I did not enjoy my breakfast this morning. It rained, and as we did our regular work we nearly froze. And we had colds. Oh my! I can’t remember ever having such bad colds before.
We did our best trying to cheer our boys. Then we had supper and went to bed as we were very cold. Well, this is life in camp.
The view from our tent is fine. Over to the right is a little station where one train a day stops at half after 8.
Near it is a very pretty and picturesque bridge. And there in a field are four hundred horses, the property of Uncle Sam. The field is surrounded by very pretty trees; near is a number of stables and stacks of hay for the horses. Nearby, on the road, is a large cross with the image of Christ. Our tent is on a slope and back of it is a large field of potatoes. On one side near the woods are graves with a path between. On the right side is a building, the hotel, and a few homes. On the other side is a large forest. In front is a row of buildings. There is the home of the village crier. We would call him the news man. Every day or two he goes about the street beating a drum, the people open their doors to listen. He tells them the news, how much sugar they can use, and bread and so on. In each building lives a family which includes everything. Dogs, horse, cat, cow, chickens, mother and children, father, if he has not been killed or is at war. There are only old men, cripples, and boys here. There is the village pump, and everybody comes there to get their supply and to wash. They wear wooden shoes here, some soft slippers but only in the house. There is a building near the hut (the hut is near the center of the town), which was built in 1704. It is in very good shape and is now being used by the government. It was a masonic temple and just think, built in 1704. Then there is another one near it that was built in 1714. And another in 1740. Quite an old town. Quaint and pretty, well-built and well taken care of. There is a stream that runs through the town and on either side are trees and here and there a wash-house. They all wash at the river and use the same tub and method. They pound the dirt out. Not hard on the clothes but hard on the owners pocketbook because the clothes don’t last long. There is an interesting person also. He is the village shepherd, or rather, the shepherdess, because men are few. In the morning, she blows the horn and who have sheep or goats let them out. She gathers them together and takes them to pasture. In the evening, she returns, and as she passes each house she blows her horn; the door is opened and then sheep or goats run in. They know their own houses. Sometimes it is in the house, sometimes it is under, sometimes it is next door, but each remembers where it lives. It looks very nice. Then there is the baker; he or she makes the bread, and each morning one member of each family calls for the bread. It is made in a ring like a life buoy. They carry it on their arm like a basket. If they want to talk, they rest it against a building. Sometimes it is made in a stick like a log, then they carry it on their shoulder.
This is Sat. It has rained all week. My feet have been warm but once. That was last night. We asked the lady for some hot water. She could not get over our hot water bottle. But they felt fine and our feet were warm.
My! But it is cold and wet. My skirts are wet and muddy. I am sure it is nothing but God’s mercy to me that has kept me well.
In the morning, we took the water out of the water bottle and washed our faces because it was warm. The breakfast was the same as usual.
This day is payday, and I think most every boy is drunk. They get mad when they drink this French wine. It rained all day, and Staff Capt. said we must go to our room so we did. At supper, most of the men were the worse for wear and some got French women to cook for them.
It was a terrible night. It rained all night and the men were terrible. It was very cold.
Diary of a World War I Donut Girl 