My father, standing in a field in France, Feb. 13, 1945

My father, 21, standing out in a field in France, February 1945. He writes a caption to the photo: “I hadn’t had a haircut in three months. I should have worn a hat.” He lives in a tent, a GI far from his home in Denver covered in Colorado snow. His war will be over in three months but he won’t return home for another year. He stands in a French field that's browned by winter, farm house in the distance. He writes that his hair is too long, that maybe he should have had a haircut before turning over the small camera to a buddy whose shadow lingers in the foreground. He takes my father's photo that will end up 82 years later in his eldest son’s desk drawer in Ormond Beach, Florida. You were right, Dad. You should have worn a hat. That hair of yours is curly, too curly, too youthful for a soldier who spent Christmas in the frozen Ardennes, in The Bulge, on the radio. He relays artillery coordinates, asks HQ where a young man might get a haircut for a future photo of him standing in a French field looking lonely, unshorn, very much alive.

What's really in that Paris apartment, and why is it so important?

“The Paris Apartment” by Kelly Bowen is the second book recommended on the Historical Fiction Book Lovers Facebook site to take me back to France in World War II. “The Nightingale” by Kristin Hannah was the first. They both impressed me with the sacrifices made by women behind the lines. They are well-trained operatives such as Sophie in “Paris,” or small-town young women such as Vianne and her sister Isabelle in “Nightingale,” women who lose husbands to the war or best friends to Nazi death-camp roundups. They all did the right thing when they resisted the Nazi onslaught. Some paid with their lives. Others emerged from the experience forever altered.

I’m a bit of a newcomer to the category of historical fiction and I’m particularly impressed by women’s stories. My childhood reading about the war were books by men about men. I read first-hand accounts such as “Guadalcanal Diary” by Richard Tregaskis and “Brave Men,” Ernie Pyle’s accounts of men in combat in Europe. I read war novels and watched war TV (“Combat”). I watched war-era black-and-white war movies, many of them featuring John Wayne. Most were hokey, not that I cared about that when I was 12. A great one is “They Were Expendable” about PT Boats fighting the good fight against the Japanese invasion of the Philippines. My father told war stories which were mostly unwarlike. He carried a rifle for four years but more importantly, he was in charge of the radio, his unit’s link with the rest of the army.  

Meanwhile, brave women fought the good fight. It was “The Good War,” as Studs Terkel labeled it, because the enemies were so evil and we were so good. The Nazis were cruel fascists and the Japanese cruel militarists (also, they were a different shade of people). Even Donald Duck hated these guys.

But it’s not the global issues that motivated these fictional women. Sophie was not waving the flag for democracy. She was getting even for Ptior, her new husband killed at her side when the Nazis terror-bombed a Polish village in 1939. Estelle Allard’s best friend, a Jew, was rounded up by French collaborators and shipped to Auschwitz. They join the fight for personal reasons but find themselves enlisting in a righteous cause. It’s always personal. This time, the women tell the story. One compelling aspect of this book is the two time periods that move the story forward. One if the war itself, with Sophie and Estelle, the other is told from the POV of Estelle’s granddaughter who inherits the abandoned apartment. She thinks she is getting a luxury apartment in the City of Light. What she’s really getting is a history lesson. Lots of art history, too, as one of the main story lines of the book has to do with the massive art thievery by the Nazis.

The books mentioned above aren’t the only ones. The group site takes the big view of historical fiction. For more targeted lists, go to this group site: “BOOKS - 𝘽𝘼𝙎𝙀𝘿 𝙊𝙉 𝙏𝙍𝙐𝙀 𝙎𝙏𝙊𝙍𝙄𝙀𝙎: About Women, By Women Authors.” You’ll sometimes find yourself in the midst of discussions about what is true historical fiction and what is not. It is great to argue about books instead of politics, although that sometimes enters the fray. Have at it. You’ll discover some great books in the process. 

Kristin Hannah's historical novel features the brave women of the French Resistance

I’m reading “The Nightingale” by Kristin Hannah. It’s the story of two sisters in a small French village occupied by the Nazis. The elder sister, Vianne, has a child and a husband captured during the Nazi blitzkrieg. The younger one, Isabelle, is the rebel of the family, kicked out of a number of boarding schools and now working for the French Resistance. The sisters live very different lives. They share a hatred of the Nazis and possess strong wills to survive the war. The more compelling story is of the Resistance. The author has said that the novel is a tribute to these brave women. They faced dying during guerrilla raids or arrest which also meant death or a trip to a Nazi extermination camp. I just finished a chapter where Isabelle with her Basque guide takes four downed RAF pilots from Paris over the Pyrenees to the British embassy in neutral Spain.

Imagine traveling undercover to Jackson in a train jammed with Nazis and then hiking over the Tetons to Driggs in late October, struggling up talus slopes and crossing waterways, all the while dodging Nazis on one side of the border or Franco’s fascists on the other side. Or maybe it’s a postapocalyptic jaunt where the bad guys are some of the right-wing goons who invaded the U.S. Capitol on Jan. 6. Well-armed and stupid. Rain and snow will fall as you travel. It will be cold and you’re wearing running shoes and a light jacket.

You get the picture. These people were braver than brave. Their country had been overrun. Friends and family members had been killed by the Nazis. They must pay.

I don’t know what I would do. I’ve hiked Wyoming and Colorado mountains in all kinds of weather but I am always prepared. I am in my 20s (used to be), dressed for the climate and wearing good boots. I have five days of food in my pack and one of those tiny stoves. Good topo maps. Pretend I have a loaded Glock at my side, prepared for attacks by Bloaters (“The Last of Us,” episode 5).

Just think about it. The French Resistance had so much less and did so much more.

I’m looking forward to the film version of “The Nightingale.” Dakota and Elle fanning play the sisters. I hope the creators do it justice. You can see a teaser here.

Lovers at the Chameleon Club, Paris 1932, captures the city between the wars

I’ve always been fascinated with Paris in the 1920s and 30s. The inter-war period. The tensions of those years add pizzaz to any book. So many writers lived and worked there. A sojourn to Paris was almost mandatory. Hemingway, John Dos Passos, Gertrude Stein, James Joyce. Artists, too, notably Picasso. Discovered some others as I read “Lovers at the Chameleon Club, Paris 1932,” a 2014 novel by Francine Prose. The author tells her story of the 1930s and wartime occupation through the pages of imagined letters, memoirs, and journals by the book’s principals. The two main characters were inspired by real people. Gabor Tsenyi is a Hungary-born photographer who hones the craft of low-light nighttime photography as he prowls Paris streets, brothels, and bars. Lou Villars is a French woman athlete who ends up torturing prisoners for the Gestapo. Gabor is based on the famous photographer Bressai. He is best known for his pics of the demimonde who hung out at Le Monocle, the “Cabaret”–like club that attracted the city’s artists and LGBTQ crowd that dared to be cross-dressing club regulars in the thirties but risked danger when the war came. Villars is based on Violette Morris, a lesbian athlete who came under Hitler’s spell at the 1936 Olympics in Berlin.

