Part V: Mudder's World War I diary

September 5
Took a trip to Nancy, had a dandy time. Bought a few things, came home in an ambulance. A date at night, a Calvary officer. 

September 6 
A date in the evening with Lt. B, nothing exciting to report. 

September 7 
To the Officer’s Club for breakfast, hot waffles gee but they are good. A big dance tonight. The dance was a great success, almost eighteen couples, a coon* band and they sure could play. We all went up in a big truck; had loads of fun. 

September 8 
Horseback riding in the afternoon, my second experience, I did enjoy it so much, went with Captain Taylor, Lieutenant Peabody and K. Afterwards, we went to dinner, had a short ride in a flier with four officers. 

September 9 
Felt just a little stiff this am but I did enjoy the ride so much. Went machine riding in the afternoon. At night, a date with an infantry lieutenant. 

September 10 
To the dentist in the a.m., sure did hurt me too. Miss Martin, two officers and I went out for dinner, had a dandy time. 

September 11 
Miss Martin and I got up a dance, and it sure was a success. Cleaned one of the wards, fixed the floors, had the best sandwiches and lemonade. Two of the boys played for us, one the violin, the other the piano, which we borrowed next door. I think everyone had a real good time. Met Captain Thomas, who knows a lot of people I know from the University of Maryland. 

September 12 
I imagine our pleasure is at an end for a while as the guns kept up the whole night, so look out for patients. I really thought we were going to be killed, the guns illuminated the whole sky, and someone said they thought it was an ammunition dump destroyed. Did do some work today, the patients just rolled in, poor boys, they are ready to go back to lines again. 

September 13 
Nothing of importance, I was sick all day, feeling rotten. Beaucoup patients arriving, hear that Mt. Seu has been taken. A letter from the major today, delighted I’ll say. 

September 14 
Feeling better today but not on duty, callers in the evening. War news is very encouraging. 

September 15 
On duty again, and some work to do, believe me. Had a date with Captain D at night. 

September 16 
Served with K today, she peeves me occasionally. Rumors of us moving, it is about time, we have been here in Toul longer than any place. 

September 17 
We are to move, no more patients are to be admitted, talk of a dance tomorrow night, I hope so. Made up with K, we are just as happy. 

September 18 
Packing up to move, got to dinner with K and two officers. In the afternoon we (K and I) went over to one of the officer’s homes. There were 2 French officers there, one of our boys played and we had the best time dancing. The French didn’t dance like we do but they will learn. 

September 19 
Oh we had a wonderful time at the dance last night, the best band and refreshments. Sure am tired today. The nurses are going over to #45 and the men are going on. We will join them soon. 

September 20 
Evac #14 gave us a dance last night; I went but am sure sick today, influenza. 

September 21 
Sick 

September 22 
Sick 

September 23 
Sick 

September 24 
Much better, went out to Evac #1, Goldie had lots of mail for me, one from Percy, dear old soul. Steve is near here, we all took a walk last night, went for a short joy ride. To bed early. 

*Definition of coon as in “coon band” comes from the Slang Dictionary: “offensive term for a black person; (racist) dark-skinned person, as a Negro or Aborigine (originally US slang (mid-19th C.); shortening of raccoon).” 

My sister and I were a bit shocked to find this term in our grandmother’s diary, since we never heard her say anything similar during her lifetime. We thought it deserved a definition. An explanation? Florence Green was a woman of her times. She grew up among white people in Baltimore which was drawing a large number of black immigrants from the traditional South, an immigration tide that would only accelerate after the two world wars, as African-American soldiers returned home and found better opportunities and, possibly, better treatment, “up north.” Thing is, Baltimore and the entire state of Maryland are located south of the Mason-Dixon line. Its racist past recently grabbed headlines with the Freddie Gray murder and police over-reaction. 

