A LETTER FROM GEORGE MASSIE TO PAGE ALLISON
_Paris, France._
_Poste Restante._
MY DEAR PAGE:
I left England last week after having stopped with the
Pores at Grantley Grange for ten days or so. Say,
Page, the old one ain't half bad! If you could have
heard him swear when the beasts crowded in the
life-boats ahead of the women, you would have forgot
the grouch we had on about the way he has always done
Annie. Say, that man can swear! I wonder where he has
kept it all these years.
Of course, if a fellow ever is going to swear, it will
be at a time like that, and if he doesn't swear some,
it is because he is dumb. It is the kind of time when
some women pray and some weep and most men swear. They
don't mean anything, but it is just a kind of safety
valve. Annie says I swore like a trooper, but I wasn't
conscious of it at all. It just popped out of me. You
see I had to intimidate the men who were behaving like
cads, and the only way I knew how to do it was to
swear, unless it was to biff them one with the oars,
and I did not want to do that except as a last resort.
The swearing worked.
It was a very terrible experience and one I hope never
to have to undergo again. It was not only terrible to
think that all of those people might be at the bottom
of the ocean in a short while, but it was almost worse
to see the way people can be so scared that they think
only of themselves. I reckon a fellow ought not to
blame them. It seemed just blind animal instinct for
self-preservation. My Annie was a trump. She was as
calm and quiet as though shipwrecks had been an
every-day experience with her. She looked out for a
little child and its sick mother and helped people and
quieted women and men, and after we had been afloat in
our life-boat for hours and it was cold and rainy and
the poor sick woman and an old Irish chambermaid began
to despair and the kid began to cry, what should my
Annie do but begin to sing "Abide With Me." I have
never heard her sing better than she did out in the
middle of that dirty sea. It did all of us good, and
before you knew it, a little fishing smack almost ran
us down in the darkness and then had the decency to
stop and haul us aboard.
I reckon you think I'm pretty gaully to be saying "my
Annie" so glibly. She's not really my Annie but she is
going to be if I can make good. Of course I know she
is too young to make her give an answer to me yet, but
this war is going to age all of us, and when it is
over I'll be a steady old man with white whiskers, and
if Annie likes 'em, I'm going to get her answer then.
I don't want to tie her up but leave her free. She
might see a handsome Johnny that will put crimps in
my plans and I want her to take him if she likes him,
but I tell you, Page, I'm going to pray every day and
all day from now until the war is over that she will
like me best. The old man likes me. It seems I earned
his undying gratitude by waiting on him when he was
seasick and the doctor on board had made light of his
ailment. I made out he was sick unto death and worked
my fool fat self to a shadow fetching and carrying for
him. Then when the explosion came and I did my best to
keep order, he kind of cottoned to me more. I believe
when I come back from the wars and beg an answer from
Annie that His Nibs will be willing.
He is much more attractive in his English setting. He
really isn't half bad. His sisters are making a lot
over Annie and now he is kind of getting stuck on her
himself. 'Tain't so bad to be a woman in England now.
Folks are thinking a good deal of women, and I tell
you they should do so. Annie says he has always been
sore that she was not a boy. Looks as though he had a
hunch that he might inherit the title some day. I call
him the old man right to his face, as somehow I can't
school myself to say Sir Arthur. It is too story booky
for me.
I am here in France waiting to be sent out with the
Red Cross. I may drive an ambulance and I may just be
a stretcher bearer. I will do whatever they see fit to
put me to doing. There is plenty to do, they tell me,
and they welcome every American who comes over with
joy and gratitude. I wish we were in it as a nation. I
believe we will end there, and if we do, I tell you
someone else can drive the ambulance, as I mean to get
in the game without a red cross on my sleeve.
You don't know what I feel towards all of you girls,
all of Annie's friends. I have lived to bless the day
that I met you, although on that day I did anything
but bless it. You remember how you bundled me up in
the soiled clothes ready to send me to the laundry?
I'll never forget it! Also, I'll never forget that you
and the Tucker twins never told the rest of the
fellows about it. That was sure white of you! Please
put in a good word for me when you write to Annie, my
Annie.
Yours truly,
GEORGE MASSIE.