Edited and published at AFS Headquarters, 60 Beaver Street, New York 4, N.Y. under the sponsorship of the ambulanciers' relatives and friends who contribute the excerpts from the letters.

* * *

I am home. I am a veteran AFS ambulance, and I don't know what my name is, because I've had so many in the last three years that I answer politely to whatever my current boss fancies. It seems funny to say I am home and mean back in the States. For the last three years I've listened to hundreds of thousands of words about that one word HOME. The only other words I've heard nearly as much from my AFS bosses and their pals are "when I get back". I cannot remember anyone ever having mentioned one little word about MY going home, so you see it was really quite a shock to me when, after stopping some of the 'hot stuff' the Nazis hurl around, I was pushed into a workshop and patched up a bit ---not so that I could go back again and be a target, as had happened before---but to get me ready to go HOME.

I was so startled I couldn't blow my horn for a week. I couldn't even wonder ..... imagine what I'd do home, what it would be like. You see the U.S. is where I'm from, but I couldn't really remember it at all. I left HOME before I rightly know what was its name. Immediately after I got through the assembly line process of being born, I, with several of my sister ambulances, was put on a ship for a long, long time. Eventually we stopped rolling and pitching around, were hoisted out of the depths of the dark hold and rolled out into the brilliant sun of Egypt.

I was pretty scared. There was great confusion and I'd been away from people so long I hardly remembered what they looked like. These were different from any I'd ever seen and made all sorts of different sounds. They were English people ....and the little dark ones were even more different...they were Egyptian people. I guess I was still pretty surprised by life and all 'cause the only thing I said was "Oh!".

I kept on saying "Oh" at frequent intervals for months. Everything I heard and saw and did was brand new. I guess that period could be put down as my education, for I travelled through deserts, Syria, Damascus and Beirut. My first AFS boss fussing and complaining about a thing called WAR. He was over there to be in a war, he said, and where was he? ......at a rear base, driving head-cold and malaria patients. This kind of talk kept up for several months. But suddenly one day he came tearing up to me and leapt in his seat, shouting and grinning, and told me we were off to WAR. He was happy, so I tried to be too, only that was kind of difficult as I didn't know what he was talking about. I found out soon enough.

We went down out of the mountains in a big, long convoy and right through a couple of big cities without even stopping and out into the desert to a great big encampment where there were many people and more varied kinds of vehicles than I imagined ever existed. My Boss's excitement was intense but he had grown much quieter. He kept going over and over me, tightening screws that were so tight already a Superman couldn't have improved them. Ever possible spot was greased and re-greased until I was afraid I'd slither rather than roll when he got me started.

After a few days of this we started out in a tight convoy in a new direction across the desert. One night we stopped and parked as usual but no one went to sleep. I dozed, being tired, and I remember thinking they were all a little crazy In the middle of the night every single gun on the desert went off at once and kept right on going off for all the rest of the night, and for a long time after that. We were at Alamein. My Boss jumped into his seat as soon as the guns started and we drove around to all parts of the desert stopping to take hurt people aboard. The people were very badly hurt, most of them, and glad to be lifted into my back on their stretchers. This was what he'd meant about war. War meant going out in all that noise and getting those poor, hurt people back to the medical stations, and then going out after more of them. We got them back, which pleased my boss and his bosses.

Then I got a new boss I got a new name, and we went to new places but doing about the same things. One time we were in a very quiet town by the ocean for a time. A morning came when we rolled along pretty smooth streets, then right to the edge of the ocean and onto a big space that turned out to be the deck of a ship called an LST. This ship is a nice way to get places on water 'cause if you're lucky you ride on the top deck and it's not all dark and dreary as the hold was on the other ship. When the LST stopped there was more noise and lots of buildings and trees and the people made still different noises. We were in Italy I discovered, and I got me another new boss. The war business here was right in the middle of the towns as well as out in more open places. And that's all that happened to me up to the day I was telling you about when a whole lot of hot stuff spattered all over me and they took me to workshops for repair. When I was all fixed up, lots of the AFS bosses came to see me and then I got another boat ride and at the end of that I was HOME.

Home seemed to be a big dock where a lot of people called Army men came and looked at me and seemed very amazed. They were of the opinion that I was a wreck, so they took me off to the side and went all over me again as my workshop friends on the other side had done. This seemed pretty silly to me but what could I do. Then a couple of girls came over to see me. There was something familiar about them I looked again out of my good headlight and saw AFS marks on their sleeves, so my bosses at home were women, eh? I wasn't very happy about that prospect, and I couldn't figure out what would happen. I wondered if war was happening HOME. In fact, I wondered at lots of things so decided to take my usual course of waiting around till 1 finally found out what was what.

The girls said lots of nice things about me. A man came and took pictures of me, and then the girl-bosses climbed in and we drove away. Two days of long, long, smooth roads with lots of small, shiny vehicles and huge, shiny trucks on them. But nowhere any tanks, halftracks, and almost no jeeps or ambulances. We drove a long time in the fog one night behind one of the big, shiny trucks, and then went through a bright, shiny tunnel and were in the biggest town I've over seen, New York. Everywhere we go I get admired and petted. I've had lots of pictures taken, and one day an AFS boss such as I used to have on the other side, came to my house (Oh, yes, I live in a big, dark house called a garage) and took me out. We went very solemnly and slowly down a long straight road along with some sailors and women-people and others who talked about Army Day and marched with flags and bands. It was fun and my boss kept talking just like my other bosses, except that he talked about going back over, instead of about HOME. I like HOME, only I wish my sisters were here, too, 'cause none of the vehicles I talk to know anything about the noises and hot stuff .and it seems strange not to have anyone to talk to about that.

by AFS ambulance #1314283

as told to

J.B.

The AFS units overseas have asked that athletic equipment be sent to them, but we have been unsuccessful in obtaining a sufficient quantity in New York. It might be possible to locate this equipment in places elsewhere, so, if any is available in your district, would you be good enough to advise us the name and address of the dealer, so that we may contact

DO NOT SEND ANY EQUIPMENT DIRECTLY TO AFS HEADQUARTERS IN NEW YORK

We would like to have:

There is also a demand for automobile radios overseas. If any of these are available, will you be good enough to send us the name and address of the dealer in your town who has such sets.

JOHN CLIFFORD BISSLER of Manhasset, New York and ROBERT LAWRENCE YANCEY of Brighton, Illinois, on March 22nd, were wounded while serving in the India-Burma Campaign. Both men volunteered to drive a jeep ambulance from the Regimental Aid Post to a forward position, where a Jap shell landed near Bissler and fractured his leg. Yancey went to his aid, when a second shell struck Clifford in the chest and slightly wounded Bob in the right leg. He was treated at the post, but Bissler was evacuated to the hospital by air. On admittance, it was found that gangrene had set in and amputation was necessary.

FREDERICK EUGENE ELLIS of Portland, Oregon, was wounded while serving in the India-Burma theatre with the 19th Division. He was standing behind an Indian cook, who was tending a fire when there was a sudden explosion, in which the cook was severely wounded and Fred suffered a gash across his nose. It was later discovered that a 75 mm Jap shell was buried under the fire and the detonator had exploded.