One question I had: Why was a black band playing for a dance for a hospital unit in Toul, France? What I found both surprised and amazed me. Twenty-seven African-American regiments from the U.S. served in World War I. Of these, all had regimental bands. Young jazz musicians were recruited from Chicago, New York, New Orleans and elsewhere. Some were drafted as Selective Service began in 1917 and blacks and whites were put into segregated units, with black soldiers doing all the heavy lifting. Here’s a great resource: Black US Army Bands and Their Bandmasters in World War I by Peter M. Lefferts, University of Nebraska-Lincoln.

Quote from the manuscript: 

By the time of the Armistice on November 11, 1918, the regiments had been abroad for anywhere from one to eleven months, and in some cases their bands had never left the side of the troops. After the Armistice, the majority of bandsmen faced an additional three months or more of camp life in mud and rain alongside all the other doughboys, with boredom, pneumonia, and the flu epidemic as unpleasant companions, before transport home. 

Lefferts writes that 

much of their wartime activity is extremely hard to trace. In the combat zone, when they were playing at all rather than ducking artillery shells and helping the wounded, they were not going to get much if any press due to a news blackout on account of the need for secrecy about unit whereabouts “Somewhere in France.” Such accounts as do turn up in the US press could be printed months after the fact due to censorship and transportation delays for mail. An article in the New York Herald (Paris ed.), quoted in a New Jersey paper after the Armistice, reveals how band activities could be sensitive news: “The appearance of the band of the 350th Field Artillery Regiment in Nancy for a concert was the first notice here that the only brigade of negro artillery every organized had been defending Nancy by holding the Marbache sector, south of Metz.”

My grandmother could have been dancing to the 350th. Or maybe it was the 368th:

And we know that the band of the 368th played concerts “in Toul, Saizerais, Nancy, Brest, Le Mans and other places,” but also had to put down their instruments to become stretcher bearers in the Argonne fighting in September. 

Or maybe it was the Baltimore’s own 808th: 

Baltimore's 808th Pioneer Infantry band under Native American “Chief” Wheelock was proclaimed for bringing ”the real America Jazz, as it should be played, over here,” to France and was celebrated for staying close to the troops: "This band of colored musicians has indeed upheld the tradition of its race, for their music contributes much to make the name of the 808th Pioneer Infantry popular at the front. To begin with, they are right at the front being only a few kilometers behind the line, and although in danger of attracting the attention of hostile forces, they realize that the spirit of the boys must be kept cheerful and refreshed. So, often they assemble in a well- protected spot and play for the constant line of khaki as it moves along the road toward the enemy." After the Armistice, when the bands of the black combat regiments had embarked for home, Wheelock’s unit remained in camp and garnered all the prizes: the band of the 808th was judged the best infantry band in the A.E.F., white or black, in a contest held at Camp Pontanezen, Brest, France, on June 2, 1919. Additionally, it won the signal honor of playing for President Wilson's departure for home from Brest on June 29, 1919.

Whichever band played at Mudder's dance, many black musicians came back to the States and embarked on music careers: 

The new jazz was the special thing most distinguishing these bands musically, and everyone claimed it as their own. It was not just Jim Europe's band [369th Infantry Regiment, “Harlem Hell Fighters”] that brought jazz to the continent; rather, it was something on the order of two dozen bands. Moreover, they played the jazz of Kansas City, Chicago, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Washington as well as of New York City. Upon the return of the bands from the war, touring back in the States brought the new jazz music to dozens of smaller cities and towns, and to white audiences who had never before heard these exotic, lively sounds. The response was strong and positive. By one report, “Since the return of colored military bands from France to these shores the country simply has gone wild about jazz music.”

This map provides some perspective as to where the action was as the war drew to a close. The town of Toul, which Mudder visited often, is located just to the west of Nancy, not far from the offensives of St. Mihiel and Meuse-Argonne in Sept.-Nov. 1918.

803rd Pioneer Infantry Band, A.E.F.

