to suspect there was something going on. Sort of like shooting fish, you see something and let her fly, and in some cases the shells were whistling right close. One time our ship was given an awful shock, and the commander turned and shouted 'We're hit; man the boats and stick by your posts.' I had the glasses at the time and of course could not look around. Didn't even have a life belt on then. We were not hit, however - simply the jar and shock from throwing over a bomb. Well, the whole affair kept up for an hour, most of it on the other side of the ship, worse luck, but I saw enough. I would not have missed being on watch that morning for several months pay. I saw several oil whales, one periscope, and one torpedo that missed us by a few feet. So far, I guess from reports, it was, by far, the largest submarine engagement of the war. We are working now from a Base Hospital just outside of Paris, but will probably not be here long."

December 29, 1917. "Well, we are sleeping in a barn again. You need not worry about the T.B. for me now, for when I woke up Christmas
morning, the snow covered my blankets, sifted in through the roof. And it is cold, still zero, and below, and that is cold enough when you are driving two to four hours at a stretch. Hands and feet are the only parts that get cold though. Yesterday I bought a large pair of wooden shoes, with thick oak soles and leather tops, and with two pairs of heavy socks and a pair of felt slippers. I guess they will do the work. Christmas eve about ten of us walked over and had dinner with our friend, the New York chef. It was some dinner. We then stayed on until midnight Christmas Mass and it was fine. They have a beautiful organ, there; about the best in the whole country and the finest I ever heard, except in Salt Lake City. About the time I got to bed, you were at your Christmas tree."

February 7, 1918. "One of the boys the youngest and quietest in the crowd has received the Croix de Guerre. Not much formality about it.
Those of us in camp came up to Quarters and we all lined up and the decoration took place. Just a small crowd of Americans away off by themselves among the French, doing their work the best they can. Every one was mighty pleased he had earned it. He is only 19 or 20 and don't suppose he was ever 150 miles away from his home in Virginia before."

March 23, 1918. "I hope every foot of ground at home is under cultivation. You should see the way they terrace the hill sides in this
country, just so they can be cultivated. If they only used a little modern equipment, along with science, France would be a much richer country. Of course the horses are mostly gone, and you quite often see the last steer and cow yolked together, with a woman leading and an old man holding an antique plow that was no doubt the original property of his grandfather. One thing does surprise you, though, and that is, that nearly ever small village, through here at least, has its electric light plant."

March 4, 1918. "Will tell you of another incident that struck us all very funny. One morning one of the boys was bringing in his load of
blessés (wounded) with one sitting in front with him. The Boches were shelling a bridge we had to run over and a large shell struck and exploded just to one side of the road opposite the car. The Frenchman said prés (pray) meaning close. The boys said, 'pray, h---, I've been praying for the last twenty minutes.' "The trenches are much like those winding galleries you find at summer parks for five cents a try. This weather, there is a
foot or two of water in them, and it is hard enough to walk by yourself, but last Saturday I saw Red Cross men or stretcher- bearers coming along these trenches on hands and knees, carrying the wounded on their backs. I take off my hat to them. They go over the top with the Infantry and work out there in No Man's Land for hours afterward bringing the wounded in."

March 20, 1918. "We went to our dinner we spoke of. This chap that invited us is a French Artillery Sergeant. He speaks very good
English. His father is Mayor of the city; entertains Gen. Petain and many notables. We went over; had tea served by his sister at five o'clock. Then we walked until 6:30 and had dinner at 7. Now for the dinner: soup first, of course; then stead and mushrooms. Good? Yes!! then more steak, etc., then spinach, eggs and potatoes, and a wonderful meat pie and sponge cake with jelly and real whipped cream. Also four different kinds of wines. After dinner, coffee was served in the sitting-room. Then the two daughters played the violin and piano and finally the Mayor himself played the violin and we felt considerably honored. It really was mighty fine for us and greatly enjoyed; not only the food, but the service, the home and real people again."

April 10, 1918. "Yes, I can tell you how many men we have in our Section. Just now I think it is 37. We have twenty ambulances, one
small Ford truck, a one ton Packard, a Ford touring car, a motorcycle and a trailer-kitchen. We have two cooks, two mechanics, twenty regular drivers, three non-commissioned officers and the rest act as substitute drivers and aids and when we go to the front we need every one."