WILLIAM HOPKINS RAWDON of San Francisco, California, was also wounded while serving with the 19th Division in Burma. Bill was proceeding down a road near Mandaly, when the convoy was stopped by some Burmese soldiers who said that Japs were in the buildings ahead. Bill and some other AFS volunteers started around the place one way and an Indian Captain with some troops the other. A Jap officer appeared and Rawdon saw him grab a hand grenade to throw at him. Bill dived for shelter but the grenade went off just as he hit the ground, wounding him in the arm, legs, and back. He received treatment immediately and was then sent back to his Section HQ for a little rest.

CHARLES B. ALEXANDER JR. of Baltimore, Maryland, on April 9th, was wounded while serving in France. He and a French Captain were in a jeep entering the village of Niefern near Pforzheim, Germany. They were fired upon by an enemy machine gun and a bullet entered Alexander's lung. He was taken prisoner by the enemy. The Captain was also captured but later released and returned to his own lines.

CHARLES PRATT, JR. of Glen Cove, New York, was slightly wounded in Italy. This information was received by cable end no details of the incident are, at the moment, available.

JOHN BARTON of Boylston, Massachusetts, was recently killed in France while serving with the U.S. Forces. John first went overseas as a member of the thirty-fourth AFS Unit and served in the desert campaign. upon return to the states, at the termination of his enlistment, he became a member of the Armed Forces. His brother, Trumbull, who was a member of the second AFS Unit, recently returned to France, after a short leave in the States.

ROBERT WELLS McCRUM of Saranac Lake, New York, on March 26th, was killed in Germany while serving with Patton's Third Army. Bob first embarked for overseas as a member of the twenty-second AFS Unit and, like John Barton, served during the desert campaign. After returning to this country at the termination of his engagement, he joined the U.S. Army and again went overseas last November. He saw action in France, Belgium and Germany.

March 2, 1945.

"P., our Britisher who helps run our canteen, has just come in to play me a hand of gin rummy. So far he has won pretty consistently. I am about seven dollars down to him in the running game we've had for weeks. He is one of the characters of our outfit. He's a gentleman farmer of solid means who spent some years in the infantry where, so he says, he joyfully gutted Jerries. Somehow, probably because he was windy, he got into RASC and has been one of the mainstays of our HQ morale, for he has a fine, sharp wit with which he always puts the unpleasantest possible AFS characters adroitly in their places. Probably because he is very indifferent to the circumstances of his life, he never got to be an officer. He started Officer's training once and then quit. So he is one of those anomalies of the British army known as a 'gentleman ranker'. They are rare and always interesting because to be a gentleman and remain a ranker at the same time in this army takes a great deal of very real and unconventional independence. There is a terrible moral and social pressure on a man in such a position to take on responsibility. But P. just won't do it. And it is our gain, for he is as interesting and courteous a companion as you could find. And he has been making a living for years from young and affluent AFS men who are eager for a card game of any sort. One by one, we who regularly see him in Hq, have had a go at him. P. is a clever man who has a passion for pigs and whose sole war aim is to get back to his porker breeding. As another man carries pictures of his women or family in his wallet, so P. carries photos of his prize-winning pigs. Although he laughs as much at himself as anyone, the pigs really are more important than his wife, whom he is divorcing because of mutual indifference. He is a lance corporal, which is the same as private first class."

January 2, 1945.

"New Year's Eve we were sitting around drinking and singing, but I was going slow because I had runs to make. About 9:00 my orderly came in and told me to hurry as there was a bad case in reception. Blood all over the place. I got my car and went to reception. The Doc leaned over the table and removed a blanket from the body. There on the stretcher were two badly beaten pigs. Needless to say, I didn't evacuate them further. A really great meal!

"I found a candle in the cellar of our house today about 3. foot long and 2 inches thick. It was dark end I thought I saw another in a corner so I grabbed it. In the light I saw I had a Jerry potato masher in my hand. (That is a Jerry hand grenade). Investigation saw several more of several types. I've given up rooting thru cellars until my nerves again resume their normal state. Well, here's to bigger and better finds!

P. S. Don't worry. With a great deal of research I've found I contain more self-preservation instinct than the best of them."

January 15, 1945.

"A lot has happened and a lot of water has gone over the dam, too. I don't think the sight of blood will ever bother me again, I think we are comparatively safe here. Although you don't, Jerry knows where we are, I believe, and he is for the most part good about the Red Cross. We have a huge one on the roof of the ADS. We are in a farm house and the four of us AFS drivers have a room of our own. A wonderful place with an open fireplace and plenty of wine.

"The car at the RAP went bad the other day and I went up and replaced it. I spent a fine time with a wonderful bunch. The Doctor was a wonderful fellow and the Padre was a real character from way back. As far as the war went it was very dull. I never made an evacuation the whole time I was there. The further up you get the better men you meet. I had a fellow with a rather bad chest wound and also missing a foot. He stepped on a mine and fell on another. He called me to the stretcher and said, 'I don't want to complain but would you fix the blanket under my back; it's wrinkled and uncomfortable.' Tell that to the next fellow you hear complaining about no gas, etc."

January 21, 1945.

"One afternoon I rode around with an AFS friend of mine, formerly a newspaper man from Pennsylvania. He had the address of an old Italian colonel, an anti-fascist, and a Mason (32nd degree) on whom he wanted to call. It was well I went along for the 73 year old colonel and his 68 year old wife spoke no English. They did speak French, but my friend didn't so I acted as interpreter! I'm telling you that it's a long time since I concentrated and worked as hard for two hours straight as I did that afternoon trying to stretch my knowledge of French in order to understand what the colonel was saying and also to tell him what we wanted to say. It was worth it, though, for he was a grand old man and even tho we understood each other rather imperfectly, we got the feeling that the old colonel was very pleased that the two of us had bothered to pay him a visit. His wife is a charming and gracious lady. She offered us wine and apologized because she couldn't ask us to dinner, explaining that they had so little food."

March 1, 1945.

"I got my first evidence (in this particular area) that Jerry shells were coming over. Of course our guns are constantly rumbling and belching, and you get so you pay very little attention to them. However, at this time I noticed a difference---I heard a whistle. First there was the boom of a gun, then after a few seconds a 'who-o-o-- ' overhead. I was a bit surprised and listened again, carefully. There it was, a deep, whispering sound a few seconds after an explosion. Later I learned that they were, indeed, Jerry shells --- that he had given a road parallel to us and nearby quite a going over --- and that a few shells had been lobbed in our specific direction. These were the ones I heard whistling overhead. (We don't hear the shells of our guns because (a) the guns are too close, or (b) the shells do not happen to go over our position).

