Got a dandy letter from Dad and a peach from Dot.

Dorothy Houghton, Grant's future wife, grew up in shabby-genteel surroundings in Ambler, Pennsylvania. While Grant was serving in France, Dorothy traveled to Minnesota to spend a holiday with her future in-laws. A motor trip of the state ensued.

Friday, August 31, 1917:

Feeling fine today. Cold is much better and am very much rested. The weather has been too poor for avions so we have slept in peace. Loafed most of the day. Played horse-shoe, bridge and cleaned up my duffle-bags. Got a dandy letter from Dad and a peach from Dot. Dad likes Dot, Mother wept when she left Mankato, Johnny has almost taken her away from me, Sis has always stuck up for her and Harold has expressed no opinion whatever. Why shouldn’t I be the happiest mortal on earth. I believe I could be if this damnable war hadn’t smashed all my plans. And even now I’m as helpless about the future as I every was. Dad made the statement that my letters to Dot were so “matter of fact” that he hardly believed that I could have passed through the violent love affair that he and Mother had. Ha Ha! How little he knows about this affair. Conditions have been so entirely different in this particular case that I’m afraid no one will ever understand why it was necessary for me to take the course I have taken. If they can’t see it I’m sure they will never know because it can’t be explained. Maybe I’m wrong, but I’m as sure of myself now as ever though I yearn to get back to America now as I feel it is high time for further development.

Mr. Norton brought Major Murphy of the American Red Cross service out to talk to us tonight. He didn’t make much of a hit with the fellows. In brief his speech was very general and vague in every detail. He didn’t know how long it would be before we would be taken over, but that we would continue to work for the French Government temporarily and he urged that those of us who could would sign up for the remainder of the war. The nature of the changes to be made by the American Government when the work was taken over he was unable to say anything. He didn’t even know how long it would be before the new system would be working. He told us nothing we didn’t already know. A recruiting officer will be around in a day or two to check up on the men who want to leave. Section 61 is about to pass out of existence--of that I feel certain. Every man wants to get out of this place as fast as he can.

Miss Mullen sent Sharp and I each a cake today which we ate together with the rest of tent #2 tonight.

The air is sickening with the stench of dead...

Wednesday, August 29, 1917:

Went on front duty this A.M. at 7 o’clock. Am now at La Source waiting for blessés (1 P.M.). The brancardiers have a fine time with Johnny out here. They call him “Baby” and ask him about his wife and children back in New York. They call me the “Black man” (because of my beard, I guess). Eddie Berry they call the “whiskey man” and Townsend of Sec. I the “rum man.” They like to have us out here and do all they can to make us comfortable. They feed us well and treat us well. The Boche, however, do all they can to make things uncomfortable. They started shelling the place about 5 P.M. today and kept it up until well into the morning, except for about two hours from 8 to 10 P.M. These two hours they were too busy keeping under shelter from the French barrage fire which was terrific while it lasted. I asked the corporal if it would be possible for us to mount the hill back of the poste and watch the fire. He gladly put on his helmet and led the way. It was truly a wonderful sight. The moon was shining brightly, almost full. We could see Ft. Vaux which is nothing more than a slight mound of earth, about 200 yards from where we stood almost as clearly as if it were day. Looking off toward the German lines, which are about 2 kilometers at this point, the French barrage fire in the foreground blinded our view and prevented our seeing further. It was one continuous roar of 75’s and quick succession of flashes as these little “terrors” send their “best regards” to the Boche. The ground on which we stood was once Boche territory and severe fighting had taken place there when they were forced to evacuate. It is now part of that district called “no man’s land.” No human being can stand on this ground in the daytime and expect to return alive. The air is sickening with the stench of dead and Boche helmets can be seen among the French with heads still in them. The ground is dotted with shell holes and there is not a tree in sight. Do you wonder I had a terrible dream later?

Tried to sleep, as usual, in stretcher under the man with consumption. Spent a restless night though I did manage to catch a wink now and then. I dreamed of war, of course, and my family was horribly involved. I can’t recall the details, but it was horrible and I was the bloodthirsty, heartless villan. Of course I don’t blame the brancardier for having consumption; any one living in a hole like that for any length of time would indeed be fortunate if he escaped it. But it did seem too bad that he had to keep everybody else in misery. Such is war!

I can’t even write in this book what I have been through...

In late August 1917 the U.S. Army announced that it would take over all the volunteer ambulance corps then operating in France, including the American Field Service and Norton-Harjes. The leaders of the purely volunteer ambulance services did not agree with this militarization and resigned en masse. For the individual drivers--like Grant Willard--the coming days were full of soul-searching and difficult choices: to join the U.S. Army and continue driving ambulances in France, or to quit, return to America and possibly be drafted to fight.

