Oh God! when will this turmoil subside?

November days in northern France can be gray and dreary. They are short and often filled with rain. The last gold and bronze autumn leaves cling to the trees and the smell of wood fires wafts from chimneys.

Thursday, November 15, 1917:

American efficiency is still in question. We have been here two weeks and a half now and have done nothing but slave’s work. Everything from picking up wee pieces of paper in the yard to building sidewalks and roads in rain and mud--and such

affectionate mud you never saw. I have taken my turn at everything except K.P. and sanitary detail. The hours of work now, since the early darkness has forced it, are from 7 A.M. to 11:30 and from 1 P.M. to 4:30 after which we stand retreat. The spare moments are few, many of which are taken up by waiting in food line. No lights have been issued and no pay has showed up so unless one is fortunate in having sufficient money to buy candles and matches his evenings are spent in sitting around a fire in idle talk. Some army!

During the interval since I last wrote in this book, a school for sergeants has been opened here at Sandricourt and all of the American Field Service sections who signed over 50% of their men into the new service are permitted to send one man each into this school to return to their sections in two weeks as a full fledged 1st Sergeant. The place seems flooded with these youngsters who strut around all day in fine clothes, attending a few classes during each day and spending the remainder of the time in watching us work and offering suggestions in an official tone of voice. You may be sure they are none too popular with us low privates. On the other hand, few of us envy them their positions in any way, but a financial way. They draw about twice as much pay as we do, but their work in a section is purely clerical.

I am broke flat. I arrived here two weeks and a half ago with 15 centimes in my pocket. I sit here now with the same 15 centimes in my pocket. No one knows why the pay master does not show up and no one knows why my money doesn’t come from the States.

There are some redeeming features about this life, however. We are all getting in fine physical condition. Our mental improvement is questionable, but I think the YMCA will do their share in this respect as well as on the spiritual side. Our G.M. is selling cigarettes, gum, canned jams, matches, pipe tobacco, some canned fruits, catsup etc. all of which we buy at cost price and cheaper than they pay in the States even. The camp food is improving every day in the hands of regular U.S. Army cooks and we have no kick on that score.

Yesterday I received: 3 letters from Dot, two from mother, 1 from Mrs. Houghton, 1 from Lillian Hutchinson, 1 from Tib, 1 from Bill Sistare and one from Alice Robbins. I sneaked off from my detail, which consisted of greasing and starting Fords, and read the letters. It was by far the best day I have put in out here at Sandricourt. I have done nothing but smile at the world ever since. There must be more mail for me somewhere. I ought to have several packages. Oh yes! I got one beautiful box of candy from Bernice Morrow yesterday which I took with me on guard last night and fed to my fellow sufferers. It was wonderfully nice fudge and so fresh. I was somewhat surprised to receive this from her.

Dot’s letters affected me in the same way as usual. They made me hate myself for ever leaving her and recreated that deepest of all deep longings to be back and away from this thing. She had just received my letter telling of the new order of things and asking her what she would have me do, enlist or return and run my chance of being drafted and sent back here again. The dear child said to stay until I could return to her

for good and for all. Yes, I shed tears, of course! How could I help it? Oh God! when will this turmoil subside? Of course, our case is only one in a million, but it always seems worse and harder to bear when you are part of it. Is our suffering keener than that of other people? Is it only suffering in payment for past sins or is it God’s plan for the eventual betterment of the whole? If the latter be the case, what is my duty when the thing has ended? Well, as far as I’m personally concerned I have become enough of a fatalist to believe that if we go plodding on in the present, meeting each new situation as the combination of our best judgment and conscience dictates, whatever guiding power there is in this life will make clear our future duty if we judge it in the same way. If God is conducting this war for the benefit of the world He will save those whom He wants to help Him. If I am not among those spared then I must take the blame onto my own shoulders. I have acted as far from the dictations of my best judgment and conscience. I have tried to do my duty as I saw it. I did not re-enlist because I wanted to by any means, but because I felt it my duty to do so.