It has been quite a while since I have written you, and this letter must
be a short one, but lots of things have been happening. As a matter of
fact, there is a good long letter half written in my note book, but it
is not here yet.
Well, in the first place, I spent three days in Bourges. It is an aged
town, was once the stopping place of Caesar, has been twice capital of
France, and is rich in architectural treasures of all ages. The best
thing there is the cathedral of St. Etienne, which I think you will find
pictured and described in the encyclopedia. I spent my whole time
sketching and sight-seeing, and will be perfectly contented to live
within two hundred yards of it for a month. Traveling alone is the best
way to see things. There are more doors that a single person can pass
through. I traversed much worn, winding stairways, and chilling
passages, darksome. I saw cells and pits of torture of the Inquisition.
The youngest part of the cathedral is four times as old as the United
States. For the architect, it is a jewel; for the historian a treasure;
for the poet, a dream; for the conqueror, a tomb; for the soul-torn, a
haven; and a place of worship for everyone. A French nurse whom I met
this morning said, “Why do they destroy the churches? The churches
belong to everyone. They are theirs as well as ours.”
It was fortunate I took the opportunity of seeing Bourges, for the day
after I returned to Avord we were all sent here to Tours to another
school of aviation, devoted entirely to Americans. There is another
wonderful cathedral here. We are learning a little more about our
prospects. There are both U. S. Army and Navy men at this camp. The
conditions of this camp are infinitely better than at Avord. Sheets on
the bed, much better food, tablecloths, china, a piano, and better
system.