Sunday, August 26, 1917:

I was just going to bed when the Chief came in and wanted to know if we would take him down to Verdun where he was to meet Mr. Kemp. It was raining fiercely, but dear little Fifi behaved wonderfully. It was too dark to see any of the city. I could only see that it was very heavily fortified and Mr. Bullard said that it was considered the most heavily fortified city in the world, but not very practical for modern warfare.

We went into a barracks which consisted of a long 700 ft. concrete underground hall way with like tubes branching off at intervals on either side. It gave one a feeling of safety just to enter the place. Many thousands of troops are quartered here. No wonder Germany had Verdun for one of its chief objectives.

After about ¾ of an hour wait the Chief returned with the following information in brief: The American Government is making arrangements for taking over all American Red Cross in France. They sent over a commission to look over the work and make the arrangements. They wanted to militarize the whole system making Mr. Norton a Major, Mr. Kemp a Captain and the head of the American Ambulance Corps a Captain. The result was that our whole Paris office including Mr. Norton & Kemp & Havemeyer resigned, refusing to put their work on a military basis. They agreed to stay until the American Government was ready to take over to work, but they are through from then on. They advised us to sit quiet and await developments, but not to rush headlong in any direction until we were sure which way we were going. There are many other details in the preliminary arrangements which makes it almost certain that Section 61 will continue its work under present management for the duration of their 6 months, but at the end of that time the section to a man will return to America and run a chance of being drafted.

Personally I will not hesitate a moment about returning even though I felt that I could better myself by staying over here because I owe it to Dorothy and my family, who have seemed to be consistently opposed to my coming over here from the start, to do so. If I am drafted and have to return to France shortly to be put into the trenches in much more dangerous work I feel that I will not be to blame. I have done what I conscientiously feel is the best for all concerned and still feel the same way. Oh, if they only understood as much as I do, having seen and experienced what I have over here, -- but they probably never will. I can’t even write in this book what I have been through and what this has meant to me to say nothing of telling all when I return. Maybe when thousands return with similar and even worse stories of modern warfare than I could or would tell -- then maybe they will open their eyes. America can’t understand as these people do until they have suffered some themselves and the probably never will understand it to the degree that France does. The fact remains that no Ambulance section in this present war has been through the severity we have. The Verdun sector is a sector that many sections have absolutely refused to make. In addition to the ever-present risk and danger the French have launched to big attacks, probably the biggest ever launched, right in our sector and the adjoining one.

That God has been with us constantly is a fact which every man in the section realizes fully and does not hesitate to admit openly. We have escaped so far with no loss of life. Three men wounded has been the entire toll so far. Every man in the section has had at least one close shave and probably many more of which he was not conscious. The attacks are now completed, all objectives forced, many prisoners taken. We have been here almost three weeks and are now about due for a rest which we expect in a week or two. The men have worked hard and gloriously. We are all thin and our nerves are more or less shattered from little sleep and constant watchfulness. Many a night’s sleep has been spoiled by visiting Boche aviators or shell fire. The section has received one citation for its good work and two of its members will receive his in a couple of days for noble and fearless work.

On the ground outside were many beautiful specimens of all kinds of German shells.

Having passed the night in a shelter under shell fire, Grant Willard spent the afternoon developing many of the photos you're seeing in this blog. He'd bought a Kodak kit in Paris and developed the photos in camp.

Saturday, August 25, 1917:

Arose at 6 A.M. The Corporal gave us coffee with rum in it for breakfast and then felt insulted because we wouldn’t drink raw rum with him. On the ground outside were many beautiful specimens of all kinds of German shells. Éclat of various kinds from the size of a pea to the size of a man’s head and several sizes of shrapnel were lying all over the ground, inside and on top of our car, but the only scratch on the car itself was a slight dent in the fender. I gave most of the specimens to Johnny as he is making quite a sizable collection of junk. By 8 o’clock we were on our way hence with one blessé. Twenty four hours and one blessé.

Worked on the car until noon. Developed pictures with my new outfit from Paris all afternoon. Got fairly good results, but hope for even better next time. I think can save the boys considerable money with just as good satisfaction to them and possibly make a little money myself with my own equipment. The trial outfit cost me 27.30 FRF ($5.46)

Went to bed soon after dinner, but had to get up soon and run for an abri because Boche planes were bombing the district. Found a cot in the abri and passed a fairly comfortable night.

Shells and shrapnel were coming in almost all night and I didn’t sleep very well.

The photographs that Grant Willard took of "no man's land" during his days at Verdun are really the most gruesome in the collection. 