The era is an attractive one for writers. Many of those who fled to Paris were survivors of the Great War and facing Great War Part 2 in 1939-45. Some 70 million residents of Planet Earth died in the Great War. It was, as historian Barbara Tuchman and others have written, the war that changed everything. Four-plus years of horror were embedded into the conscience of a generation that was tagged with the term “lost generation.” Survivors may have been lost but not as lost as the millions of ghosts who roam Ypres and Verdun and forever inhabit Europe’s psyche. An entire generation of young people was almost wiped off the planet. Small villages in England, France, and Germany lost every one of its young men. The world never got over it, nor should it.

This showed up in the work of the era’s creatives. Bressai’s famous photo, “Lesbian Couple at Le Monocle 1932,” shows a hefty woman in a man’s suit sitting next to a thin woman in a sparkly dress. The look on their faces can be interpreted many ways. To me, they look to the future with a mixture of dread and hope. It attracted the book’s author, was even the catalyst for years of research and writing. Did they stay together? Were they rounded up like other “undesirables” by the Nazis? Prose wondered too, as a similar photo by her fictional photographer is crucial to the arc of the novel. As I read the novel, I decided to look up this photographer and found his work all over the web. He captured a Paris that was both romantic and squalid.

It took awhile for me to get into the novel’s rhythm. It seemed a bit contrived at first. And then I got into the flow of the intermittent narratives. I was both a reader and a writer studying the technique as I went along. Most of the samples picked up where the other left off. But not always. The reader has to do some work to tie together the narrative threads. After a hundred pages, that became part of the book’s charm. Who is speaking, and when, and can this narrator be trusted? Don’t we always wonder if the teller of a tale is trustworthy or not?

"All Quiet on the Western Front" not the remake we expected

Some negative reviews have come in for Netflix's remake of  "All Quiet on the Western Front." They all say the same thing, that the movie is not loyal to the book. That's true -- it leaves out some crucial scenes and adds scenes between the German and French armistice-seekers on the war's closing days. Also, the ending. The famous butterfly ending of the 1930 movie vs. this version which takes its time settling Paul Baumer's life and the armistice. He dies and the camera lingers on his young face, so young and so dead. 

I read Erich Marie Remarque's novel in the sixth grade. It wasn't a class assignment. My father had a massive library and I had a library card as soon as I could walk. Dad's World War II collection was a doozy. "Guadalcanal Diary," Ernie Pyle's "Brave Men," Bill Mauldin's Willie and Joe cartoons, "They Were Expendable," "PT109." He was a WWII veteran, an infantry radioman in France, Belgium, and Germany. He also had World War 1 books, probably because his mother and father both served in that war. I was entranced by the pilots of those rickety old airplanes. I was obsessed with the Lafayette Escadrille and the "The Red Baron" Richthofen's aerial battles. I read all Nordhoff and Hall books, as  both had been pilots in The Great War. I also read their Mutiny on the Bounty trilogy. Even now, I equate their "The Falcons of France" with "Mutiny on the Bounty." Adventure books. Boys' books. They made me yearn to be a fighter pilot and Fletcher Christian. Only in my imagination.

I was a kid and really had no idea what I was reading about any war. As bodies piled up in books, I viewed that as part of the adventure. My viewpoint has changed over the decades. I never went to war, the one of my generation in Vietnam and Cambodia and Laos. I was 18 when I graduated high school in 1969. I never served in the military although I was in the Navy ROTC program for 18 months. I felt guilty about my lack of service for a long time, especially in the 1980s when Reagan told us we had licked the Vietnam Syndrome. I had Viet Vet friends. I had peacenik friends. I read a lot of books about Vietnam. There always some nagging sense that I had missed out on something. How odd that seems now. 

I reread "All Quiet" prior to watching the Netflix movie. I also rewatched the 1930 movie, released just a year after talkies appeared. The book and the movie both cover Paul's recruitment and his leave when he confronts those who were so eager to send him to war. They are at the heart of the book. Paul was subject to "the old lie" in Wilfred Owens' poem, "Dulce et Decorum Est." After recounting the deadly effects of a gas attack, Owen ends his poem with this:

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest/To children ardent for some desperate glory/The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est/Pro patria mori.

That sentiment appears in the new "All Quiet on the Western Front." It just doesn't get the starring role I expected.  

The story of the only 1960 Renault Dauphine in Daytona Beach

An April issue of UK’s Autocar featured the Renault Dauphine in its list of "22 Totally Charming Cars." It showed a still life photo of a powder blue Dauphine parked by the ocean. The car looked as if it had just left the 1960s showroom. I contrasted it with the sad photo of a derelict Dauphine in another issue of Autocar and the article "The Haunting Abandoned Wrecks of Rural France.," It showed a rusty shell of a Dauphine being swallowed up by undergrowth in "a remote field in the French Alps."

This tells the story of our family's 1960 Dauphine. I first saw it parked in our Wichita driveway in 1962. My father needed a car to commute to his job as a civilian accountant at the local air force base. That left our 1960 Ford Falcon station wagon at home with my mother who needed it to get us to school, haul us to doctor appointments and run off to the grocery store. I still can see the look of horror on the faces of grocery clerks as Mom hauled her eight children, two of them babies, into the store. My father went to the Totally Charming Yet Obscure Cars dealership and returned with Renault. It was an oddity in a world of Olds Cutlass Supremes and GTOs. Big powerful rides were the thing. The Dauphine was tiny looked almost the same from the front as it did from behind. The engine was in the rear and looked like something that might power a lawnmower. If it didn’t start, you could wake up the engine with a hand crank.

My father’s not around to ask but I do wonder why he chose such an impractical car when he headed a family of 10. He might have seen Renaults on the streets of Paris on leave during the war. He might have liked the two-tone horn (loud for city, soft for country) and the fact you could wind it up like a toy car if it refused to go. He never said. But they are some of the Dauphine traits I admired when I was gifted the car in 1967. 

The previous year, I had learned how to drive in it on Daytona's deserted winter beaches. I failed my first driving test in it when I arrived at city hall on Dec. 18, 1966, with a bum fuse. The DMV man asked if I wanted to take the test using hand signals or return on another day, fuse replaced. It was my birthday. I had a date that night with a girl I fancied as my girlfriend. I took the test and failed. I did OK with left and right turns but forgot to gesture down for stop. I was devastated. It was a long slow ride home with my father and am embarrassing phone call to my date. 

