July 29, 1918, Somewhere in France
Dear friends at home:
I have received no letter from any of you lately but I know it is not your fault, and think maybe some of you may be interested to know I am still taking changes without a scratch yet. Tho we recently made a big drive; event over the top and made the Dutch run seven miles away from their breakfast, which we ate while hot. Many of our boys were wounded and mumbers were killed, but that is the way of battle, anyone is able to be hit any moment. We are quite encouraged at the cussessful drives we Allies are making and hope it is the turn toward final victory for we are all anxious to get back to the good old states where we can hear no shrieking shells, booming guns, whizzing air planes and where we never run into poisonous gas that is made to smell like spring flowers, to fool us. such things we all stand but never enjoy. I’ve seen the sad and dreadful bettle at its worst, but didn’t care to think of it. Us fellows talk and think of the gay American city streets and dream of fair faced girls and ice cream parlors, melon patches, Sunday School parties, etc., rather than these wr day doings. I guess any of us would give our several months pay to see mother and eat of her dinners or to even shake father’s hand.
It’s harvest time over here and the crop of wheat is excellant, but they are slow in their way of harvest, some use oxen on small binders and tread power threshers.
I know many of the home boys have left, and are in training and are perhaps anxious to be over here, but when they once get here they will soon get their fill. I hope none of them are unfortunate enough to be killed as we need them all. Any way I hope they don’tfall for the other temptations that are plentiful over here, but it only takes a little will power to keep away from such things as wine, etc. The French drink wine instead of water.
I attended chapel yesterday and wish I could remember the text was so I could tell you but have forgotten. It was about a ship being wrecked in a strange country and the natives supplied the lost with what they needed; he compated them to us in this little French town where we are resting.
I’ll close now with best wishes to all.
Pvt. Carol O. Potter