Friday, August 24, 1917:

Went on duty this A.M. at 7:15. Came right out here to La Source to relieve Fritz Wheeler and Geo. Taylor who had been here all night and yesterday. We walked up on the hill and got a look at the German front. It is very gruesome up there with dead bodies lying around. We took some pictures though the light is rather poor and came back with souvenirs.

An American Ambulance man, Townsend, came out to relieve their other man. About 3 P.M. we were sitting in the doorway of the abri watching Boche shells trying to find a nearby battery of 105’s when suddenly a tremendous explosion blew us backward into the abri with sand and dirt all over us. We had heard no whine indicating a nearby explosion so were naturally much surprised. Every one was unhurt and look so funny that I couldn’t help laughing long and loud. It made the Frenchmen pretty mad. Townsend and I then went up to see where the shell had hit and to ascertain whether or not the road was passable. About 250 yards up the road we discovered the cause of our disturbance. A Boche shell had hit a pile of powder “Deweys” right beside the road which had in turn ignited a similar pile directly across the road. The result was two 15 ft. deep holes where the road used to be and no possible way of getting around the place. We were marooned at La Source until they could get the holes filled which would be until after the Boche had quit shelling the valley.

The Frenchmen don’t enjoy working under shell fire very well and I don’t know that I blame them. Two men had been burned alive in a near by abri as a result of the explosion and a big 105 camion was turned completely over. No wonder we felt it down in our abri. Later when some blessés came in to La Source we had to telephone for another car from Citerne to come out as far as the hole and then carry the blessés up that far. By 5 P.M. the Boche ceased firing and by 6:30 the road was sufficiently fixed for the Ford to get through. Johnny and I spent the night at La Source. Shells and shrapnel were coming in almost all night and I didn’t sleep very well. To add to discomfort the Frenchman sleeping on the stretcher above mine had a consumptive cough and kept spitting down the wall within 4 inches of my nose. Oh, war is hell!

I’ll be glad when we get out of this hole.

On August 17, Grant's comrade, George Reed, lost two fingers on his left hand by a burst of éclat--the French word for shrapnel. He received the Croix de Guerre for his injury but had to leave the ambulance corps.

Wednesday, August 22, 1917:

Geo. Reed was presented with Croix de Guerre this P.M. All fellows who were in camp at the time lined up and Lieut. Morin made the presentation and a pretty good one. Geo. has been very plucky indeed and every one in the section was very glad to see him get the honor. I hope my pictures of the event come out alright.

At 5:30 P.M. three of us were called out to take German blessés down to Souilly. Johnnie and I were first out with 5 couchés, one an officer shot through the abdomen who could speak very good English. We got to Souilly about 7 P.M. I had a chance there to talk to them. The officer told me that he had been through several attacks, but never had he seen anything to equal this last French attack. Their artillery fire for three days before the attack was so severe that they were cut off from provisions and had not eaten for three days. His men wouldn’t fight so they surrendered. The higher German officers had told them that the French were starving to death and couldn’t pull off a successful attack. They were very much surprised. 

I asked him if he was glad to be a prisoner and after some hesitation he said hurriedly, “No! Oh no! I can’t say that. I am an officer,” and murmured something about his “Vaterland” which I couldn’t catch. I asked him if there was any chance of his being traded back to Germany with French prisoners and he said, “No, not unless I am too badly wounded to fight anymore.”

We took dinner with Section 63 doing rear evacuation work out of Souilly. They have very fine quarters and a good cook, but want to go to the front. After looking at Jake’s car which was pretty badly shot up the other night some of them changed their minds.

On our way back we ran into Boche planes which were watching for traffic on the roads. One cut loose at us with a machine gun, but didn’t touch us. They fly very low at night and sail around with their motors off listening for traffic. An arsenal was bombed up near our camp. We were pretty well scared. After the arsenal got started shells were exploding right and left. We found the camp in abris, but another load was waiting for us and we drove right back to Dugny. We were machine-gunned again, but untouched. They were bombing right and left. The Dugny road ruined just after we came in and since then many cases have come in from that district as I sit here in the hospital writing. I have spent 2 hours of this night in an abri. Carrière Sud is a summer resort compared with this place tonight. Gosh! I’ll be glad when we get out of this hole.

The guns kept up an incessant roar so that it was almost impossible to make yourself heard.

In addition to the amazing diary that Grant Willard kept during WWI, he took photos. The images he captured at Verdun in August 1917 really illustrate the severity of destruction caused by the steady shelling. 