My father was transferred from Daytona to Cincinnati early in '67. The Dauphine had many miles and he didn't want to drive it north so he put it in my hands. The idea was to take my brothers and sisters to school and anywhere else they wanted to go. My mother still had toddlers and a baby (No. 9) to care for. We would finish the school year, sell the house, and then join our father in Cincy. My brother Dan and I had been most resistant to the move. We were surfers, for God's sake, and there was precious little surf in Ohio. I played JV basketball for the Father Lopez Green Wave and had high hopes of making the varsity in my junior year. And I had a girlfriend, sort of. 

I did OK bossing around my siblings. I was also OK with having a car. It was no prize after seven years of hard use and three years of assaults by rust spawned by the salt air. It had really earned its rusty-red color. My classmates began to know me as the guy with the French car which sounds pretty romantic until you got a look at it, especially after I ripped off a rear door backing out of the garage and could only find a powder-blue replacement at the junkyard. It looked like a high school kid's car but that was OK as I was a high school kid with a car.

I revel in all of the fun we had. We crammed into the car and rode The Loop around Tomoka State Park, turning off the headlights to admire the darkness and tempt fate. I bought a surf rack and we wandered up and down A1A searching for surf. Girls thought my car was cute and liked to ride. Meanwhile, I tried to find a girlfriend with a muscle car so I could feel like what it was like to drive American. I dated Darlene for a year and got to drive her canary yellow Chevy Chevelle SS 396 and later her canary yellow Pontiac GTO. She had a thing for yellow. Her father bought her a new car every year. She didn’t mind riding in my car and but liked it better when my father returned from Cincy and bought a white Plymouth Barracuda that he occasionally let me drive.

During high school graduation summer of 1969, my Dauphine died. Kind of a drag as I worked two jobs getting ready for college and had to bum rides. I sold my car cheap to a guy who planned to turn it into a dune buggy. I imagine my car’s stripped chassis blasting through the beachside sand dunes before they were replaced by condos. I can also imagine my two-toned car with the two-toned horn abandoned in a “remote field” somewhere in the Florida scrubland.

I am 70 now. I am always 16 driving my Renault down The Loop’s dark road. Sometimes the headlights are on and sometimes they are off. I am happy.

La Petite Fadette: the novel by George Sand and the silent movie with Mary Pickford

"La Petite Fadette" is a novel by George Sand published in 1849. I'm reading it now after watching a 1915 silent film, "Fanchon, the Cricket," loosely based on the book. I'm a fan of the silents shown on TCM on Sunday night. In "Fanchon," Mary Pickford plays the lead. She was a darling of Hollywood at the time and in 1919 formed United Artists with D.W. Griffith, Douglas Fairbanks, and Charlie Chaplin. She plays Cricket, named for her small stature and hyperactive nature. Some people in the village consider her a witch because that's how the villagers saw her grandmother. Fadette and her little brother Grasshopper live with her in a tumbledown cottage out in the woods.

The cinematic Fanchon falls in love with the local hottie named Landry and scandal erupts because he is from a "good" family and she is not. Common plot line for many books and films. In the end, romance prevails and the two are married. The end.

As the credits rolled, I noticed that it was based on Sand's book. Wonder what the book is like? Despite my time as an English major, I never read any of Sand's numerous works. She's not really a part of the canon, at least when I was in grad school. Women authors were a few in the 1980s version of the big list. An oversight, as she was a woman author when that was very rare, author of many novels (one of my grad school mentors had the 28-volume English language set in his library). Sand was born Amantine Lucile Aurore Dupin and called Aurore by friends and family. She lived the bohemian life in Paris, wore men's clothing, smoked, and had numerous affairs with the literati and some musicians, Chopin, for one. Victor Hugo liked her work. Sand spent time on the barricades during the 1849 revolution. 

No surprise but "La Petite Fadette" is quite different from the Pickford film. In the novel, Fadette is small and describes herself as ugly, obviously no Mary Pickford, although Fadette is not always reliable in describing herself. She is dirty and wears tattered clothes. Still, she exerts a strong presence. Landry protects her during the village's feast day and even dances the bouree with her, which scandalizes the bourgeoisie. I was taken with the character. She's more outspoken than I expected, less a victim than a young woman trying to find her way in the world. Like her grandmother, she is endowed with mysterious healing powers, which she utilizes late in the novel with Landry's twin brother, Sylvinet. 

The prose is a overwrought, keeping with the style of the era. Long passages of dialogue and description. The author inserts her own opinions. She obviously wrote at a brisk pace which left little time for editing. Chapter 20 seemed to go on forever as Fadette and Landry critiqued each other. By that point, I was attached to the main characters and into the story.  

I am a strong advocate of editing and revising. But sometimes we lose some of the sloppy humanity that's a part of all good books. Think about Dickens and Tolstoy. Dickens was paid by the installment as his work appeared serially over weeks and months. Tolstoy, well, if you've read "War and Peace," you are familiar with endless descriptions of formal balls, philosophical discussions, and Napoleon's very, very long siege of Moscow. It also was first published serially in The Russian Messenger. W&P is wordy and unwieldy. Tolstoy didn't even call it a novel, saying that "Anna Karenina" was his first novel. What can I say -- I see it as a novel.  

George Sand wrote 59 novels and 13 plays. The Russians, especially Dostoevsky, were crazy about Sand's work during her lifetime. She's been featured in at least four Hollywood movies. "A Song to Remember" with Merle Oberon as Sand and Cornel Wilde as Chopin. I can't say I'll read more of her books, although not all are available in English. I have read one, which should please my English professors. It pleases me, too. Oh, and I saw the movie.

Message for the Commander, France, 1918

A remembrance for what once was called Armistice Day and now Veteran’s Day.

My paternal grandfather, Raymond Arthur Shay, enlisted in the Iowa National Guard in 1912. He was promoted to sergeant in 1915. In 1916-17, he served under General Pershing’s command at the so-called Punitive Expedition on the Mexican border. In May 1917, a month after the U.S., entered World War I, Raymond Shay was in officers’ training school. He joined the 88^th Division as a second lieutenant and went off to France with the 88^th. He returned home to Iowa in May 1919. Later that year, he was diagnosed with a severe lung condition and sent to Army Hospital 21 (later named Fitzsimons Army Hospital) located in Aurora, then a tiny suburb of Denver.

At the urging of his daughter Patricia, Raymond wrote about his service in the Iowa National Guard that was activated for the Mexican Border War and World War I. He wrote his memories in cursive script on 19 sheets of yellow paper held together by a clip. It’s tough for me to read but readers from future generations will see it as we do hieroglyphics in Egyptian tombs; cursive is no longer taught as matter of course in public schools.