"Also, every now and then, we hear a different kind of explosion---a land-mine set off by some unwary animal or human. That is the answer to why I don't get more exercise by hiking --- it isn't safe. The hills around here are filled with mines Jerry planted before he left these parts, and not only is it dangerous to wander off the cleared areas into the hills, now, but it is also going to be dangerous to hike around these hills and valleys of Italy for years to come. It is not at all uncommon for Italian farmers, working their fields, to set off a mine and either be killed or seriously injured. In fact, I have evacuated two or three such civilian mine casualties.

"This is but another of the tensions under which the Italian people live today. Other obvious tensions are the constant shelling, or danger of it, the incessant booming of the artillery, the presence in their villages and homes of soldiers (first German, then Allied), the psychological defeatism of being knocked out of a war and being reduced to a state where their country is used as a battle-ground. for two alien fighting forces, the impossible feat of trying to belong to two opposite camps at the same time or of knowing that most of the soldiers around. here now, many of whom fought the Italians in Africa, are eternally suspicious of them. Add to this the disorganized state of their economy, the acute shortages of food and other necessities and you can get a pretty good idea of why most of us over here feel that Italy is going to be a long, long time recovering herself and getting back on her feet after the actual fighting of this war passes from her territory. Houses, villages, even whole cities, will need to be entirely rebuilt. The entire communication system will have to be re-established. Government, economy, education, all must either be resumed, revised, or reorganized. Can the Italian people, after the debacle they have experienced, do all this? Will they do this? Will we help them do it? And how will we help them? What form will our aid take? What form should it take? Those are big questions. The answers to them may well provide an index for the kind of world we are going to live in after the war.

"In the meantime the Italian people go on living thru warfare or thru the aftermath of war. At the present time, my job consists mainly in driving the MO of the RAP around on his regular visits to the several batteries that make up this heavy artillery regiment. At most this is but a 2 or 3 hour affair, sometimes every day, more often every other day. There are few patients to be carried, but the ambulance is used in case there are. Occasionally we run into some interesting things along the line. At one stop I waited an hour and a half for the MO. When he finally tumbled into the car he was hot, drenched with perspiration, and out of breath. He mopped his brow, took a long drink of water from my canteen, and told me his story. An Italian had stopped him on the street and asked him if he would take a look at his daughter. It was just down the hill, he said. So the Doc went along. He walked and walked and walked. He was quite put out at having to walk so far, carrying his medical supplies (still dressed in his winter outfit altho it was quite warm down in the valley), and it was the return trip, all up hill that really tired him out. When they finally got to the place---a tiny two-room hovel, filled, as the MO put it, with dirt and kids (it just teemed with kids) he managed to squeeze his way in, stepping carefully over the younger ones on the floor, and was shown the two girls needing attention. Both were scabies cases. One was about 12 and her leg was infected just above the knee. She was very shy about letting the doctor look at her leg, but the other girl, aged 22 or so, was different. She had a spot on her hip and it was 'whip up with the dress to the neck' and no trouble at all. 'Damndest thing I ever saw!' the MO laughed. Practically the same thing happened the next time we visited this town, only this time it was an old man. 'Must have been 110! The poor MO!

"These Dodges seem to be a remarkably easy riding vehicle. They are sturdy and low --- not top-heavy--- so they don't sway very much. The springs and shock-absorbers, and even the stretchers themselves, cushion most of the minor bumps and the worst of the bad ones."

November 20, 1945.

"From what I can gather from the guys who have been here a long time, a good part of the Italians are still Fascist, especially the students, who have really had it drilled into them. "We're living in an old Italian villa, which is serving as our platoon command in this area, and the halls are covered with drawings of life in the German army. Eyeties wait on us at the table and we eat from real crockery; there's an Italian woman right near, who does laundry and sewing for us, so in general just living the lives of country gentlemen."

February 21, 1945.

"This particular RAP turned out to be one of the best that the AFS holds at the moment, so we're really very well off... For some unknown reason we have hardly been shelled at all, since we've been here, which is quite all right by me. Once in a while Jerry drops a few mortars nearby, which shake the house up quite a bit, but which, as yet have done no actual damage to the RAP. We are eating down the road with various majors, captains and lieutenants. It 's darned interesting, because it's the tactical HQ, of this area, and I can listen to all the telephone calls coming in and out and hear the discussions of various strategic problems, etc."

February 9, 1945.

"Since the RSM has gone away I now spend my evenings with Signals Section upstairs. Last night I spent most of the time talking with a fellow from Cumberland County, England. He showed me photos of himself and the kids he used to go around with. They used to make trips all over the Lake District on hikes and cycle tours. He had some lovely snaps of the lakes and the little lanes and pubs around the country-side. Then he asked me all about my home and we compared our school lives. The thing that amazes these lads is that I can go skiing right from my front door. I got one fellow all hepped up on coming over to New England where one can have practically every sport he wants with each changing season."

February 7, 1945.

"Life at the front so far isn't too bad. Our billets are pretty good for what they are. My room had a great shell hole in one of the walls, but by placing a wardrobe in front of it and by sealing the remaining gaps with rags and mud, the room has become quite respectable, especially now as I have my stove erected by the window. In fact, in spite of the sporadic duelling of guns, it has a very homey atmosphere. Two other boys, both classes of '44 from Deerfield, are sleeping in the same room. Someone left some spring beds around here so we're sleeping on them --- very deluxe. The only trouble is that on one side of the bed the springs are a good deal weaker than on the other side, so every morning I find myself half off the bed."

No date.

"I have just had a chance to visit St. Francis of Assisi. I am sure you would have loved it. You may recall that he founded the Franciscan order of monks. It is a beautiful little town of perhaps 50 thousand on top of a hill. Coming from Perugia you approach the basilica and monastery from the valley. The narrow road winds up the hill with the monastery and a castle further up. Both St. Francis and St. Clare were buried in the town. He is now in the basilica and she is in the S. Chiaria. The cathedral is still another church. He was supposedly christened in the cathedral. The basilica has a lower and an upper church, and beneath it all is his tomb. This is very dark and I might add quite weird. His coffin is hewn of stone and set above an altar. The lower church is very large and not too light, with Gothic arches, frescoes and marble statue. The upper church is an amazing place. On the right-hand side just before the main altar the pictures depicting his life begin, and run from there to the rear and then up the left-hand side, ending on a panel opposite the beginning. Moisture has ruined a few, but on the whole they are in good shape. They are all of the Guitto school. The draping of the clothes is very good but the hands and feet have no real life to them. The wood inlay, in the choir section for the monks taking part in a service, is incredible. Above each of the seats, numbering about thirty, are pictures of saints and Bible characters. The effects obtained by these wood inlays cannot be described. It is by far the best part of the whole show.

"The St. Chiaria is quite simple in comparison. This does not have the upper and lower business. Instead, there is a very small chapel on the right side just short of the main altar. This was the church in the 10th or 11th centuries. Just as you ascend the steps to the main altar, you will notice a grating with a light shining. This is in the old tomb of St. Clare. In the 19th century she was removed and further down they have built a solid marble crypt complete with altar. She is now visible in a large glass casket on a white pillow. Her face has supposedly been covered with a silver mask. In the little chapel you will find the crucifix where they spoke to St. Francis and told him to rebuild the church. Another little room off this chapel has the robes of St. F. and St Clare along with a few other items. I took a lot of pictures and hope they will come out. We had lunch at a little hotel in the town. The whole tour took us all day! We saw a castle and another church whose columns dated back to the days of Augustus."