Part III: Mudder's World War I diary

August 3, 1918 
No patients as yet, we breakfasted at 8am.  Heard this morning that Dr. Wood, an M.G.H friend of ours was very near. Goldie and I went over and looked him up. Sure was good to see him, and he was sure surprised to see us. The Hopkins Unit is also very close to ours. Played ball with some of the nurses and officers including Roy Wolford. Heard our trunks had arrived and went down to the station to see if all were here. 

In the afternoon, Peg, Goldie and I went over to 116, the Y.M.C.A , to buy some chocolate. On our way back, we met three very nice American officers, we talked awhile, it started to rain, but we did not go for a little thing like that.

August 4, 1918 
Did not get up for breakfast. 

We all went over to the Y.M.C.A ,  to church, very nice service. On returning we found out that Goldie, Peg, Steve Beauman and I are to go to Base #15, about four hour ride in the train.  Unpack and repack again but sort of glad, am sure tired of loafing.  Took a long walk in the evening and on our return, we had company from #46, Lt. Wood.

August 5, 1918 
We have arrived at Base #15 and such a homesick crowd.  In a dormitory with thirteen other girls, but eight from #42. I did not know how much I loved our own base. We had a short train ride, then a ride in an ambulance. This is the Roosevelt Unit -- has stone buildings, ours are wooden but are good enough for me. The girls are very dismaying to us; they seem to think we will never get back to our base. Took a long walk in the country, passed General Pershing’s chateau. This county is really more beautiful than up at our place.

August 6, 1918 
No one has yet told us to report for duty, but I suppose we will know about that soon. The Red Cross or rather the Y.M.C.A. serves hot cocoa to the nurses at 1030am, tasted mighty good too. After lunch we went to Chaumont and should we pass in their large machine but General Pershing, he waved and smiled and we were tickled to death. He looks just like his picture, we knew it was his car coming; there was four stars on the front.  After, we got to town we met two officers that we had met on the ship, Captain Madden and Lt. Smith. Glad to see them, we had not seen any one we knew for such a long while. 

After tea, we took a long walk, went to General Pershing’s chateau and went through the grounds, oh everything was so pretty, the grounds were kept so well, a duck pond and some beautiful flowers. I picked a rose, will try to keep it. Don’t say I did not eat a big dinner after that walk and I’ll tell you the food is great here, to bed at 8pm.

August 7, 1918 
About 8am, the assistant came in our dormitory and told us to get ready for duty, I told her we had to have our carryalls first, so about 10am, they arrived, I went on duty. We were not yet so busy today, most patients up. We have a little French boy, with a mastoid, not yet six years old, awfully cute chap.

August 8, 1918 
Well, a convoy in during the night, and such a crowd of injured boys. Poor things, it sure is the most pitiful sight, they suffer so. 

Nothing unusual happened. Steve made some of the best caramels, but they did not get real hard so could not send them to Chris. We sure did enjoy them. 

August 9, 1918 
Still at Base #15, oh to be back home, Had last hours, after dinner, Peggie and I took a walk, met a major we knew, he walked home with us. There was a dance on at the Red Cross, but I did not go, too lazy I suppose. Played a joke on one of the girls, there were only eleven in the room, I put an enormous pitcher and some clothes and a hat in her bed. She thought someone was in it. We had lots of fun.

August 10, 1918 
Nothing of importance happened today. Met an officer downtown that asked us if we would help him buy some lace for his wife. We were only too glad, of course.

August 11, 1918, Sunday 
Another convoy in, those Huns sure are doing our poor boys up. After met three officers that wanted us to take a ride, did we refuse, I guess not, in a seven passenger Winten, and some car too.

August 12, Monday 
The sad news came was broken to me about 1230, Poor Goldie in tears, I was to be ready at 2pm to go to the Front. I did not say anything, no use, I was pretty blue over the fact. We started on our journey, 4 officers, 2 nurses and 2 orderlies, we landed in Paris at 7pm, to the Chatham, and then some dinner, after that took a walk with the officer. Paris sure is a dark place. We went to bed early, had a wonderful room, all white with a bath.

