“Over There” at Last!
Friday, the twenty-second day of June, I arose upon a birthday
anniversary. I had no intention of observing it, but I felt in a
vaguely definite way that something interesting was to happen before
the day was over; and this feeling was not long in growing from the
vague to the definite.
From the time of reaching Paris I was busily engaged in various ways
at the headquarters of the American Field Service while impatiently
waiting my turn to go to the front. I was more than impatient――at
times I was fretful. I even believe that upon cross-examination the
heads of the service would admit that I was absolutely annoying. I
supposed that I would be assigned to a new ambulance section soon to
be organized, but on this day I have mentioned, I was informed that I
was to fill a vacancy in Section Number One, the oldest American Field
Section serving with the French army. I was in luck. Section One had
been at the Battle of the Marne, it had served in Belgium――it had been
at Verdun in 1916 and had gained a glorious record for itself at
various places along the Western Front. I was to be prepared to leave
Paris on Sunday morning, and to my delight I learned that Frederick
Norton was also to join the same Section.
While working together in the Paris headquarters we discovered that we
had many mutual friends and this naturally put us on a friendly
footing from the beginning. We found that our ideas coincided about
many things and about people. I thought Norton had some pretty good
ideas and was an excellent judge of people. Sometimes when we were
talking together he would say about someone: “How do you size him up?”
And I would tell him. Usually our ideas coincided. Norton had been a
traveller――he had been to Alaska――he had been North with Peary――he had
been to Japan――he already knew something of France――he had been a
hunter――he had a pilot’s license to drive an aeroplane――he had done
some toboganning and skiing in Switzerland, which are not sports for
the timid. These things I learned from him slowly, for he was
extremely modest and not given to talking about his exploits. I was
glad when I found that we were to start for the battle front together,
and he was kind enough to say that he was glad, too.
Saturday night and a short “Good-night” to Paris. A short “Good-night”
because cafés close at nine o’clock, and besides I must be up early
the following morning. In company with my delightful pagan friend
“Bridgey,” I went around to a little quiet out of the way café, which
was hardly known to Americans. The little café was kept by an elderly
lady whose husband had been killed in the war and by her daughter
whose husband had also been killed in the war. This mother and
daughter were excellent cooks, but their place was plain and
comfortable. There was sawdust on the floor. Sitting in the little
back dining room we could see into the kitchen and watch the meal
being prepared. Across the street in the “Chinese Umbrella” there was
more ostentation, style and atmosphere. The “Chinese Umbrella” was
patronized mostly by Americans and the atmosphere was not Parisian.
“Bridgey” had invited me there for a quiet, exclusive farewell supper,
and as we sat in the back room of the café he regaled me with an
account of how he had tried for aviation the day before. He was
nearsighted and wore spectacles, without which he could scarcely see
across the room. From a friend he had procured a copy of the alphabet
eye test and had tried to commit it to memory; he reported for
examination with spectacles in his pocket. He missed on the third
letter, and being brusquely informed that he had failed, “Bridgey,”
who certainly had a sense of humor, smilingly adjusted his spectacles
and bade adieu to the inspecting officer.
Supper finished, I said “Au ’voir” to Madame and her daughter, the two
war widows, and then went off to bed.
“Bridgey” was on hand next morning to see us start for the front. A
few other acquaintances were at the station, too. I have not seen
“Bridgey” since but I heard that he was at Verdun during the big
offensive.
Norton and I boarded the twelve o’clock train bound for the front. The
train was crowded with French officers, grey haired Generals,
Colonels, officers of all ranks and of various branches of the
service. There were very few civilians and not half a dozen women.
Twelve o’clock, and Paris faded behind us as we started for the battle
front.