February 3, 1945.

"My leave in Florence was wonderful, to say the least. Six of us went together, taking my car for transportation. We had perfect weather and the road was good, making the trip over thoroughly enjoyable. As we rode through the hills up to the mountains, there were brilliant snow scenes all around; much like pictures of Sun Valley or the Alps, on a smaller scale. Snow-laden pine trees added to the beauty, along with white oxen pulling their colorful, over-loaded carts. (I never saw such people for piling things up and keeping them there!)

"Upon reaching Florence, we immediately hooked in with the Town Major and inquired about a place to stay only to find that the town was packed to the very 'gills', and he knew of nothing. He suggested that we see a woman at the Red Cross Officers' Club, who was very helpful, and after much trouble finally found us an elegant pair of rooms in a private home at 100 lire ($1.00) per night. After four days we found a small hotel for 50 a night; and on the last day of our stay I wangled my way into the Allied Officers' Hotel in the finest hotel in Florence. Here for just 25 lire I had a wonderfully soft bed (so comfortable that I lay awake all night enjoying it,) hot running water, and three good meals in the company of generals, ambassadors and other bigwigs. We ate most of our meals here during the week. Between meals we spent much of our time at the ARC Officers' Club, eating cookies with coffee, playing ping-pong and pool, and getting shaves and shines. We really wallowed in luxury. They had a set of books, one for each state in the union, in which we signed our names. Just above mine was S's, who graduated from our high school when I was a sophomore!

"I went into a camera shop and asked about the prices of cameras in the window, all second hand. One camera was a good Zeis miniature worth about $60 back home. I was amazed when he wrote the price down as $25. I promptly took out 25 bucks and thought I had a real bargain. The man was startled and sounded off in a wild string of Italian. He had put the decimal point in the wrong place and really meant $250!! That was a little beyond me, so I asked some more prices. For a $15 kodak he wanted $150; for a Leica, $680. At one point he offered, me $100 for my watch!! I still have it, however. Prices here are really something. A small can of pears was labeled $3 and eggs are as much as 30¢ apiece."

February 18, 1945.

"The Italians are not such a bad lot and we have good fun joshing with them and trying to learn their language. They all seem to want to come to America after the war and if they do, I shall leave. But I find it very interesting to talk to them and find out where they have been and what they have done. Slowly, but surely, I am picking up a little Italian and I can understand them a bit from my Latin. If you can make them talk slowly you are all right. Once they start to jabber you're sunk."

March 1, 1945.

"To night is one of those nights that leave you almost breathless with its beauty. It is, indeed, strange that things can be beautiful in a shattered war-torn country such as Italy where man is bent on destroying all that is beautiful.

"We have laid claim to a room on the second floor of a tumble down casa, pretty well shell-torn. An Italian family lives in this house. which smells and looks worse than any barns at home. The Italian family lives in utter filth but they really have no choice in this matter as they can find nothing to really clean the place or themselves with. The only soap they get we give them to do our washing. The mother sometimes cooks our food for us and we give her a little in payment. Otherwise, I don't know what they would eat. We spend most of our time hunting up food from supply dumps, but end up with very little.

"My attempts to speak Italian are still terribly feeble but I am improving. I have to wave my arms and make great gestures like Harpo Marx; it is really very funny, and it must be a howl to the onlookers.

"I wonder what all the news means. I'm afraid the people over here are inclined to take it with a grain of salt. The war seems terribly far from one won when you are this close to it. I am as optimistic as ever, I should say hopeful, but it doesn't look quite as rosey here as it does when it is 'prettied up' in the U.S. Press. The other night we happened to listen to the German radio program 'Jerrie's Front Calling'. From the way they announced the news, I can easily see how the Germans can think they are not doing so badly, but to us their propaganda seems pretty feeble, ridiculously so.

"This is a terribly interesting life and it scares me sometimes to think that I might have missed it. I'm learning so much every about all kinds of things I never dreamed of before. About different types and races of people; mostly I'm learning what real poverty is. This is something you read about over and over again, but never really impresses you until you see it. I never would have believed it, unless I had seen it."

March 9, 1945.

"I am at present with the same five fellows at the same post. Things have been fairly hot around here lately as far as shelling goes, but it all seems to be over now, as the past two days have been quiet. We stuck very close to our room during the whole period and thus had very little chance of getting hurt. Two shells landed very close and blew the glass out of our window, but we are always careful to stay next to the safest wall in our room, so nobody was hurt We have also found an entrance to the cellar thru our room and spent quite a bit of time in that while Jerry was stonking. It is impossible to get hurt there and practically impossible in our room, we have all learned by this time not to make any false pretenses of unconcern and stay outdoors when the shelling begins---even a good distance away. This foolish attitude among some men in the town resulted in a goodly number of casualties in the past week here. One shell, the fourth one to come in, killed four and wounded ten. They all had plenty of time to get under cover but like damn fools just stood around in a large group till the shell got them, That incident kept us all pretty busy for a while. It was really a bloody mess. We carted everybody up to the ADS in a great rush and we weren't sure who was dead and who wasn't. The ADS regular ambulance wouldn't start, so we all made a good impression. They said it was just like a lot of fire engines zipping by. One guy had his head blown off (we were sure he was dead) and others had arms and legs missing, but the doctors' fast work here saved all that was possible. Such a sight would have probably set us all regurgitating at home, but it was all so impersonal that none of us were bothered. Though it probably sounds like the wrong thing to do in such a circumstance, it is usually best to joke about it. It can never disparage you then. There have been several other casualties in the area, but that was by far the worst. It reminded us to be even more wary of shells, anyway.

"Today we had some pitiful patients. Five little children were playing in a field and one of them set off a mine. Three were wounded quite badly and the other two only slightly. They were very good patients, but their crying seemed very pitiful and out of place in an Army dressing station where the wounded men rarely utter any sound except for occasional moans.

"The stretchers seemed very large for the tiny bodies lying quietly on them. Such incidents happen quite often, either by shells or mines, but, whereas you get used to seeing wounded men,--- some horribly mutilated --- the sight of a little child even slightly wounded affects you much more about the injustice of war. More people should see such things. Maybe this war would end a little sooner and would prevent another."

A new honour has been added to the list of those won by AFS men. The volunteers who have served attached to the 19th Division of the 14th army in Burma have been made honorary members of the Division by the general commanding, for their work in the recent drive on Mandalay. Every one of the ambulance drivers with the 19th has been. behind the Jap lines at least once in the last few weeks. The honorary membership entitles them to wear the Division insignia of a red square on which is a gold clenched fist holding a dagger.

AFS is gratefully indebted to the officers and men of the United States Army stationed at Fort Shafter, Hawaii for their generous contribution of $215.32. This donation was made by these men serving in the Pacific area through the Hawaii Committee of the National War Fund.