Monday, August 20, 1917:

Reported at Citerne about 6:30 this A.M. Practically every car in both sections is out on the job. This morning at 5 A.M. the biggest offensive in the history of the war started in dead earnest. The French and English are pulling together. The guns kept up an incessant roar so that it was almost impossible to make yourself heard. We found that the road had been blown out of existence during the night, that 3 of our cars and 2 Fords had been caught out there all night. The lieutenant of Section I jumped into a Ford with the order "Carrière Sud or demolished in the attempt."

A half hour later a Ford came in from Carrière Sud with a load of 3 couchés with whom he had spent the night near the shell hole on the road. He reported things to be in terrible condition--wagons, artillery, dead horses and men blocking all traffic until the lieutenant arrived and scared up enough Frenchmen to clear the road and shoot suffering horses, etc. The road had been temporarily repaired though German shells were still dropping in the valley. Soon one of our cars followed. They had also lain in a shell hole all night but reported our 3 cars safe as well as the men.

Then came a call for 3 more Fiats at Carrière Sud. Johnnie and I led the procession with our Chief. The road was certainly a mess, but we got through untouched, the closest shell breaking not closer than 150 yards away. We found Carrière Sud still on the map, but full of wounded. Soon there must have been a dozen cars there. Among the wounded were many Germans and many unwounded prisoners. The attack was progressing very well for the French and our 42nd Division had again pushed through all of their objectives and were ready to go on. After picking up several souvenirs in the way of Boche buttons, fatigue caps, helmets, etc. we loaded up our car and made a safe return trip. The Boche seemed to be searching for batteries all around us, but came uncomfortably close to our road. On the way in we passed many hundreds of German prisoners marching down the road. It gave great joy to the hearts of these tired Frenchmen. It is the first big offensive and actual gain they have made in this sector since the successful German repulsion at Verdun.

The car was a pool of blood.

In what is one of his most harrowing diary entries, Grant Willard describes his first exposure to chemical warfare and losing one of his charges.

Sunday, August 19, 1917:

Beautiful morning. No calls came in during the night. Johnnie and I went on duty about noon. We made one trip to La Source, 2 to Sainte-Fine and got no more calls until 2 A.M. Monday when we went to Berjes on a call for 5 bad couchés. It was a terrible trip. The road was jammed and it was close to 4 A.M. before we were able to get a passage. The location of Berjes is such that it is frequently heavy with German gas. Tonight they were sending gas shell after shell into the valley. The air was very still and heavy so that the gas did not rise as high as the [poste de secours]. We felt the effect of the gas on our eyes, nose and throat and watched the Frenchmen closely to know when to put our masks on. We didn’t need them all night though what little we got made us sleepy and tired. We waited at the poste about half an hour during which time we must have heard 100 gas shells explode in the valley below not more than 100 yards away.

We finally got our load of 5 couchés (very bad cases) and started on our return journey. By 5 o’clock we had reached the Citerne and by 6 o’clock Bévaux. The worst case had died on our hands. It was a depressing feeling to think that a man had suffered and bled to death in your car. He had one leg shot entirely away, the other leg badly crushed up to the knee and a bullet wound through the head. During the ride he had threshed around in semi-consciousness until he had broken the bandages on his left crushed leg and had bled to death. The car was a pool of blood. I am glad he didn’t live, however, because he was suffering terribly and would probably have had both legs removed at the thigh had he lived.

It’s so useless, hopeless and destructive.

On this date 100 years ago Grant sat down to write a letter home after his first taste of war. He was in a state of shock from what he'd experienced.


Friday – Aug. 17, 1917

Dear Family:-

Have been sitting at this table for the last 15 minutes trying to collect my thoughts sufficiently to assemble them into some sort of an epistle which I feel is due you. The thought which continually comes to mind and refuses to evacuate is the significance and true meaning of the war, or rather the phrase “modern warfare” and the hopelessness and uselessness of this present war in which we 40 men are trying to play our infinitesimal part. Having just come off a 48 hour shift up near the front I am chock full of it and I don’t know that my brain has been sufficiently cleared by the three hours sleep I have just received to relate it in anywhere near accurate sequence to you. However, I shall attempt to do so in brief. I shall fulfill your request in telling you a bit more about our work over here. Please don’t blame me if the censors see fit to remove part of it.

The French military departments are about as follows: Army, Army Corps, Brigade, Division, Regiment and Companies. A Regiment over here is made up of anywhere from 1000 to 3000 men. A Division comprises anywhere from 2 to 7 Regiments depending upon the sector served by said Division. Each Division has anywhere from 1 to 3 or 4 Ambulance sections serving it. All of these sections were formerly French sections but have been gradually replaced by either the American Red Cross or American Field Service. The French sections have not been entirely replaced by any means but to a considerable extent.