We called Raymond Big Danny. I can find some of the details of his service on ancestry.com resources. The stories are another matter. We listened to his stories as kids but they were so old that they might as well be The Tales of Arabian Nights. I remember a few snatches of his stories. The writing he left behind reminds me of those. How he had to arrest one of his troopers on a train bound for debarkation at a Canadian port. The soldier was a bit drunk and was waving around a loaded pistol, shouting about how he dared the Canadian Mounties to arrest him for his German name. One of Lieutenant Shay's duties was transporting bodies from field hospitals and burying them with honor at the new American cemetery in the Hericourt-Alsace Sector. General Pershing came to inspect the troops based in Gondrecourt-le-Chateau after the Armistice. Big Danny outfitted one of the division’s cavalry mounts with his own French Officers Field Saddle, one he bought himself because it was superior to the U.S. Army’s McClellan Saddle named for a Union general who was sacked by Lincoln and later ran against him in the 1864 presidential election (McClellan lost).  

Old warriors tell old war stories – it’s a tradition. I can appreciate them now since I’m getting old myself – 70 on my next birthday. I’m not an old warrior, just appreciative of their service to the country. I also appreciate the stories and want them to be told forever.

So here’s one remembrance of Lt. Raymond Shay, Headquarters Troop, 88^th Division, U.S. Army. Written in his own hand in Loveland, Colo., sometime in the 1990s.

Setting: AEF front lines, autumn 1918

At Div. Hdgrs I was given a message to deliver to C.O. of 1^st battalion 35^th Inf in front line position. We need motorcycles with side cars for this courier service. I was required to use a regular driver or rider as known then and so I rode the side car. We found Bat. Hdqrs easy enough but it was not exactly as 1 expected. When I asked for the Battalion Commander and said I had a message from Div. Hdqrs, a young 2^nd Lt. said he was. But C.O., I said, I expected a major but would settle for a captain. He said you will settle for a 2^nd Lt as I am C.O. and if I had a message deliver it. When I delivered the message I was still wondering where all the other officers were and asked the Lt. about this. He said well Belfort is only 10 or 15 miles down the road and they are all there living the good life.

The Lt. then asked me the 64-dollar question. He asked if I had ever been in No Man’s Land (that two-block distance between the trenches). I said no as my duty did not take me there. He went on to say one of these days this war would be over and I would be ashamed to go home and say I had never been in No Man’s Land. I said I had not thought of it in that light. I did say it would be better to go home and admit I had not been there than to go into that disputed land and not go home at all. He said I was wrong and he knew how to go out there and it would be safe if I did exactly as he directed. O.K. I said if I don’t go I suppose you will report me to Div. Hdqrs as a poor front line soldier, he said, no, you will get along fine.

He asked if my 45 Colt was loaded, if there was a cartridge in the firing chamber, now pull the hammer back and put on safety catch, hold the pistol in your hand and follow me. He said we would have to proceed with great care thru the communication tunnels as the Germans sometimes sneaked in at night and picked off our men at their convenience. We arrived at the end of this tunnel and were in the Front Line Trench and observation post. The Lt. said we are going out on No Man’s land. He said put your pistol back in the holster and do as I do, follow me, do not make any attempt to go for your pistol unless we are fired upon and that would do no good as we are out of pistol range out here.

We walked around slowly and he pointed to a tree on the German side and said there was a sniper posted there. During all this time, the trench artillery were shelling a small town the rear of the German lines, whatever they were hitting caused a lot of dust to rise.

The Lt. said we have been here long enough so you may return to Div. Hdqrs and tell them that you were in No Man’s Land with the Battalion Commander.

He was a great guy.

Armistice Day 2018

From Metro News in the U.K.:

As we approach the centenary of the Armistice on November 11, the Imperial War Museum has released a recording of the moment the war ended, patched together using recordings from their collections. The artillery activity it illustrates was recorded on the American front near the River Moselle, one minute before and one minute after the war ended. Read more here

My paternal grandparents, Raymond Shay (Big Danny to his grandkids) and Florence Green (Mudder), were both near the action in the closing days of the war. My grandfather was a cavalry officer with the Iowa National Guard and my grandmother was a nurse serving at Evac Hospital No. 8. Several years ago, I printed Mudder's diary (with commentary) on these pages. Here are her entries from Nov. 9-12:

November 9: The Germans have until Monday 11am, am crazy to know how every thing is going to turn out. Am waiting to go on a candy making party but looks like we won’t go tonight as the officers can’t come, such as life, just full of disappointments.
November 10: Busy as could be today, tomorrow is the day which decides about the war, am so anxious to hear the return.
November 11: Am some happy tonight to think the war is really over. I cannot believe it. Haven’t heard a gun since 11am. Great celebrating everywhere. Can almost hear the city hall in Baltimore ringing, and what a wonderful time for Paris.
November 12: Nothing exciting happened, patients coming in slowly. Took a walk. Our orders came. We go Evac to #15, hope from there to #2.

The U.S.-led Meuse-Argonne offensive was still in process, with nurses at Evac #8 working around the clock. Researcher Dr. Marian Moser Jones of the University of Maryland read Mudder's diary and had this response:

As she notes in her diary, Florence was sent to evacuation Hospital number 8 during the end of the Meuse Argonne Offensive in late October, after stints at Evacuation Hospitals 1 and 4. Evacuation Hospitals were nearer the front than base hospitals. Green served near the front during the final push of the war and was part of a group regularly exposed to large artillery fire and aerial bombardments.

University of Maryland Professor of Surgery Dr. Arthur Shipley served at Evac #8. He wrote about his experiences after the war. Here are some of his observations about evacuation hospitals:

The Evacuation Hospitals were usually up to 10 miles from the front. They were well out of reach of the light artillery but within the range of the "heavies" and, of course, were subject to bombing. The difficult thing was to place them along the lines of communication, and at the same time far enough away from ammunition dumps and rail heads not to invite shelling or bombing. They were plainly marked with big crosses made of different colored stone laid out on clear space, so as to be easily seen from the observation planes and to show up in photographs. If there were buildings in the hospital group, red crosses were often painted on the roofs. This was most important, as wounded men in large numbers could not be moved into dugouts if the hospitals were subjected to much shelling. During the Argonne offensive, we were at the top of our strength. We had about 1000 beds for patients, 410 enlisted personnel, 65 medical officers and 75 nurses.

My grandfather also kept a diary but he wrote only short, officious entries. We do know he was involved in the Meuse-Argonne offensive but lack any details. I can only guess his feelings on Armistice Day. He told stories about his role in the war but none about the final bloody days when U.S. troopers suffered massive casualties. The Meuse-Argonne American Cemetery holds 14,246 headstones for the U.S. casualties of the final 47 days of the war.

I am writing a novel set in post-war Colorado. During my research, I learned a few things. The war set people in motion. An Iowa farm boy and a middle-class Baltimorean ended up in Europe during one of the globe's most savage moments. As the song goes: "How you gonna keep 'em down on the farm after they've seen Paree?"