When George Ebelhare, Jr. joined AFS and went to Italy in June, 1944, he did not expect to see any of his family again for at least a year and a half and probably not for two years. He reckoned without his father however, George Ebelhare, Sr. wanted active service himself and he, too, joined AFS, leaving for Italy and a probable reunion with his son in March, 1945.

The romance department extends to both sides of the Atlantic. Daniel Moor while on leave from Burma was married to the former Miss Marilyn Holland. Through an error we did not report this wedding last month. With sincere apologies, we belatedly wish them all happiness. The best of wishes, also, to Greg Camp, AFS Italy veteran, who deserted the N.Y. headquarters where he was working in recruiting, to marry Mrs. Margaret Campbell Wilder on March 27th. In Naples 'Liv' Biddle and the former Miss Frances Fenton, a Red Cross worker, were married almost immediately upon Liv's return from a leave at home. Romance Department Annex: Shirley (née Fennebresque) and Tom Burton were married in the 'Little Church Around the Corner' on April 14, with two of Tom's former AFS comrades, Burge Whiteside and Greg Camp as ushers, and many AFSers as guests. Best of luck to them all.

Bulletin to North Carolina readers: John Patrick will be appearing in five North Carolina cities speaking of his AFS experiences under the auspices of the National War Fund, Inc. He will be there from April 30th through May 4th. His schedule may be checked through local NWF, Inc. offices.

Congratulations go to James Coughlin, AFS Burma on the birth of son Charles. On April 2nd, Charles and his mother were reported doing finely in Milwaukee.

AFS men of 485 Company have received another commendation from an officer under whom they've been serving. As the message was written in Italian we reprint the literal translation received in New York at the same time. From Arturo Scattini, commanding general ....March 9th: "I have greatly appreciated the Brotherhood and precious collaboration of your platoon shown in the evacuation of the Group's wounded from the forward lines. With rare skill, by day and by night, on roads frequently shelled by artillery and sown with mines, your men have always carried out their delicate voluntary mission giving constant proof of their serene contempt for danger and of their profound humanitarian sense.

"My living praise and my men's gratitude goes to you and the men under your command."

Burgess Whiteside was a guest recently on a Coast Guard radio program. During his interview the script called for him to applaud a band selection by saying, "that was solid and terrific", ....The musical number ended a little before Burge was expecting it and in his haste to keep the show going, he said enthusiastically, "that was sordid and terrific."

On April 11th, the producers and cast of John Patrick's THE HASTY HEART dedicated their evening performance to AFS, in honor of the five years continuous service overseas. The house was solidly sold out, mainly to families and friends of the ambulance drivers.

Word has just been received that Sgt. Bill Brown, AFS desert veteran, who was taken prisoner by the Germans this past winter, has been LIBERATED BY THE RUSSIANS. This is the best news to come along in many months, and makes us very hopeful for 'Hodie' Metcalf, Richard Anderson...and all the other Allies held by the Nazis. Here's wishing them long journeys west ....and soon

February 1, 1945.

"It sickens one to read in the home papers about people thinking that the war is almost over; they should be over here and see some of the wounded and the dead and they would probably change their minds. You probably never read about the fighting in Burma in the U.S. papers because it's not the spectacular type of warfare you read about from Europe, but in many ways it's a lot tougher. You should see the roads we have to go over, they are frightful. The transport problem is the most difficult one of all; I wonder sometimes how they do it.

"Another aspect of the war you appreciate out here is the great courage of the English soldier. You should see them when they are wounded; never a whimper or a groan, always a cheerful smile and willingness to get back again at the Jap. Just to give you an example: one day they put a seriously wounded Englishman in my ambulance. He was conscious enough to speak to me and he asked me would I like to have a cigarette. That poor fellow wanted to give me a cigarette when I should have given him one; I will never forget that. The average English soldier puts himself out for you in truly an amazing way. When you get to know them there is nothing that they won't do for you.

"Their guts are what I admire. They will do anything without a word of complaint and when things go wrong, they try again. They win battles not so much by cleverness but by sheer bravery and determination. They are slow to get angry but when they have their fighting blood up, there is no halting them. When they first came in contact with the Jap they wanted to take prisoners but when they found some of their buddies tied up and bayoneted to death and with stakes through their bodies, they changed their feelings rapidly and I don't blame them a bit. I can tell you this, that no one is taking prisoners in this Division."

February 8, 1945.

"Ever since I joined this Division, we've been on the move practically every day, seeing Burma, not as a tourist would, but as it should be seen, from village to village, except for a stop of two days or maybe a week when the Japs decided to make a stand at some village or advantageous ridge. The individual days, of course, drag slowly, for keeping pace in a jeep with the marching troops is monotonous --- stop, go, stop, go, the sun beating down on your covered head; creeping over good and mostly bad roads, across country sometimes, through picturesque but empty village after village, wondering each time if there will be any resistance in this one and, it so, how much and how long the delay; forming a perimeter each night at a different spot, usually far from any water; eating and going to bed in the dark, arising at dawn and so on.....

"The four of us have been attached to an RAP, consisting of one medical officer and a few orderlies, which moves right with the troops. We work both forward and to the rear of the RAP. Instead of strangers for patients, we now carry friends and acquaintances. Sharing their moments of suffering, complaints, and amusements, one feels a greater interest in his work.

"This advanced base, to which the battalion has returned for a few days rest before setting out again, is the same place we passed through about three weeks ago. We were the first into this big town. There was no 'battle of occupation' (except for a little village a few miles north) for this town. We just walked in, to find the streets deserted but for a few Burmese, always reticent and shy, wandering around, and a few Jap corpses sprawled along the main road. So when our battalion returned here less than a week ago, I wont over and stayed at my old Section HQ, which I learned had just come up. There has been a complete change of personnel, all eager and anxious to work. Good to see them again, good to sit down at a table and eat a decent meal, good to see so many lights and so much commotion, good to see movies every night and occasional ENSA show with real, live white girls, with brown or blond hair, good just to sit around listening to the radio."

January 9, 1945.

"This is the strangest darned country, you won't be surprised to learn, that I have ever seen, You see the most striking contrasts setting side by side. Our train ride was just one new thing after another until your surprise-mechanism just quit functioning and everything that came along was accepted in a sort of apathy, and the weirdest things excited no comment at all. At one stop I remember (the 'fast' American train we were on stopped about 20 times a day for periods running up to 3 hours, batting across country between stations, however at about 60 mph.), there was one of those typically squalid mud huts and tin-can villages, very dirty, with pigs and goats and sacred cows just about taking over, with the whole outdoors apparently serving as the village commode, and right behind it a glistening white stone temple of a beauty and magnificence almost shocking after the scene below it. Most of the natives who line the tracks crying 'bakshee, sahib, bakshee', or 'huba, huba', or, if more 'educated', singing shady versions of 'Oh, Johnny' seemed to have very fine faces, with bright eyes and a fairly intelligent look on their pans. Didn't look anything at all like our negroes, though I don't know why I expect them to. The police in these little communities were majestic looking fellows tall, extremely straight, with fine military bearing, who shoved the rest of the population away from the trains pretty roughly."

