Dere Mable
Everyone round here is goin to school now so they can be speshulists. Not the kind your mother goes to, Mable. A speshulist only does one thing. I been doin everything round here ever since I came. I was gettin sick of it. I went to the top sargent an says I guessed Id be a speshulist to. He said all right hed make me a food speshulist. Said Id have to go into it pretty deep. I been into it up to my elbows in the kitchen ever since. Never trust sargents. Least of all top sargents. If it keeps on like this there wont be nobody to do the actual fightin but me, Mable. Its too much responsibilety for one man. Suppose I was to get sick or somethin.
An then a bunch of fellos went away to lern to be officers. That kind of struck my fancy it bein about the only thing I hadnt done round here. I went to the Captin an told him I thought Id go to. He said I could go to, and then he added somethin.
He said a company was built up somethin like a man. There was the brain, which was the officers, an then some was the muscle an some was the bone. He said I seemed to be pretty well fitted for my part by nature so he wouldnt change me. Ive always been strong ever since I was a kid, Mable.
Ive rote a pome. I sent it to the Divisun paper. They wouldnt print it cause they said it was so real that it might depres the men. I guess they was right cause I read it to the fellos in the tent an it seemed to depres them awful. Im ritin it to you. Its about the war. Youll probably notice that yourself if you read it careful. Here it is.
I
Here the thunder of the guns
Smashin down the German Huns
An the sticky pools of gory blood
Soakin up the oozie sod
The rushin, roarin, shreekin boom
Of bullets crashin thru the gloom
II
Listen to those grate bums bust
On the quiverin Hunnish crust
Listen to the shreekin, moanin
Swearin, yellin, gruntin, groanin
That comes to us across the trenches
All mixed up with grusome stenches
III
Biff, an from there hellish lare
The shreeks of Germans rent the air.
Bloody lims lie on the ground.
Bits of Huns go flyin round.
Bang! And through the cannons roar
Is plainly herd the splashin gore.
IV
But this cannot go on for long,
Cause Uncle Sam is comin strong.
An when we charge the German line
We’ll chuck the dam thing in the Rine.
An blood an slauter, rape an gore
In Bel Le France will rain no more.
Aint that terrible, Mable? I read it to one fello an he said it made him absolutely sick. He said he didn’t see how I could rite it without gettin sick myself. Just between me an you Mable I did come pretty near being once or twice when I was ritin it.
Most of all thats confidential but I dont care if you read it to some of your friends just to give em a good idea of what war is. Some of the things aint very nice of course. If your ritin big stuff though you got to put in everything that comes into your head, or else you lose the punch. I think the ends the best. A lot of fellos has said that. We ought to have more of that. It gets the slackers.
The Rine is a German river where they make wine near Berlin, Mable.
You keep menshuning a fello named Broggins in your letters. Now I aint got a spark of jelusy in my nature. Big. Thats me all over, Mable. But I warn you frankly. If I ever catch one of those ailin enemies windin up your victrola Ill kick him out of the house. Thats only fair. It isn’t that I care a snap. Theres plenty of girls waitin for me. Its just the principul of the thing.
Dont think for a minit that I care. I just menshun it cause I couldnt think of nothin else to say.
Yours till you here otherwise,
Bill.