All four of my grandparents moved to Denver in 1919-1920. I always wondered why. That's the theme I explore in my novel. What caused my relatives to slip the bonds of their homes and venture West? The frontier was closed, Frederick Jackson Turner said after the 1890 census revealed that the Wild West was wild no more. Maybe my grandparents didn't see a frontier but they saw something. What was that thing?

The more I read about the war, the better I understand the era and the less I understand humankind. I hope to bring some shape to the shapeless.

Afterword: Mudder's World War I diary

Florence Green (a.k.a Mudder) celebrated her 26th birthday in France in 1918.

Normally, being in your twenties in France and celebrating a birthday would be cause for joy. And perhaps it was. But there was a war on, which complicated things. She was a nurse on the front lines of one of the most destructive wars in history.

Have you ever been young and in a war zone far away from home? I haven't, but I have been young and far away from home, missing my parents and siblings and yearning for a lost love. That's all you need to know, really, about Florence Green's nine months overseas in 1918-1919. She was young and lonely -- but also engaged in a great adventure that was part of a larger misadventure.

I am no historian. But I am a blogger and, as such, I have no shortage of opinions. However, the more I learn about World War I, the more I know -- and don't know. That pretty much sums up the aging process. The more I learn, the more I find that I don't know.

This is as true of world events as it is of family history. I first knew Florence Green Shay in the 1950s growing up in Denver. We called her Mudder because that was my toddler-style mispronouncing of Grandmother or Grandma or whatever other name I was trying to spit out of my young mouth. She was stuck with it the rest of her life. Mudder was a bridge-playing Denver matron She drove around town in an Edsel. She and my grandfather, Raymond Shay, lived in the Park Hill neighborhood which, over the years, has become one of Denver's swankier addresses. Grandpa was known as Big Danny, another one of my inventions, giving him the title of Danny Senior because my brother was little Danny. It all begins to make sense if you look at it through the imagination of a young child with delusions of becoming a writer.

It wasn't until later that I knew about my grandparents' war experiences. Both products of The Great War, or the First World War. Much was made of Big Danny's experience. He was a cavalry officer with the Iowa National Guard, mobilized to fight Pancho Villa on the Mexican border and then sent to France with the American Expeditionary Force (A.E.F). His basement held many trophies of the war. Guns and bayonets, battle flags and medals.

Mudder was a nurse in the same war. But it was decades before we knew of her experiences. She spoke little of her time in the U.S. Army Nurse Corps. She spoke in general terms of her shipboard trip to England and then to France. She dated a slew of officers, as American women were in short supply, and made fudge during her downtime as evacuation hospitals near the front. Nothing as exciting as my grandfather riding a horse into battle, flag waving, bullets zipping over his head. As far as I know, he actually never rode a horse into battle due to German machine guns, a new invention that made cavalry charges extinct.

Mudder had a diary. When I first read passages from it decades ago, I was disappointed. No chronicles of treating the dead and dying. A few notes about air raids, but no pyrotechnics, no sights and sounds and details. As a writer, I looked for those details. I was raised on World War II novels and memoirs. First-hand chronicles of the Vietnam War were appearing in bookstores. Mudder's calm chronicles paled in comparison.

Now that I'm 65, I can look back at her diary in wonder. I've kept a journal since I was 21. It's no mean feat to write daily, even a bigger challenge in a war zone, I suspect. Mudder worked long shifts in the hospital wards. Artillery fire lit up the nights. German planes dropped bombs. The wounded arrived with regularity. Over in the trenches, a horseless Big Danny fought the Huns. The two hadn't met yet but both were in the war zone. It would be the cavalry man's experiences we knew best.

Until now. My sister Eileen Shay Casey got her hands on our grandmother's lone surviving diary. Eileen has always loved history, which is why she got a nursing degree from University of Central Florida (LOL). She was urged into nursing by our mother, the nurse. After working a few years in hospitals and the death of our mother from cancer at 59, Eileen quit the medical field for a career in the non-profit world of foundations and grant-writing and fund-raising.

That love of history never deserted her. She transcribed Mudder's diary. She put out the word about her work and heard from an historian at the University of Maryland, Dr, Marian Moser Jones. Dr. Jones was intrigued by Mudder's diary since she was working on a book about WWI nurses trained in the University of Maryland system. With Microsoft Word versions of the diary and Dr. Jones' research notes, I posted Mudder's diary entries on this blog from Nov. 25 to Dec. 20, 2015. I now am working on a print version of the diary for family members and other interested parties. Once it's formatted, I will share the link on these pages.

Mudder's fudge recipe survives. As does her beat-up old diary which we hope will find a permanent home in the University of Maryland archives. Her memories will live forever that way, much as her DNA lives on in us.

We all make our tiny footprints on this big world.

Part IX: Mudder's World War I diary

December 26 
Happier today than I have been for some time, got a letter from Peany and such a sweet one too, also one from E with a handkerchief in it. Goldie is sick in bed Ward #2, hope she will be well by the 2nd.

December 27 
Met a man from Evac #3, invited me to a dance at #79. Got two more letters from P, he is dear all right, to bed early.

December 28 
Mail today, just a Xmas card. Went to a dance, had a fairly good time.

December 29 
Some of our officers are going back to the States, leave tomorrow, they sure are lucky. Rained all day for a change.

December 30
Another disappointment today. Leah can’t go on leave.

December 31 
Went to the New Year’s Eve dance, had a real good time. Orders came that 42 would be replaced; suppose that means we will all go home. I wonder if I am going to get to go on my leave.

January 1, 1919 
Got my orders to go on leave, thank goodness I am safe then. Off for Toul on the train. Only 2 hours late, got in Toul, stayed all night at the Red Cross, made some fudge to take along.

January 2 
Trains supposed to leave for Paris at 800am but left 1030. Met some officers that came over on the ship with us. Took Miss Saxelby and I to dinner. We arrived at Paris at 600pm. Had the dickens of a time to get a taxi, finally did, went to the Continental and thought rooms had been engaged but they had not, but while standing there, in walked Peany, bless his heart, he made us take his room, he met a colonel he knew so he went in with him. We had a wonderful dinner.

January 3 
Had breakfast in bed, then we started out, we went to different shops, had lunch at the Marlborough tearoom. Met P at 2pm, but in the meantime, met Miss Hines, chatted a while with her. Got on the train for Nice at 6pm, started about 8. I had a seat but poor P only had a small seat until 5am, such a dirty tiresome trip.

January 4 
Landed in Nice at 6pm, cleaned and had dinner, who should I meet, the first thing but LHM Went to bed early that night and such a storm.

January 5 
Took a walk, went to the station to make reservations to leave next Saturday, we finally did. The Mediterranean was quite rough this day; the storm had done a lot of damage.