August 13, Tuesday
Got up rather early, went out to do a little shopping (Miss Martin) the girl I came with paid only $20.00 for a pair of tan shoes. I had my hair shampooed. I think the man poured a whole bottle of toilet water in it. The French sure believe in Perfumery. 

After lunch we were to take the 1pm train to Chateau Thierry but my luggage was lost (found later) so we waited for the 525 train, while waiting we decided to go to the Red Cross. Went up in a taxi and by the way, if you are struck by a taxi in Paris, you are arrested, think of it. The Red Cross gave us each a jersey dress, grey, very nice looking too. After we arrived back at the station we met an officer who wanted some ice cream nearly as bad as I did, so we took a taxi and located the Chinese Umbrella, where we really did find some, the first I had for four weeks. We arrived at Chateau Thierry about 10pm. Some officers had a large truck so they were good enough to take us to Thierry, no lights in the truck and the number of them we had to pass, dark as it could be. When we arrived at Mobile  #1, they were are torn up, ready to move, They finally found a place for us to sleep, just an army cot with a blanket, we had something to eat and then a good sleep. Could hear the guns very plain but did not disturb me.

August 14, Wednesday 
After breakfast, who should I meet but Howard Moses, never was so surprised in my life, and I really believe he was shocked. We took a long walk through Chateau Thierry over the main river bridge, the town was in an awful condition, nearly every house was shelled or bombed. The people were just moving in that had been run out, such a sight; we hailed an ambulance and rode back. 

On arriving, I found that our team was to be moved to Evac #3, about four miles away, Crezancy, I just live to pack and move so much fun.  This place is not so awfully bad, living in tents and the eating, oh my. The flies and bugs are dreadful. Howard C. came over in the afternoon. Left about 7pm. We are to be a night team, hardly think any work will be in tonight.

The war from an orderly's point of view...

Frederick Pottle was the author of the 1929 book, Stretchers: the Story of a Hospital Unit on the Western Front, published by Yale University Press. Pottle served as an orderly at the hospital complex, and, as later happened to our grandmother, Florence Green, was sent to Evacuation Hospital No. 8. Stretchers describes everyday life for U. S. medical teams near the front.

Here's an excerpt from Pottle's book:

An extract from a diary will serve to indicate the mixed spirit of idealistic altruism and matter-of-factness which characterized the greater part of our war work. Caring for wounded men becomes a job just like everything else, and to carry on this job efficiently for a long period of time demands a reasonable attention to one's own physical and mental health. The diary was, of course, never intended for public inspection. But the naivete of its entries is therefore all the more illuminating.

Monday, July 15. Played tennis until 11.00 A.M. [This man was on night duty.] Beaten once, but did not play to finish. Holiday for all the boys. Took shower and got ready for a dance. Alas! 7.00 P.M. Evac 8 luck. Dance called off on account of a big drive. From 8.00 P.M. carried our boys from Battle of Marne to operating room and then to ward. 

Tuesday, July 16. 4.45 A.M. Carried the last poor mate to operating room. News said Huns had crossed Marne, but were pushed back./ Slept 5.00 to 7.00 A.M., then [I suppose after eating breakfast] slept all day, as I was very tired. Got up for dinner and supper. Reported at 7.30 P.M. Carried a few patients, then slept after supper [at midnight] of pork, bread and butter, lettuce and cocoa. [This midnight mess was prepared by the sisters and served in the refectory of the College itself.] 

Wednesday, July 17. Up at 7.00 A.M. Sat around and talked. Germans at Marne had advanced ten miles, but losses were great. and victory conceded to U.S. To bed after dinner and slept until 6.00 P.M. Reported for duty. Nothing to do. Slept until 12.00 Then supper. 1.30 AM. called and helped with man in A Ward. He died, then I slept until 7.00 A.M.