January 18, 1945.

"I'm in a basha, a bamboo and straw hut, at an AFS HQ, here on the Burma plains. It's really a fine set-up, feels good to have regular meal times and a place to sleep at night. This afternoon we took a swim in a nearby river, water a clean and cool 70 degrees or so, which, as I remember it, is the temperature of Pt. Lookout in midsummer. The thing that amazes me is the way my mind accepts the scenes before me. I haven't been here long, of course, but still, when we saw a couple of water buffaloes up stream, an elephant man handling timbers below us a couple of hundred yards, and a couple of dobies pounding laundry to pieces on the rocks a few feet away, the only comment it got from anybody was, 'Can I have your soap?'

"The AFS has some rather original stuff out here, jeep ambulances and armored ambulances for very forward work. The jeeps are the favorites, with a long list of fellows who want to drive them. Because of the work the AFS has done in the past, and the consideration the drivers show their passengers the 'Yanks' of the AFS enjoy a pretty fine position generally very nice, and the Indians are helpful if only because of the fact we are American.

"The mascot of this outfit is a little Gurkha boy, somewhere between 9 and 13 years old, whom the boys found some time ago. He is an orphan, his father was a Gurkha soldier, and has a very engaging grin. Cute little chap He is called Joe Kuchh, 'kuchh' being rough Urdu for 'nothing', I think he is quite a little character. He was driving with one of the jeeps the other night, when an Indian sentry barred the way, and got quite bitter about something or other, bright lights I think, and Joe could have gotten the driver off by explaining things, but the driver had been kidding him and he was mad, so he just gave the world the fishy eye and refused to speak a word. Result: the driver cursed in English and the soldier in Urdu, while the only bilinguist in the crowd puffed on his OLD GOLD."

February 7, 1945.

"Things are getting much brisker for us here, and I now feel we are actually doing something....Wonderful airstrips and roads can be made on this flat paddy-field country, but so can football fields. We have been teaching the British in the CCS the game. Their CO watched some of his men soundly trounced, so tonight he and one of his swift-footed captains appeared on the scene clad in shorts and 'rarin' to go. To equalize the sides we split up, playing mixed teams. In the best military manner the officers took command, and really did quite well. Behind a little sound blocking the fleet captain made some nice runs, and was very self-satisfied, while the major, a big, good natured off, made a slight innovation in the fray by seizing two briskly charging linemen by the neck end clunking their heads together, leaving a clear field for his backs. Tomorrow they teach us Rugby, and I believe it's our turn for a lacing."

No date.

"The other day I had breakfast with a Burmese Catholic priest. He had been here all during the Jap occupation and what he said was very interesting. He had a very nice church considering where it was, and all in all was quite a surprise. The officer who introduced me said that the day before, when he had gone there, they had rung all the bells and sung 'Happy Days Are Here Again', 'Rule Britannia', and 'Roll Out The Barrell'. That is the first time that the Burmese (who are mostly pro-Jap or just don't care) have really welcomed the liberating 14th Army.

"We are now encamped in a Burmese grave-yard. Every time someone digs a slit trench, a new grave turns up. Just a minute ago an I.O.R. came upon an enormous tomb, probably the residing place of some high priest. The walls are covered with crumbling murals and you can see the head of a large idol projecting out of the debris with which the tomb is filled.

"This is certainly a remarkable country. Magnificent temples dot the landscape all around. We passed a really imposing one a few days back, two great dogs, thrice as high as you or I, guard the temple gates. Glistening whitely within, the temple is topped by a cluster of little golden bells which tinkle in every zephyr. Around the temple in niches are scores of little stone Buddhas off on the side; picturesquely placed, are several teak pagodas which house hundreds of other idols, row on row of them, small ones no bigger than your thumb and large ones taller than a man; and here and there, indiscriminately mixed up with all the valuable and beautiful idols and tapestries, are any kind of bright shiny object: car door-handles, knobs, reflectors, bulbs, water bottles, anything that shines. Many of the temples have been bombed or shelled, because they make good shelters for the retreating Japs.

"The Burmese here are not very friendly and have been aiding the Japs in every way. One poor fellow was brought in today screaming and moaning like a small child, because he had been caught signalling to the enemy.

P.S. We were camped in a petrified. forest a few days ago and every time you'd pick up a hunk of wood for the fire it would turn out to be nothing but stone."

January 29, 1945.

"Things are moving along at a great rate, and the Japs seem to be running like hell. We've had a hard time keeping up with them. I want to see Singapore before I leave and if they keep up this pace, I probably will.

"The Burmese are quite friendly though very shy, especially the women. A queer thing happened today. A bullock cart passed by camp, followed by three or four natives and on it was the body of one of their villagers. He was dead and the stumps of both bands were neatly bandaged; both his hands had been cut off. They figured the Japs must have done it. Though I have heard of a few atrocities out here, this was the first thing of that sort that I have seen."

February 9, 1945.

"Breakfast over and 10 o'clock arrived; the RAP people and the MO sit around waiting for business. We Jeep Jockeys lie on stretchers, reading or sitting in the shade, talking. All of a sudden word comes through to pack everything and march ---the enemy has retreated from his positions during the night.

"Everything is loaded on our jeeps and we fall in behind the marching column of men. Where we'll next meet the Jap fire no one knows. Perhaps a hundred yards or more, maybe even a mile or possibly ten. Everyone is silent --- listening for the smart, weak crack and zing of a Jap sniper.

"At last it comes, after a good long advance and we drive the jeeps off the road to a temporary spot for the RAP and to await developments of the fighting up ahead a few hundred yards. If a call comes for an ambulance up forward one of us goes (we go by rotation) and brings the casualty back to the RAP for treatment. When he has been treated and has recovered sufficiently from shock one of us takes him back to the ADS where he gets a good meal, if he can hold it, tea (by all means) and more treatment and is then sent still farther back, this time by air, to the CCS.

"This running around goes on all during the battle and ends in time for supper which we eat heartily. We get no lunch except for a tin of sardines, and a biscuit, and, oh yes, tea. Then all four of us collapse on our blankets falling into immediate slumber.

"The other day, when we moved into a Burmese village right after the battle, I was looking around for an abandoned slit trench or a bunker in which I could spend the night, and found a fairly good sized one. Taking my bedding roll down into the darkness inside, I stepped close to a ball of fur which, on being disturbed, proceeded to woof for mother. But mother, as I discovered when I turned on my flashlight, had been hit by a piece of shrapnel and had died by her four wee puppies only a few hours before.

"Now I have four pups which when stretched out measure a foot long and curled up don't look like anything. 'Thumper' (because he thumps when he runs, when he eats, when he scratches, when he does anything) 'Butterball' ( he is) 'Sniper' s Delight' (he is forever running out where he shouldn't, and it's a wonder he hasn't been shot by now) and 'Runt'. When I come home I'll have to give them to someone who'll take care of them."