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday 
Went to dances, took long walks, did some shopping. Found the best place to eat breakfast, could get the best waffles. Walked up a very steep hill, could see the Alps which were with snow. The last of the week the Mediterranean was very calm and just as warm as could be. Sure hated to come back to Bazoilles. Saturday Left for Paris, arrived Sunday 10am, went to the Continental. Sure was sick, had dinner, went to bed and got up for supper and then went to bed, got up at 630am.

Monday 
Train left for Chaumont, arrived 315, got in Neuf. At 715, waited there 2 hours for a train to B, dead tired, such a trip. P stayed in Neuf.

Tuesday 
Had the whole day off, went to Neuf, met P, we had lunch, then he came out to the base with me, had tea, he left 5pm. All alone again and such news when I came back. We are attached to Evac 21, all the men of 42 are going home, can you beat it. I am homesick, I want to go home. Got 72 letters today.

Wednesday 
On duty in #17, mumps ward, such a life, sure want to go home.

Thursday 
Made P some fudge today and sent it to him, hope he gets it.

Friday 
Went to the dance, had a real nice time but came home early.

Saturday, Sunday, Monday 
Nothing exciting happen, same old mud hole.

Tuesday January 21 
Had the whole day off, went to Neuf today, bought wool to make a sweater, and took a walk with Steve, no news about going home, expect to be here this time next year.

Wednesday January 22 
On duty most of day

Thursday January 23 
Little excitement today. The nurses who wish to remain in France had to sign up, looks like we are going home. Who should walk into our hospital today, no one but Peany. Was making fudge for Steve and Leah but Peany got most of it, he is being transferred near Dijon. We went to Neuf for dinner, I sure did miss a good dance.

Friday, January 24 
Am real glad I did not go to the dance, an accident, 2 nurses with fractured ribs, suppose I would have been the unfortunate one if I had went to our dance at night.

Saturday January 25 
Not much news but I really do think we are going home, our trunks were marked today.

Sunday January 26 
Al last the news has arrived. We leave Tuesday morning, am so excited. Leah was to have her leave Tuesday, she is disappointed. Lots of mail today.

Monday January 27 
Went to Neuf today, bought a few things to take home and some lunch. Goldie bought a beautiful ring. Made a lot of fudge to take on our trip. The nurses remaining are about 38, gave BH 42 nurses a farewell dinner, the music was great. I had Dr. Wood over from 46. He invited me over to a chicken supper and dance Tuesday night. I am out of luck, but so much nicer to go home.

Tuesday January 28 
Gotten up mighty early, trunks carryalls, and suitcases have gone. 6am train did not come in till late. Went to tea in the afternoon, had some music, got on the train 11pm and did not pull out till 4am, such a mess,. 3rd class compartments, no heat, old hard wood benches, and they tell me we have a three day trip before us.

Wednesday January 29 
Sitting on the sidetrack most of the day, the rate we are going I think we will be about 10 days. I am so tired; all we ate is sardines, bread.

Thursday January 30 
I think an American engine has been put on, we have been speeding, just a little. I sure feel punk.

Tuesday January 31 
We have gone about 2/3 of the way, we probably reach St. Nazaire Sunday, such a life, no water, no heat, no nothing.

Wednesday February 1, 1919 
Arrived at St. Nazaire 2pm, went over to the Red Cross for sandwiches and cocoa and then were carried about 8 miles in trucks to La Baule. A beautiful hotel, but no heat, I had a great bath and a good dinner and to bed.

Sunday February 2 
Took a long walk along the Atlantic beach, had tea in a clean little place and got warm at the Red Cross.

Monday 
Today we got orders to pack, we leave in the morning for Brest, wonder if we will ever sail. Did some shopping today. Gee, I’ll be glad when I get home.

Tuesday 
An all day trip in the train but great deal better than our last trip. Arrived at Base 65 at 11pm, we were put in a large barracks, no sheets, pillowcases or anything.

Wednesday 
Not allowed off the grounds. Had tea at 3pm in the hut

Thursday 
Play cards or knit. That’s all we have to do.

Friday 
No orders yet, have finished my sweater.

Saturday 
Learning to play bridge, rather interesting. Went AWOL to the nearby village, bought the cutest wooden shoes.

Sunday 
Went to church, nothing exciting. Is happening. Rumors but no real news.

Monday 
Moved to another barracks today, much more comfortable.

Tuesday 
Took a walk in the village today.

Wednesday 
Went across the river in a rowboat, real nice time. Had a dandy minstrel show here at night.

Thursday, Friday 
Played bridge mostly all day.

Sailing………

Meanwhile, back in the States. This information is from research by Dr. Marian Moser Jones of the University of Maryland:

On March 10, 1919, Green arrived back in New York with many other nurses from her unit.

She returned to Baltimore, greeted by hundreds, on March 16, 1919.  

She was discharged from Army Nurse Corps on April 9, 1919 (from Service Record).

On April 10, 1919, she gave a talk to a Women's club in Irvington, Maryland, about her experiences "Over There."

1920, June 4 -- the Army Reorganization Act authorized relative rank for nurses. Prior to this point, nurses did not have rank and were not recognized as officers. Following the passage of this law, they were given officers' ranks, from 2nd Lieutenant through Major. They were not, however, given commissions or base pay equal to that of other officers of the same grade. Such equal treatment would have to wait until 1947. (Mary Sarnecky, The History of the US Army Nurse Corps).

Green was re-inducted into Army Nurse Corps as a 2nd Lieutenant only 8 days after the passage of this law, on June 12, 1920. She served at General Hospital No. 21, in Denver, Colorado, (renamed Fitzsimons General Hospital July 1, 1920) until January 24, 1922 (Shipley,The Officers and Nurses of Evacuation Hospital No. 8) As a postwar nurse officer, she belonged to a small elite: By June 30, 1921 there were only 851 nurses, including 1 major, 4 captains, 74 first lieutenants, and 772 second lieutenants (Office of Military History, US Army)

Green Shay's gravestone indicates that she was a first lieutenant. She might have been promoted some time between 1920 and 1922. Even though Shipley's book lists her as a 2nd Lieutenant, he readily admitted in the preface that it included numerous errors (her maiden name was also misspelled).

If she was promoted to First Lieutenant, as her gravestone indicates, she was among the top 100 women serving in the US Army during the postwar period. Additional material may be available at the Army Nurse Corps historical collection in Ft. Sam Houston, Texas, which I plan to visit for my research. 

As for her personal life.... 

She met Raymond Shay, also a veteran, a cavalry officer who served in the A.E.F. with the Iowa National Guard, who was recovering from tuberculosis at Fitzsimons. 

They married on June 28, 1922.  They had two children, Thomas (our father) and Patricia. Florence died August 17, 1980, at the age of 88. She and Raymond are buried together at Fort Logan National Military Cemetery in Denver. 

To her nine grandchildren, Florence Green Shay was known as "Mudder." And that's how we remember her.