With this as a foundation then let me tell you more of Section 61’s situation. We are serving with Division [CENSORED]which is at present in a rather hot sector and therefore considerably swelled in numbers and therefore we are serving with Sect. 1 of the American Field Service who have been operating in this district for some time.

We are responsible for about 10 posts called “Postes de Secours” to which the wounded are brought by French “brancardiers”. The roads to these various posts centralize at a cave called Citerne Marceau. All of these roads are partly exposed to the Boche sausage balloons in the day time so our work as well as that of the supply trains and artillery caissons is done under cover of night in pitch blackness over roads made very rough by heavy traffic and occasional shelling by enemy guns. Four cars are kept at the Citerne continually and the remainder are kept back here at our base ready for instant call when the other four are busy. We are supposed to work on 24 hour shifts but we have been rather unfortunate with cars of late and have been called upon to use every available car for the last two nights. My car happens to be in perfect running condition which fact keeps me on the job a good share of the time. The work has been very hard for the last two nights.

The wounded are classified under two heads – couchés and assis. A couché is a badly wounded man who has to be carried on a stretcher. An assis is a sitting case. Our cars carry either 10 assis or 5 couchés or a combination of the two. Every incoming load stops at the Citerne for inspection and any work which requires immediate attention is done there by a very good French medical corps. From there the wounded are carried by us to this hospital where the worst cases are taken. The rest are taken by a French section of Fiats to hospitals in the vicinity so that the place may be kept as clear as possible. The other night and night before last the work here was too heavy for the French Fiat sections and I was called out at 3 P.M. that day to help evacuate. We were busy until 1 P.M. yesterday. We carried during that time 35 cases in six trips. You can perhaps judge from this something of the difficulty of night work on heavy roads with no light. Some of the cases were very bad gas cases.

I went to bed upon my return and was aroused at 4 P.M. by the good news that Mr. Norton was in camp and had brought some mail with him. The mail proved to be one registered package for some one else. At 5 P.M. yesterday the chief asked me if I would take himself and Mr. Norton up to one of our posts. Of course I did. The road was being shelled by the Boche and we had to take refuge in an abri (which is an underground cave found everywhere along the roads) where we remained from about 10 P.M. to 4 this morning. After the shelling ceased the road became jammed with wagons and trucks and being very slippery after a heavy rain we found it necessary to wait until almost daylight before the road became sufficiently cleared to run on. We found our car untouched and made a rapid trip home. This place never looked so good before. During our 6 hours in that hole in the ground Mr. Norton told us many funny experiences and kept us in good humor all the time. He’s a great man and I’m sure every fellow here is mighty proud to be working under such a man. Such experiences as these ought to make men out of us all. While one can’t avoid a decided hate for the enemy he learns patience, calmness, ability to think rapidly in emergencies and he incidentally becomes very fleet of foot. In addition to this he becomes a decided pacifist and loathes the person or persons who instigate such murderous slaughter. It’s so useless, hopeless and destructive. There is no gain there from which cannot be obtained without the sacrifice of human lives and the sacrifice of every thing the human mind has spent all these years in developing. The other night I had a town pointed out to me and was told that we were then passing through the main street. Gun flashes revealed the fact that not a single stone of that town was still whole. It was an absolutely flat mass of broken stone without a single building or tree left standing. It’s criminal: and the responsible party deserves to be punished accordingly. I have had my fill and will be glad to return to America but it will be to a New America. I’m sure Americans have no idea what hell is and will not until our boys get busy and their stories told back home.

But take heart, dearest family, and tell mother not to worry. By the time you receive this letter we will be off this sector and in repos somewhere far from this hell hole and December will find me on my way home to you.

Now I must go and get my blankets in before the dew falls.

Use your own judgment Dad in showing this letter to mother.

Much love,

Grant.

Convois Automobiles,

Section Américaine, S.S.U. 61,

Bureau Central Militaire,

Paris, France.

Mr. Norton’s a brick.

Richard Norton (1872-1918) was an archaeologist and amateur baroque-art scholar. The son of Charles Eliot Norton (Harvard art historian), he graduated from Harvard College in 1892. At the outbreak of WWI he organized the American Volunteer Motor Ambulance Corps, known also as "Norton's Corps." It later merged with the H.H. Harjes ambulance unit of the French army, which, in turn, was absorbed by the U.S. Army in the fall of 1917. Norton died of meningitis in Paris in 1918.

Thursday, August 16, 1917:

Was awakened at 4:30 P.M. with the news that [Richard] Norton was in camp. The Chief asked me if I would take Mr. Norton, Mr. Langelier and himself up to [the aid station at] Carrière Sud. At 8:30 we started. It was too late for an easy run. The roads were jammed with artillery and ammunition trains.