Everyone wants to know what his son or friend who joins the AFS bound for India-Burma will be up against. It is difficult to predict what any given theatre will be like, since it is constantly changing, but one can generalize to a certain extent about Burma. The roads will be bad, awful or impossible, due not only to war itself but to the torrential rains which during the monsoon will turn them into quagmires. They will never be good. Over these roads or tracks as they are called the Field Service ambulances will run or stick. When stuck the driver will try to get a passing car to tow him out. If that is impossible he will remain with his car until relief comes, even though that means a night curled up on the driver's seat. If he leaves his car for so much as one hour there won't be any car on his return. Passing trucks, hungry for spare parts, will see to that.

What will he eat? Well, on his trips he will probably eat jungle rations or K rations with which he will be supplied. He will like them a lot for his first meal, less for his second, and from his third on he will hate them, but they will keep him going and working for an indefinite time. Passing British contingents always seem to have tea which they brew at the least excuse. When he is at headquarters the food will be as good or better than the regular Army. When directly at the front most of the AFS men will be supplied with food from the air. Transportation over the difficult roads is reserved for supplies that can not be air-borne. It is unlikely that the driver will ever be lost. Unlike Europe with its network of roads he will have no choice but to follow his nose until he gets to his destination. What will he find when he does get there? Wounded of course, but more often sick men. The toll that illness takes in Burma is high and much of it will be malaria. The wise driver will take his atabrin regularly and smear himself at 6 p.m. with mosquito repellent; otherwise he may find himself a patient in his own ambulance.

As to other jungle pests, snakes have taken a high place in the imagination of the home-folk, but it is unlikely that the ambulance men will see many at close quarters and the chances are remote that he will ever be bitten. Leaches, however, are as common as snakes are rare. They attach themselves to the human body and if pulled off leave their heads behind to make a festering sore. But touch them with a lighted cigarette and they drop off, head and all.

There will be long periods when there will be no action and the AFS man like every soldier gets bored. What he does with his free time is up to the man himself, but he would be wise if he learned a little of the native languages. Such knowledge is always useful and sometimes vital. In any case there is a new world to study. One ambulance man in India has become such an authority on the Naga Hill people that he is consulted as an expert far and wide. That man is never bored. Hard work, hard action, dull periods with only the occasional "high spots" are the lot of the ambulance driver, but so it is with every other man who is in the midst of war.

January 21, 1945.

"There's a fine bunch of fellows at this 1st Aid Post, Parisians all, clean-shaven, considerate and affable, and pleasantly intelligent. I'm all alone here, so all attention is centered on me. I've been with the FFI twice before and have found each a unique and most interesting experience. Perhaps FFI higher-ups in Paris are giving De Gaulle something to worry about, but as for the FFI in the field, with the exception of the minority group FTP, politics have no field. The FFI is exclusively a bunch of hardened youths (from sixteen years of age to fifty) out to get even with the Boshe. The main reason the FFI doesn't want to drop its name entirely and be inducted into the army is simply that they dislike the thought of induction as much as any American or normal citizen dislikes it. They're just civilians with arms, and possess comparative freedom, individually which they hold dear. Also, they feel that the army would burb their energy and punch. Red tape is practically nonexistent in the FFI; the major strolls down to the corporal and tells him to take a dozen men and do such-and-such. Self-imposed discipline and military protocol is evident. What astounds me is that all these fellows from every walk of life have the strength of character, the superb will to voluntarily undergo whatever is asked of them in face of awe-inspiring odds. To begin with, chances are 3 to l they'll be shot if captured. They have no transportation. I've seen them come out of the mountains relieved after a 6-week hitch of front-line and patrol work, tired, haggard faces, figures slightly bent, --- I've heard them singing as they left their posts at dawn and headed into the raging blizzard. It snowed all day. At 7 p.m. I saw them arrive at their destination for the day --- 22 miles to the rear. Some were still singing. Others wanted to, but couldn't.

"They do complain, as all soldiers do, but all their complaining is restricted to one thing, and is most legitimate. I think it should be known that, due to uncontrollable circumstances, the FFI is doing without overshoes and gloves this winter, and that is no joke.

"Frozen feet or no, these mild, gentlemen take on a tiger-like quality when a Jerry-hunt is in the offing. They leave off kidding me about American 'Meat-and-Veg-e-table Stjeu,' shoulder their sub-machine guns, cock their caps over one eye and set forth eagerly for Jerry-land. You can sit here at the post and hear them all day long rattling away in the woods above you. Usually it comes in spasmodic bursts which betrays a game of hide and seek; sometimes there's a terrific racket involving a dozen or more automatic weapons. These spell a comparatively large-scale battle in the open which continues until either we or the Jerries start dropping mortar shells in the fray. At night-time, especially, the sight of embattled patrols is imposing. Once a Jerry patrol advanced unobserved to a point about halfway down a mountain slope and 300 yards from an outpost. When discovered, they were engaged with fire from another direction so that it was safe to look on. Right above us white lead criss-crossed the valley in steady streams. Whenever they started coming our way we always had time to duck. Strange thought, ---dodging a bullet.

"The commanding officer of this sector just dropped in at the post to procure some information from a lieutenant who had been shot in three places. The latter, incidentally, a typical example of these people, laughed and kidded and smoked as his wounds were being dressed; it had taken the stretcher-bearers two hours to get him here through the waist-high snow-drifts.

"As it was, some one must have tipped the commandant off that I had been with the 1st Division in the desert, for after the inquiry he whirled on me, set his cane down on my toe so that I flew bolt-upright.

"'So you were with Spears, mon vieux,' he stated quite definitely, seemingly quite jubilant over this contention. However, he came around quickly after I had denied and enlightened him on the score, and soon he was asking after the rest of the desert frogs. He himself was a vieux oiseaux and we exchanged various sundry views on Gambut, winter-resort.

"The pass-word for last night was Jacques-Anna, for tonight it's 'Costa-Metz', and as one of the follows put it, murmuring as he fell asleep, 'Let's hope it took H.Q, all day to think up that deplorable one.'"

January 1, 1945.

"We are now somewhat closer to the front in what must have been a beautiful village before the war. Just before the Germans evacuated, some SS troopers dynamited almost every building in the village and now only a relative few are habitable. The hotel in which we are billeted is well ventilated to say the least. Panes in almost every window have been shattered. For the first few days here I could hardly describe our room as comfortable, especially after it started snowing. But gradually we patched up the broken panes, a stove was scrounged, more blankets were doled out and now living conditions are much better. Before we obtained our stove 20 odd men in our section spent most of their time across the hall in a stove-heated room housing a half-dozen former maquis who are now stretcher-bearers in the French Army. As you may remember, De Gaulle issued an edict, last October asking all members of the FFI to join the regular army.

"In my halting French I had quite a conversation one afternoon with one of the fellows. They lived an amazingly dangerous, hard life during the German occupation and deserve a great deal of respect."

January 30, 1945.