Raymond Shay, Cavalry officer with the Iowa National Guard in the A.E.F. His grandchildren called him "Big Danny."

Florence Green's Foreign Service Certificate.

From the History Colorado Center web site: One of the 48 original 1918 buildings at the Fitzsimons Army Medical Center in Aurora, Colo., the Red Cross Building offered patient entertainment, which was especially meaningful for long-term patients usually suffering from tuberculosis. During WWI and WWII, the building put on vaudeville shows, movies, and concerts. Today, it is significant for its role in nursing soldiers, as well as for its architectural design as a standard cross-plan military building with stucco walls and shaped parapets. FMI: http://www.historycoloradocenter.org

Fort Logan National Military Cemetery in Denver after a snowfall. FMI: http://www.cem.va.gov/cems/nchp/ftlogan.asp

Part VIII: Mudder's World War I diary

November 16, 1918 
Got up at 6am breakfast in our room, got a taxi and made our train 6K, arrived at Chaumont 3pm. Found on arriving, P had been here, out of luck again tried to get him on the phone but no success. Went to the dance in the hut at night. 

November 17 
Orders have not arrived yet, took a walk in the afternoon, met several officers that Miss M knew, so we were invited out to dinner, had a very dry time. 

November 18 
Afraid to leave the grounds because I felt sure Peany would come today and he really did, was I glad to see him. I’ll sure say so. Took him over to tea and then brought me to 42 in his car, had a puncture getting here and too late for mess so we went to a villa nearby in a quaint old room you know and enjoyed myself. 

November 19 
Stayed in bed late, didn’t sleep at all, too much excitement. Had lots of mail, sure was good to be home once again. Peany came in the afternoon, just had a short while, came in the evening, a dance near by, so we rode over, had a dandy time, eats were good, fried chicken, sandwiches, doughnuts, cocoa and punch. 

November 20 
Went to Neuf Chateau with Ruth, and then I had a disappointment, met Peany and he has to go away for a few days such luck, as I do have. He came in the afternoon and we went out for dinner, in his motorcycle this time, he leaves in the morning. 

November 21 
Some good news, P doesn’t have to go away at all, I am tickled to death, went over to #79 to a dance, had a wonderful time. 

November 22 
Haven’t been put on duty yet, I don’t really mind, made some fudge for P in the morning, he said it was awfully good. He came about 300pm. Had a dance here with the good old jazz, best music I ever heard but I am afraid I am going to too many dances, this has been some week for me. 

November 23 
We had tea in our recreation room, P came over, he and Colonel, Miss McAfee and I went out to dinner, some good time. 

November 24 
Had a nice long walk with P. He came over in the afternoon we had a great tea party including fudge. We afterwards went over to his mess, some good feed I’ll tell you. Miss Saxelby and the colonel went too. 

November 25 
Am to go on duty tomorrow. I sure had a good rest. Peany was here twice today but for a short while. I certainly missed him tonight. 

November 26 
Was on duty but the ward is very easy. P came at night and we had a dandy walk. 

November 27 
The whole day off today made some fudge for P and had a nice ride in the motorcycle going to a dance tonight. 

November 28 
Had a dandy time at the dance last night, went out to dinner with P, had Thanksgiving dinner here but P first always. 

November 29 
P went up to the front on a wild chore, and of course our big dance is tonight, promised to get back but he didn’t; I went to the dance at 930 and had a good time. 

November 30 
P showed up about 2pm, had trouble with his motorcycle, now it is broken, hard luck again. He and I walked to Neuf Chateau, he bought me the dearest watch. In the evening, Colonel Lyesby, Miss Costello, P and I went to dinner. 

December 1 
Another day for P at the front, landed in here about 7pm, sick as he could be and had to walk home, poor fellow, I sure am sorry about 6 kilos too. 

December 2 
Got a note from P, he is ill. I just thought so but I am going over to see him tomorrow night. Miss Leach has fixed our room up darling, went to Neuf in the morning and did a lot of purchasing. Had a time to get home but we found a friend. 

December 3 
Walked all the way to Frenille, Miss Costello and I, had dinner there. Peany is convalescing. Came home in a Dodge. 

December 4 
Made some fudge for P, he was over in the morning. Afternoon, he came we went out to dinner. 

December 5 
Had a half day off and did not expect it. Goldie and I walked to Frenille, of course P was out but got back about 430p. Captain McDonald, Leah, P and I went on a party to Hareyville, but never again. 

December 6 
Peany left quick today and no wonder, we almost came to blows but we made up. 

December 7 
Sad news. P has to go Hopkins to a dinner and dance, said he simply can not get out of it, he was over in the afternoon and a while in the evening 

December 8 
P came in the afternoon, got me all frustrated, said the car was waiting to take him, but it was not so thank goodness. He had a rotten time at the dance and I am glad of it. We went to H to dinner, had a dandy time. 

December 9 
The 346 gave us a dance at night, I was dressing, Leah ran over to me, and told me P had had an accident and was over in 46H with a fractured arm, you can see me run all excited, did you know it was untrue, he had sent her with that tale. Well anyhow the dance was great. 

December 10 
P arrived at 3pm, said he was to leave tomorrow. We went out to dinner. My, I would be happy if he did not have to go. 

December 11 
Today has been one of the most miserable days I have ever had. Received a note from P at 200p, he left at 100pm, I don’t know what on earth I will do. He wrote the dearest letter, I also got an old letter from him today. I wrote him a long letter tonight and then went to bed. 

December 12 
Still miserable, and expect to be for some time. Got the picture today that P had sent me ages ago, bless his heart, wish he were here. To bed at 830, such a life. 

December 13 
Wrote to P, my I miss that man. Went over to a French dance at night for a while. 

December 14 
Went to Neuf with Leah, coming back the driver was slightly stoned. I did not think we would make it. To bed at 830pm. 

December 15 
Wrote to P. Took a walk at night with Nell. Was talking to Ray for a while. Monday 

December 16 
This life is getting rather monotonous. Wrote P; played cards this afternoon with Goldie and 2 officers, they were both married though. I won all the games too, me and my partner. 

December 17 
Some mail yesterday for a change but none from P. Wrote some letters, went to bed. 

December 18 
Played cards with some of the girls, nothing exciting happened. 

December 19 
To bed early, nothing new. 

December 20 
No mail, no nothing, rather blue, homesick, and tired. 

December 21 
There was a dance here last night, I heard it was a failure. To bed early as usual. 

December 22 
Made Xmas ornaments for the tree, out of silver foil and colored cardboard with red ink, better the day, better the deeds. Leah wanted me to play cards with her but refused. 

December 23 
Lt. Wood came over and invited me to their Xmas eve dance. I accepted. Made fudge the entire day for the boys for Xmas. Got my package and some letters, rather pleased. 