About half way between Chambouillet and Carrière Sud we suddenly came on to one of our cars in the dark. It was backed in against the hill with the front end blocking traffic. A wagon driver was trying to pass, cursing like a good fellow. Just then a shell dropped near us and warned us that we were in a dangerous place. We thought at first something had happened to the boys on the stalled car, but they were nowhere in sight and their motor ran when I cranked it up to move it out of the way. We found a wide place in the road and drove both cars out of the danger of passing traffic. Then we dug for an abri [shelter]. On reaching an abri we found the other boys safe, but somewhat frightened. We there also 2 bad couchés which we couldn’t account for until a Frenchman came in with the news that one of our cars was stalled up the road about 100 yards coming with 5 couchés coming from Carrière Sud and that these were two which they had brought into our abri for safety. Chief and Matt walked up the road and soon came back with Wilson Clarke and Shorty Prior who had run their car into a shell hole in the middle of the road and broken the front X all to pieces. They had moved the car out of the way.

To go on in that shell fire was out of the question. To go back against that traffic was impossible so we prepared to stay until just before daybreak when traffic ceases until dark again. We had nothing to do but put boards across the 3 ft. space in the abri over the couchés and smoke and talk. Mr. Norton’s a brick. He told us many interesting things among which was the fact that the French attack was being held up a couple of days in order to coöperate with the English on their big offensive in Belgium, that this was to be the biggest attack ever launched in the history of the world and that he didn’t see how the war could possibly continue through the coming winter. Incidentally he said we oughtn’t to have Carrière Sud on our list at all because of the danger and delay--that our cars ought to be working instead of laying up for repair.

Well, we smoked up five or six packages of cigarettes until 3:30 finally came. Suddenly in walked Bart and Jake on their way to Carrière Sud. We got all five couchés out and started to load them in to Matt’s car to go back to Citerne. We were loading № 4 when a shell landed near us. When we turned around to load the 5th couché we found nothing but stretcher. Thinking that he had rolled into the ditch for safety we crawled on our hands and knees in mud four inches deep searching every shell hole all in vain. Jake and I ran up to the abri and asked them if they knew anything about him. They furnished us the interesting fact that last couchés had run into the abri about 5 min. before and said he was going over to La Source. Matt & Rap returned. Bart, Sparks, Chief and myself went on to Carrière Sud. We found the road pretty well chopped up but passable. We loaded up and returned by light of a beautiful sunrise, reaching Beaulieu about 6 A.M. very tired but happy that the night had passed with all of Section 61 present and accounted for. №1 was badly damaged but not irreparable. ‘Twas indeed a warm welcome for Mr. Norton.

The Germans are using a new gas called "tear gas" which is hardly noticeable until it has complete hold on you.

With only a few days' notice Grant Willard was thrown into his ambulance work. Working under cover of night he and his aide, Johnny Taylor, evacuated wounded soldiers from aid posts and hospitals to areas in the rear. In his diary he refers to sitting patients as assis and those lying on stretchers as couchés, from the French.

Wednesday, August 15, 1917:

Johnny and I went on duty evacuating from Bevaux to various hospitals in this district at 3 P.M. today. This hospital does not keep cases which they can safely move on to other hospitals. The wounded are brought from the field posts by American Ambulance Section 1 and ourselves, and are left at this Bevaux base. From there they have formerly been evacuated by a French section of Fiat cars, but since the attack has started there have been too many cases for them to handle. We have offered four of our cars to help them out. So Johnnie and I were put on for our 24 hour shift. We carried our first load of two couchés and 4 assis to the Vadelaincourt hospital which is about 30-35 kilometers from here and returned for supper.

From then on to 1 P.M. Thursday we carried 5 more loads to various places near here--Belrupt and Dugny are the principal ones. We carried about 30 cases during that time, 15 of which were couchés and bad cases. At 2 A.M. we went to Dugny with three bad couchés. It was our first trip to that hospital. When we got down there we found the town in complete darkness and under shell fire. There wasn’t a soul we could ask directions of. We finally found what appeared to be a hospital, but we couldn’t rouse a soul. Johnny at last pulled about 6 nurses out of an abri and one of them could speak very good English. She told us we were at the wrong hospital and directed us to the correct one. Even then if it hadn’t been for a chance meeting of one of our cars on its way to Vadelaincourt we would never have found the place.