Thursday, July 18. Played tennis with B and lost 6-3, 6-2, 6-4. Slept well until 4.00 P.M. Company had dance but did not go, account of big rush of our boys. Some had legs amputated , and litter bearing in an operating room is surely some job. Took delight in helping to make the boys comfortable. Had supper at midnight, beef, lettuce, and bread. Then back to work.

Friday, July 19. Reported off at 7.30 A.M. and was surely tired, sick at stomach, etc., and went right to bed. Good news says we drove the Huns back six or eight miles. Up at 6.00 P.M. Worked hard all night carrying. Saw some mean wounds. Had nothing for supper at midnight. Court filled with wounded.

“Chateau Thierry, the turning point of the World War." Postcard published by E.B. Remenson, Chicago, 1919, Public domain image.

Stretcher bearers carrying wounded from ambulances at Evac 8. From Frederick Pottle's book, "Stretchers."

Part I: Mudder's World War I diary

Here’s a puzzler that could be on the Travel Channel’s “Mysteries at the Museum:”

The object, almost 100 years old, measures four inches by seven inches. It has a black cover that’s falling apart and is held together by a strip of duct tape. Its inside pages are turning brown and are filled with tiny, hard-to-read handwriting.

What is it? Answer: Mudder’s diary.

The diary belonged to our paternal grandmother, Florence Green Shay. She’s called “Mudder” because her eldest grandchild, me, couldn’t pronounce Grandmother or Grandma and shortened it to Mudder. The name stuck. She looked more like a Florence than a Mudder. She was a bespectacled bridge-playing Denver matron when we grandkids got to know her as we grew up in the 1950s and 1960s. She screeched for joy and hugged us soundly when we came to visit, especially after we moved away from Denver in 1960.

A Baltimore native, she was a devoted baseball fan who loved her hometown Orioles. She took my brother and me to Denver Bears games even though they were a farm team for the Orioles arch-nemesis, the New York Yankees. When she died in 1980, she had been married to her husband Raymond for almost 60 years.

The two shared a common bond. They were both World War I veterans when they met at Fitzsimons Army Hospital in Aurora, Colo., in 1921. She was an officer in the U.S. Army Nurse Corps. He had mustered out as a cavalry officer in the Iowa National Guard. They are buried together in Fort Logan National Cemetery in southwest Denver. We can’t hear any more stories in person from our grandparents. But Mudder’s diary survives, and it tells tales. We knew little about the diary. Mudder occasionally mentioned it when she was alive. It wasn’t until my sister Eileen Shay Casey in Winter Park, Fla., got her hands on it after our father died that I had a chance to read it. Eileen, also a trained nurse but now working for a private foundation, transcribed the diary. No small task, as our grandmother’s handwriting is cramped and sometimes difficult to read. And – 96 years after the final entry – these inked memories are fading. This transcript gives us all a peek into the life of one of our ancestors cast into a far-off war.

I’ll post excerpts (along with photos) every few days on this blog. I appreciate any comments, although I’ll only print those that have some bearing on the subject at hand. At the end, those interested will be able to order a print transcript from blog2print.com – more about that later.

My sister and I would like to thank Dr. Marian Moser Jones, assistant professor of family science at the University of Maryland School of Public Health, who provided some of the background information about Florence’s experiences, which I will intersperse among the diary excerpts. She is a passionate researcher who has written extensively on the subject of World War I nurses. Thank you, Dr. Jones.

The following is the transcript of the diary Florence Green Shay kept while in the U.S., England and France, 1918-1919:

July 12, 1918, Hotel Bristol 
We were all very much pleased when Miss Sarin told us today that we would leave the hotel the following day. Of course we felt a little blue to think we were going so far from home. Goldie and I proceeded to a first class restaurant and had a last good meal. We also thought of a half dozen things we wanted. We went to Keith’s at night but did not enjoy it very much, shows were becoming quite boring.  

July 13, Saturday
I was quite excited waiting for the anxious moment. Before going on ship, I decided I must have a certain record for the Victrola, Baby’s Prayer at Twilight.  Did some tall rushing to get it too. The staterooms were wonderful. May Callaway, Goldie and I am occupying #30.  We all went to bed early the first night. Everything was strange, but only the first day.