"We have been evacuating a lot of wounded from here to a hospital 18 miles away, and it is certainly wonderful to at last be working. Several of my patients have been Americans which has given me added satisfaction. During the past couple of days we have handled a large number of wounded German prisoners, most of them pretty dejected soldiers.

"My turn came up to evacuate some men. This time I had a couple of members of the French Foreign Legion, tough looking babies but very pleasant. For the past several days we have been going at a fairly consistent rate."

February 4, 1945.

"Most of the wounded I carry are sitting cases and not too badly hurt. But there have been a number with amputations and several whom I am sure didn't live. Among them have been French, Americans, Germans, Poles, and today an Hungarian. Most of them are extremely brave, which makes you even more sorry for them. The Germans I have seen seemed certainly not above average as soldier material. I treat them the same as the French or Americans. After all, they are all 'blessés'.

"The other day W. & I were sent to a city near here, arriving the night of its liberation. There were two ambulances of us and we were told that we drove the first ambulance to enter the city, which was quite a thrill.

"That night we slept on stretchers in a 3rd floor corridor of a house being used as a French HQ. More damn braid than I'd seen for a long time. There was a bit of mortar fire in the vicinity but nothing appeared to land too close. The next day we walked around the city a bit. Every now and again someone would stop us and try to say how happy they all were that the Americans had come. Actually, I believe the French Army freed the city working in close cooperation with the Americans... Everywhere we have met groups of the American Army in France they have been swell to us, asking us to eat with them and doing us many favors. They make short shrift of red tape."

January 19, 1945.

"France is a damned cold place to fight the war, even colder than Italy although it doesn't seem so wet and muddy because of the freezing, guess the rains come this spring. Front line troops are suffering as much from trench foot (frozen feet and gangrene) as they are from casualties and the brass hats are really concerned about it. For me life has been fairly good; right now it's just about perfect. Our battalion is at rest and we are billeted in French homes. I have a big double bed to myself with sheets and a stove in my room. The bed is equipped with a huge foot warmer that covers 3/4 of it. It is a very light pillow of feathers that stays on top of you and keeps you as warm as toast. The people are very good to us in this town and for that we are lucky that we are with French troops. Otherwise the French Army, or the part we know seems pretty poor, but then I guess the French have never considered the medical corps to be as important as the English and we think it is. The Russians are on the move again and people are beginning to hope again for an early end to the war after the gloomy days of frustration this fall and winter. Everywhere people are just sweating this war out as the saying goes, and it doesn't make much difference where you are, you get bored as hell and wish it was over."

December 29, 1944.

"In Marseilles also we spent a leave. Our first taste of France, through this reputedly tough sailor's hang-out, was most pleasant. Stacked against the grime and the low spirited streets of Naples and the Neopolitans, it was Shangri-la. In the first place it didn't rain and secondly the garbage disposal and street cleaning systems and their workmen were not non-plussed by the thoughts of work. Things were much cleaner everywhere and the people had not apparently lost their self respect, which loss seemed to prompt the Italians to lowly forms of beggaring. Sure they all want cigarettes but there wasn't that lost or rather weak look in their eyes when they did ask. The French seemed to me quite jovial 1h their requests but perhaps they were just more diplomatic in their way of handling Americans.

"We were billetted outside the town several miles in a comparatively well-to-do country home. The people there were marvelous to us, each morning forcing coffee and bread 'Avec Confiture' on us whether we wanted it or not. This giving of their rationed commodities to three hungry guys was a real act of generosity, which they knew and we knew could not be repaid, for all the food is, of course, rationed. When we left we were able, however, to give them our supplies."

No date.

"At present I am in a very nice little apartment where three of us are staying. We are very friendly with the two sisters and their mother who own it. Life in these peaceful little villages is very pleasant, so different from American towns where everyone rushes about in such a hurry. Business and pleasure move at a much slower pace here and the age and quiet of the village sort of overwhelms one with a sense of restfulness. I saw General De Gaulle who came to the town where we were to inspect some troops and spoke to the crowd gathered there. He passed right in front of me and I snapped a very flashy salute. The French have finally become used to us and, I think, have a pretty good opinion of us, due to the good job we did during the last big offensive in this area. I like the French very much and I like the Frenchman. He is not, as I was led to believe emotional but reserved and quiet on subjects close to his heart. I know a lot of Frenchmen who have suffered a great deal from this war, both soldiers and civilians but none of them show their sorrow. They merely shrug their shoulders and cheerfully say, 'C'est la guerre.' I was amazed at the speed with which they clean up their battered little villages after the fury of war has passed through to ravage elsewhere. It is so unlike the Italians, who wandered dazedly about, as if waiting for some miracle to restore their homes and feed them."

March 23, 1945.

"Bussang is near the frontier of Alsace Province which the Germans had officially annexed to the Reich. As it was being taken, elements of the FFI further north were in the process of taking Le Petit Drumont, a snow-capped peak of 3700 ft. over the crest of which ran the demarkation lines. That battle alone had been a fiercesome struggle in which many ill-equipped, strong-spirited Frenchmen cried out in the biting wind and sank from view in the knee-deep snow. As two AFS volunteers wound their way up the tortuous, icy road to the top, they were not surprised to find themselves under machine-gun fire from an adjacent mountain still held by Jerry. Upon reaching the summit, they witnessed a bayonet skirmish not three hundred yards away; and from what just had been an enemy O.P. a French flag was flying against a back-drop of the fierce winter sun-set.

"During the night and morning the pair evacuated 64 stretcher-cases to a point seven kilometers away. This amounted to at least sixteen round trips up and down the mountain without lights, a total of about 17 hours of straight driving. Nerve-strain was aggravated by the fact that, since the exhaust had broken at an earlier date, the ambulance sounded like a veritable Sherman. This, when enemy nozzles at night are aimed at sound. Some tracers flew, but both car and crew emerged unscathed 32 times in succession. By noon the next day the machine-gun nest had been wiped out, and the danger was over.

"I don't think the Field Service has ever been so much appreciated as it has been by these FFI people. If it hadn't been for us, all evacuations would have been made on foot, as mechanized transportation is entirely nonexistent. The French regular army can't afford to loan equipment. but fortunately the AFS is in a position to fill the gap. We continued to serve them most of the winter. Although an extension of lend-lease, in order to equip the FFI had been agreed upon, it wasn't till recently, March, that these hard-pressed lads were issued so much as overshoes. All winter long the average Fifi possessed as personal equipment (a) one suit of clothing, (b) an automatic weapon, (c) blankets, (d) he received a regular food ration. And that was all. In the front line for weeks without relief, without a single change of clothing, without an overcoat, without a tent-cover, he fought, hard and uncomplainingly. Often our ambulances provided the one and only shelter; the cars have been used for funeral services, as a morgue, as an operating room, and as a hospital ward. It is only today, for the first time, that I see signs of the rebirth of the FF1; this time they are as well dressed, fed, and armed as G.I. Joes, and it's a gladdening sight."

AFS Letters, May 1945

Index