Most of the cases are brought in to this base to this base early in the morning around 5 and 6 o’clock because the night is very busy up at the front and roads are almost impassable because of camion trains and wagons. There were many, many gas cases brought in. The Germans are using a new gas called (in English) "tear gas" which is hardly noticeable until it has complete hold on you. Your eyes and nose and mouth all run and you feel sick all over. It doesn’t kill instantly, but puts one out of commission. There are other gases which are more poisonous, but can be smelled and seen before getting the best of one and masks put on. The odors vary. Some are plain chlorine, others smell like rotten vegetables, cheese, garlic, etc.

Beautiful green fields replaced with crater filled, barren waste-land.

The cataclysmic Battle of Verdun lasted for ten months: from February 21 to December 18, 1916. Total casualties for the French and German armies exceeded 700,000 men. In addition, the battle destroyed the city of Verdun and transformed the surrounding terrain into a barren moonscape.

When Section Sixty-One arrived the following year, the fighting was still going on sporadically although the French had regained much of the lost ground. Over a few short weeks in August, Grant and his comrades got more than a taste of the horrors of war, witnessing scenes that they'd never forget.


Saturday, August 11, 1917:
 

Got up at 7:45 A.M. with a headache after a more or less nervous night with heavy artillery fire going on all night. The noise was terrific this A.M. about 5 o’clock. Think what it will be when the offensive starts! We haven’t been shelled since last evening, but 5 shells have passed over our heads this P.M. There was considerable air activity this P.M., but we saw nothing spectacular.

The evening passed quietly without much excitement. The Boche have been shelling a road back of our camp. Their purpose is more than I can guess. There is very little traffic this evening over the road. Later the activity starts when camion trains and troops pass on to the front for the night. It is remarkable how they are able to shell accurately a spot invisible to them. The evening was clear enough for considerable air activity and we spent the evening looking for excitement, but all the excitement took place far out of our sight. We could hear machine gun fire way up in the air, but out of sight.

Having been here a day I am now able to describe in a way our situation. A diagram will give in a way the relative positions of the various important details.

We are on a mound, less than a mile from Verdun, just out side of the walls of our hospital -- Caserne Bevaux. We overlook a beautiful valley on the south through which a broad canal winds and twists lazily. The valley was once beautiful and fertile and the canal a busy path with continuous strings of large canal boats passing down to Verdun and other centers. Now the scene is quite different. Where beautiful green fields once lay now are replaced with crater filled, barren waste-land. Where patches of woodland dotted the green floor now only desolate sticks like tomb stones are left standing. The whole floor is a mass of crossed and recrossed roads -- white against the black of the ruins. The roads all lead somewhere, but where I have not yet learned: Undoubtedly they lead to "Somewhere in France" and we shall find out all we want to know about them before long. While one road is being shelled from the German lines about 6 miles away other roads are noisy with long endless lines of artillery, camion trains, troops trains and provision trains. The big movement starts about 6 or 7 P.M. and continues until day light.

The sky is dotted with sausage balloons and aëroplanes.

My turn will come soon

As August 1917 rolled on, Grant Willard went from the bucolic to the downright dangerous. Section Sixty-One moved to a base hospital just south of the city of Verdun known as the Surgical Center of Beaulieu. It was located at a cavalry barracks called Casernes de Bévaux. Today the old barracks buildings are part of a vocational high school and the only remnants of World War I lie in the national cemetery of Bévaux opposite.

Friday, August 10, 1917:

National Cemetery of Bévaux in 2008

8 o’clock found us on our way to our new base. We passed back over part of the same territory on which we came the other day. Reached our base about 5:30. At 6 o’clock three big German shells tore up the ground about ¼ of a mile off. We thought at first they were trying for us, but I think they were shelling one of the main roads near here. It caused a great deal of excitement anyway. The screams of the shells was terrific. They came about 1 minute apart and in approximately the same place. They certainly ripped up the sod. I foolishly watched two of them land from the fender of my car. The third one found me flat on the ground with the rest of the gang.

We have five posts to make with this hospital as a base. We are one mile from Verdun almost directly south. Our furthest post is up near Fort Douaumont about 1,000 yards from German lines. The rest are further south, but still near the lines and very exciting. This base is called Caserne Beaulieu or more familiarly Bévaux. It is a combination hospital and barracks and quite frequently shelled by the Boche. We are living in tents just out of the hospital walls – 14 in a tent. Our cars are parked about 100 yards from here under a big red cross flag. Aeröplanes are passing over continually.

This evening a German plane attacked an observation sausage right near here. The observer saw him coming and left the balloon in a parachute. Regardless of continual shelling from the ground the German made a beautiful swoop for the sausage, like a hawk swoops on prey, and burned it with an incendiary boom before the French could take it down. The German then went after a second sausage a short distance off. The observer left in a parachute, the French planes drove the German back over the lines before he did any more damage. It was extremely exciting to watch and we rooted like at a foot-ball game. The German was exceedingly clever and did his work beautifully. Later we saw an air battle in which a German plane was brought down inside the French lines.