July 14, Sunday
Before sailing, we had our first boat drill. Seemed very funny to carry life preserver`s around every place we went, but towards the last we felt lost without them. Sunday was not a very exciting day. The hands played some music but not popular songs. We sailed on the Balticand had twelve other ships in the convoy. Destroyers and aero planes were with us for a day and a half. Felt funny when they left.

July 15, Monday
We started to get acquainted this day; I think there were about 200 officers on board and 100 nurses. We had a good time. Danced from five to seven, the jazz played for us, some music too. July 16, Tuesday The ship seemed to rock more this day. I did not tarry in the dining room long. Seasick, I should say not, I would never be guilty.

July 17, Wednesday
Met some dandy people, everybody seemed so nice. Would buy candy, but to think I refused it from Sunday until today and only one piece. They needn’t think I am going to get seasick. July 18, Thursday We are still having our boat drill every day or I should say twice a day. So often we are called at a most inopportune time, but no difference, get your life jacket on, and run. I am eating a little more candy today.

July 19, Friday
Rather foggy and raining. The sun is also rather rough but did not affect me any. We had our dance just the same, lots of fun too. The 62^nd Coast Artillery gave a dandy entertainment, was mighty good, and closed the evening by playing the Marseillaise, God Save the King, and The Star Spangled Banner.

July 20, Saturday
Nothing special happened. We had the Victrola out in the morning, danced a few dances. This is my bath night, and to think it is Saturday, so much the nicer.  The bath steward will be in, in a moment, he does want us to keep clean.

July 21, Sunday
Went to church in the afternoon, quite different then the services I usually go to. After dinner we all went back in the 2^nd class dining room where the troops were and helped them sing some songs. After this, I met a very interesting man, Major Gay - only talked to him a few minutes. Heard a few rumors about submarines, but have not worried about them much.

July 22, Monday
Met the major this morning. His girl went back on him, so I promised to stick. He nicknamed me “Pinky” an awfully nice man. We had a dance and believe me, the major is some dancer.

July 23, Tuesday
Seeing a good deal of the major. Had a big scare today. They say there is a nest of submarines in our course, but our convoy has changed its route now. Believe me, it is sure cold too, only 700 miles from Iceland.

July 24, Wednesday
Rather thrilling to see about twelve destroyers around us on this day, we feel so safe now. Our cruiser left us last night and oh how lonely we did feel.

July 25, Thursday
This is the most dangerous of days, as we are wearing our life preservers all the time now. We are in the real war zone now, but not too much danger to keep from dancing. I forgot to say we had to be in our staterooms every night at 900pm, lights out at 10pm.  The Red Cross furnished us with rubber suits the funniest looking things; they are supposed to keep us up in water for three days. I will try to have mine handy tonight with a little chocolate handy. We have been told it would be better to sleep in part of clothes.

July 26, Friday
Well we are safe and sound; I have not seen a submarine yet. To think we are looking at land once more. It looks wonderful! Liverpool looks good to me. We are to anchor out tonight, the lights will be all lighted and a great celebration, a big dance. Peany, the major, asked his old girl for a dance, it made me jealous but him very foolish. We are allowed to stay out until 11pm. To think it is our last night on the ship, I feel real sad.

Editor’s Note: Listen to Henry Burr’s 1918 rendition of “A Baby’s Prayer at Twilight (for her daddy over there)” at https://youtu.be/nfuZ4rT1j88

May 11, 1915: Florence Green (far left, second row) graduated from Maryland General Hospital Training School for Nurses. MGH Training School operated as a nursing school from 1891 until 1987, when it closed. Maryland General Hospital now operates under the name University of Maryland Medical Center Midtown Campus. 

Maryland General Hospital Training School for Nurses in Baltimore.

The Baltic, the ship that took Mudder's Unit to Europe.