December 24 
Trimmed our tree which looked rather nice and the ward looked great, decorated with greens and things made out of absolutely nothing. Went to the dance at night, had an awfully good time. 

December 25 
Got up at 12noon, blue as could be. Had a good Xmas dinner, went on the ward at 2pm, the patients sure had a good day; I wanted to dance but relaxed instead. Got several sweet handkerchiefs, perfume, etc.

Part VII: Mudder's World War I diary

On Oct. 24, 1918, nurse Florence Green ("Mudder" to her grandchildren) received orders to go to Evac 8 on the Meuse-Argonne front. This is from information provided by Dr. Marian Moser Jones of the University of Maryland after reading Florence Green's diary:

As she notes in her diary, Florence was sent to evacuation Hospital number 8 during the end of the Meuse Argonne Offensive in late October, after stints at Evacuation Hospitals 1 and 4. Evacuation Hospitals were nearer the front than base hospitals. Green served near the front during the final push of the war and was part of a group regularly exposed to large artillery fire and aerial bombardments.

Evacuation Hospital No. 8 and its wartime operations were also described in detail by Dr. Arthur Shipley, a prominent professor of Surgery at the University of Maryland, in a series of articles published in the Bulletin of the University of Maryland School of Medicine between 1919 and 1920. Florence mentioned meeting Shipley and working with him in her Oct. 26th diary. [Frederick] Pottle worked under him as an orderly. He later wrote a supplement to Pottle's book, The Officers and Nurses of Evac. No. 8. Although Green only served at this hospital for a short time, Shipley lists her in the supplement.

Here's Dr. Shipley writing about the details of evacuation hospitals:

The Evacuation Hospitals were usually up to 10 miles from the front. They were well out of reach of the light artillery but within the range of the "heavies" and, of course, were subject to bombing. The difficult thing was to place them along the lines of communication, and at the same time far enough away from ammunition dumps and rail heads not to invite shelling or bombing. They were plainly marked with big crosses made of different colored stone laid out on clear space, so as to be easily seen from the observation planes and to show up in photographs. If there were buildings in the hospital group, red crosses were often painted on the roofs. This was most important, as wounded men in large numbers could not be moved into dugouts if the hospitals were subjected to much shelling. During the Argonne offensive, we were at the top of our strength. We had about 1000 beds for patients, 410 enlisted personnel, 65 medical officers and 75 nurses.

Florence Green of Baltimore was one of those nurses. Her diary continues....

October 26
Dr. Shipley from the University of Maryland here. I made myself known to him, several other Baltimore people here. Worked all day.

October 27
Nothing exciting to relate, worked the entire day.

October 28
Goldie came to see me today, brought me four letters all from home too. Miss Martin made some good taffy, the best I have had for many a day.

October 29
Not so busy today.

October 30
The girls are trying to have a party for tomorrow night, it is Halloween. I hope they succeed. Made some real good fudge.

October 31
Had a wonderful ride today in a Cadillac and with a Lieutenant Colonel, but not the one I would of liked to of been with. Also had a dandy walk. Halloween night, but no dance.

November 1
Cleaned house today and wrote a pile of letters. Had a very nice walk. I think patients will soon come in by the barge this am.

November 2
War news is encouraging if it only keeps up. Heard today that Evac#4 had been shelled, poor Goldie, I bet she was scared to death.

November 3
Today is Sunday, but I never know one day from the other. Worked all day.

November 4
Well, Austria is out of the war; I do believe it will be over soon.

November 5
Nothing new, the war is still on.

November 6
No mail, no nothing, wish I was in Baltimore, tonight. Rain for a change.

November 7
Heard today, the war was over, another wild rumor I suppose but if it is true, how wonderful it will be.

November 8
Had the whole day off today, went about 3-5 miles from here, rode in four different vehicles, had a good lunch and dinner and a dandy ride in a Cadillac, a dandy time.

November 9
The Germans have until Monday 11am, am crazy to know how every thing is going to turn out. Am waiting to go on a candy making party but looks like we won’t go tonight as the officers can’t come, such as life, just full of disappointments.

November 10
Busy as could be today, tomorrow is the day which decides about the war, am so anxious to hear the return.

November 11
Am some happy tonight to think the war is really over. I cannot believe it. Haven’t heard a gun since 11am. Great celebrating everywhere. Can almost hear the city hall in Baltimore ringing, and what a wonderful time for Paris.

November 12
Nothing exciting happened, patients coming in slowly. Took a walk. Our orders came. We go Evac to #15, hope from there to #2.

November 13
Gee, but I had a good time today, went to Verdun and then way up to the front, saw lots of sights. Came back and went to Evac #3, since they are having no work there at all. A dandy little Lieutenant took us there and then later met us later and took us to Evac #4 where I saw Goldie, some mud there. On arriving home, we hear there is to be a big dance in the Citadel at Verdun, went up in a huge truck, just had lots of fun. Got home about 1am. The most exciting thing happened during the day I forgot to relate, met Captain R from the 346 and now I know where Lieutenant Colonel S is, hope I see him soon.

November 14
Stayed in bed late and at 11am, the chief came in to give us our orders; we left at 2pm, to take the train. It only takes 5 hours so Miss Martin and I thought we could make it quicker. We got permission from Captain Cahill so we beat it. A colonel was delighted to take us; I think we made it in ¾ of an hour. 30 miles at least, but we enjoyed it, but don’t say it was not cold. Had a dandy dinner and met the train from B. Oh yes, we are going to Paris, am tickled to death, took the night train and oh the ride, no sleep, about 9 people in the compartment.

November 15
Such a wonderful day, arrived at the Continental, got a beautiful room had breakfast in our boudoir. Went to the Red Cross, did some shopping, from there to the Marlboro Tea Room and such a good lunch, soup the best chicken, first I had had in France and real ice cream, well it was delicious. Did some more shopping. Eva met a captain from her home, so he went around with us, bought a dandy looking pair of shoes, had my suit pressed, I feel very much dressed up, to dinner and theater tonight with Captain Hinton and K, we saw ‘Tales of Hoffman’ mighty good show.

Musical interlude: Violinist Mery Zentay: Melodie in F and Barcarolle from "Tales of Hoffmann" (1917), https://youtu.be/OvJcjiDNZpo. A pupil of Jenö Hubay, Mery Zentay successfully toured Europe 1910-1914. She made her American debut in 1915 and became a popular recitalist as well as an Edison recording artist. She died on Oct. 3, 1918, at the age of 21, a result of the flu epidemic.

L’Infirmière (The Nurse), 1914–1918, by René Georges Hermann-Paul. Collection of Spencer Museum of Art, The University of Kansas. Gift of Professor Eric Gustav Carlson. This work was part of the exhibition “The Second Battlefield: Nurses in the First World War” at the National World War I Museum and Memorial in Kansas City, 2015-2016.