May 10, 1918. "Most of our work is at night and it is a tough job to drive over these terrible roads without lights, pitch dark and with
the munition convoys and trucks going and coming. When anything hits a Ford, it is Goodby, Ford! As for radiators, lights and fenders - well, it is a quiet night, when we do not lose several. It is a strange feeling that one has, going down a shelled road with shells bursting all around, dodging a shell-hole here and a dead horse there, rounding the last corner (where Fritz drops shells regularly) without throwing a tire, and running over spilled hand-grenades. Yes, it is a great feeling to make that last corner, then turn in to the Post de Secour, back your car around and run for the sand-bags. When you get there you light a cigarette and heave a sigh of thankfulness. It is a wonderful sight at night to see a barrage start, before an attack. Everything will be very quiet, so much so that it seems suspicious and then all of a sudden you will see the flashes and hundreds of guns will fire at once. The flashes are like fire flies over a swamp and the roar of the guns like thousands of big drums going at the same time. Then the signals for artillery, which are beautiful! Yes - 'tis a wonderful sight, but the results are not pretty. All the small villages here are deserted and practically demolished. It is a weird feeling, driving through a fair-sized town at night, deserted except for the police on the corners - just the ghostly walls left of the buildings and the church, if it is still standing. I have seen this battle front from one end to the other and the churches in the towns and villages, near the front, have practically, in all cases, been hit. Some have only the walls left standing, while others just have huge holes in the roofs or side walls. Surely, he (Fritz) will pay for this!"

July 13, 1918. "Back in sunny France once more. As we drew near to Paris, the Red Cross generally had hot coffee at the cities where
the train stopped. The morning we pulled into the city where we unloaded, a real American lady came out with hot coffee. She was the first woman, who really spoke our own language, dressed in familiar clothes, without wooden shoes, that we had seen in some eight months! Can you imagine how good she looked to us? "What little news we get is encouraging and we all have great faith in Gen. Foch. It think Fritz has a great big healthy
respect for our boys, for not once has he been able to gain and hold anything against them. When all this is history, I feel sure that our 'Dough-Boy' will range along with the Canadians, Australians and Poilus as fighters of the fighting type."

August 24, 1918. "Well, here I am back at the front again. After my seven days leave am glad to be here. I could have stood another
week there at Chambery, but I feel one hundred per cent better for the few days I did have. It was the first leave in nearly twelve months at the front. The mountains and the lakes were beautiful and such a relief from the country where we are now. Reminded me a great deal of California, except that the mountain sides are all cultivated. The thing that surprised me most, though, was the behavior of the boys up there. I did not see a case of drunkenness all the time I was there. The girls who worked there said it was always the same. Guess just the sight of the American girls around was enough to make them keep their self-respect. Gen Foch is certainly keeping the Boche on the move now and he is showing the German High Command up. Do you realize what a wonderful piece of work it was, to stop the last Boche offensive in two days and then start the counter drive?"

October 12, 1918. "We are following up the big push and just now are having a difficult time keeping up with Fritz. Ours is the only section
of this army, which has followed up with the troops. Have been in for sixteen days now and are fed up with it but will surely last it out. It has been a great experience, but it has also been a taste of hell, - following up an advancing army, with terrible weather, sleeping any time and any place. But the beginning of the end is surely at hand."

November 12, 1918. "Alore mes petits enfants, la guerre est fini, n' est ce pas? That is what we have been saying for the last two days - the
war is over. Of course this is only an Armistice, but with the conditions imposed, Germany is all through, down and out, and a second rate power. Her War Lord (?) in flight, the Crown Prince in tears and the country in a revolution. How is that for a change accomplished within four months time. You can imagine how happy and pleased we are but the thing has come so gradually for us and we have felt so sure that the end was not far off, it was not so great a surprise to us as it was to you all. Also I imagine that you, the ones back home, are the ones most relieved. We have been on our way down from the lines, now located in a small village near Chalan. Three of us have a very delightful room with a fire place. The old lady who owns the house brings us hot chocolate and toast while in bed in the morning. She woke us up early yesterday to give us the news. Later I went to Chalan. Every face had a smile and every where were French, American and British flags. If it means a great deal to us, what it must mean to the French. I might say in connection with the house where I am staying, that Newton Baker ate here while in France. We had expected to go on yesterday, but of course everything is changed now. We will probably be a part of the Army of Occupation. The rumor is now that we are going to Alsace. As long as we don't come home has just as soon go there as anywhere. It was just a year ago tomorrow that we arrived on the front there and believe me we have had one busy year. A year that I would not care to live over again, but a year that I would not change for any other year of my life."
ROGER SKINNER.

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