Went to bed early after a hard day. Three of the boys went out with an American Field Service man tonight to learn the roads. We are to cover these 5 posts in conjunction with Section #1 of the American Field Service. We work on 24 hour shifts and they have already been here about 3 weeks. They are showing us the roads before the big offensive starts. Our work is most all done at night with no lights. My turn will come soon. The Field Service men say this is a particularly heavy district to cover.

We go out in the morning near Verdun to take part in one of the worst sectors of France.

Thursday, August 9, 1917:

Fine day. Took a bath in a muddy stream near here after spending most of the A.M. under the car examining universal joint and differential.

We go out in the morning near Verdun to take part in one of the worst sectors of France. We have been supplied with two new gas masks, making three in all. One is to be carried always. Also we were given emergency rations and medicine kits. We are requested to wear our helmets all the time. We received instructions regarding our work and what to do when under shell fire. It begins to look like real war.

Wrote Dorothy and went to bed early.

Today was a great day in my young life.

Unbeknownst to him, Grant Willard's days of calm and boredom were soon to be at an end. Attached to the French Army's 42nd Infantry Division, Section Sixty-One was encamped in the small town of Laheycourt, southwest of the bastion of Verdun. In two days they'd be in the thick of the war.
 

Tuesday, August 7, 1917:

Revigny-sur-Ornain, 2010

Rained all day. No excitement. This evening the two Jacob boys, Fraser and myself walked to Revigny[-sur-Ornain]. Revigny is a town once in the hands of the Germans and when retaken by the French early in 1915 they shot the town up pretty badly. There is hardly a building left standing. In some places the remaining walks have been used as shelters for small lean-tos where various articles are sold.

Today was a great day in my young life. Managed to get Dad’s 300 franc draft changed and was able to buy some tobacco and pencils. Back and in bed by 9 P.M.

Wednesday, August 8:

Nothing new except that I received two wonderful letters from Dot. Her letters are very well written, but God they make me homesick. I fret until I get one and then I go down in the depths of despair and curse myself for ever coming over here when one finally comes. However, I’m still convinced that I made the proper move when I came over here. If she holds on now until I return it will surely have been sufficient test. I don’t know what I would do if it didn’t come through alright now.

Went to Revigny again tonight after working on the car most all day and bought coffee and cake. The stock of eatables has decreased since we have approached the front and now milk and milk chocolate are rare treats. Eggs are also very scarce.

After weeks of idleness Norton-Harjes Section Sixty-One was on the move. On August 2, 1917, they drove north through the major road and rail hub of Bar-le-Duc to a village called Erizé-la-Petite, halfway to Verdun on the famous Voie Sacrée (Sacred Way). Over this road, soldiers and supplies passed in convoys day and night during the 1916 Battle of Verdun, and beyond.

Sunday, August 5, 1917:

Rose at 7:45. Breakfast 8:00 A.M.--bacon and fried eggs and chocolate. Rainy. Cleaned car, played bridge, read The Afterhouse by Mary Roberts Rhinehart. Received letter from Dad enclosing 300 francs in American Express draft. Feel fine! Can now look the world in the face again. Dad asks for more livid details of work and France. Should I give them to him? I think it just as well to keep many of these things to myself until after the war any way.

We received orders of movement this evening. We are attached to 42nd Infantry [of the French Army], one of the best armies in France, now in repos. We join them at Revigny and follow them wherever they go. They will probably be in repos for a couple of weeks.

Monday, August 6:

[Written at 8:45 A.M.] Arose at 6:30. Breakfast at 7. Shaved and have car all cleaned up ready to go. Are now waiting for our load which consists of Frenchmen’s personals. Each car has to help on baggage so as not to overload the camion. We were off about noon after having spent the morning in preparation. From Erizé-la-Petite we went southwest to Brabant-le-Roi through Rembercourt, L’Isle-en-Barrois, Villote, Laheycourt, arriving about 4:30 this afternoon. We lined up and were talked to by the Lieut. of the Ambulance section whom we are replacing. He said they had done good work and had one of the best armies of France to work for and he hoped we would be able to fill their “boots” successfully. Their section didn’t look badly shot up, but most of the drivers were men over 30 years of age. They also drove Fiats.

We parked our cars in a little park and most of us slept right there. Some of the fellows went up to a barracks to sleep.

Outside of most of the towns through which we passed being almost totally wrecked by shell fire, we didn’t see so very much. The car ran perfectly. I drove the whole distance.