Wells High School - Crimson and Gray Yearbook (Southbridge, MA)

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THE CRIMSON AND GRAY for that cough the Germans would have passed by, and all would have been well. The Germans as they neared the shell hole, surrounded it and ordered the occupants to come out. In the darkness. the hole seemed only large enough for one man to occupy. Phil realized this, and knowing that his buddy had an aged mother, a wife and a small child dependent on him, ordered his companion to remain silent. Phil then came out from the shell hole and surrendered him- self to the Germans. The Germans thought that he was the only person in the hole, and not wishing to be caught in No Man ' s Land by the enemy, they hastened back to their lines with their prisoner. Phil had been kept in a prison camp until at last, a month ago, all the prisoners had finally been released. Phil had wired home, on reaching New York, that he was safe and sound, and would soon be with them. He had then taken the train and had hastened home. But Phil had forgotten that he came from only a small town. Long before he had sent his telegram, the office had been closed. The next morning dawned forth in all the splendor that one might expect on Christ- mas morning, and in all the world there could not have been a family more happy than the little Lay wood group, all together at last. Elizabeth Morse, ' 20. WAR TIME EXPERIENCES By Philip H. LaRochelle, Former Sergeant, Base Hospital 106. My first real army life began when I reached Camp Jackson, in South Carolina, after a tiresome journey of three days and two nights. I was not quite among stran- gers, for a few of my friends had also been sent to Jackson. At that time, August, 1918, military activities in the United States were going with a rush. It was almost impossible for our government to secure a sufficient number of clerks to attend to all the details of army life. At Jackson the clerical staff, as in many other places, was overworked. Consequently the soldiers arriving there sometimes had to wait hours before being sent to quarters. We were no exception. For five hours we waited in line, and at last we were assigned to a tent. It was one o ' clock in the morning. Nevertheless we had to get our tent into a livable condition. By the time we had arranged our cots and blan- kets, both of which we had to carry quite a distance, we were craving for eats. Soon we were served those good (?) old army beans, which were so freely given the soldiers dur- ing the war. The feed surely gave us a little more ambi- tion, for it was just about twelve hours since we had had anything substantial to eat. It was about four o ' clock when we went to sleep. There is no need to say how we slept in those comfortable cots, for at five o ' clock reveille sounded and our new life started for good, but not forever, for now the bugler is in a resting place, as far as I am con- cerned. Now, the daily routine consisted of exer- cise, drill and all that pertained to the mak- ing of a soldier. My first vitalizing army ex- perience came when my sergeant trusted me with a pick and shovel. It surely was a change from school life, to handle those two instruments in that sunny Dixieland. How- ever, I became used to the job, and was some- what of an artist after a time. At that time, influenza was raging at camp, and sick soldiers were pouring into the hospitals at the rate of four and five hundred a day. I was transferred to the camp hospital, for there was a great de- mand for attendants to help the nurses in looking after the boys. My work was at the Detachment Office with our top sergeant, who looked after the men whose duty it was to attend the sick. Every man was kept busy during the epi- demic. Many worked twelve and fifteen hours without rest, so great was the num- ber of sick boys admitted to the hospital every day. I remember many instances where medical officers in charge of wards, sent out calls, usually about ten o ' clock at night, for more orderlies to help out in their wards, for at night the nurses could not handle so many cases. As I was in charge of the enlisted personnel, I had to wake the boys, who had just completed their day ' s work. Then we pitched tents and got beds into shape for the coming patients, as all available space in the hospital had been taken up. The good spirit of our fellows was very noticeable at that time. Each one seemed to realize that he himself at any moment might be seized by the flu ; he realized how necessary care was for the sick ones, and he did all in his power to give that care. I stayed at the Detachment Office until finally I had an opportunity to get across, and I took it. I asked to be assigned to Base Hospital 106, which was to leave for France. Just six weeks after I had come to Jackson, I left for a northern port. We left camp in

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14 THE CRIMSON AND GRAY Sure, I do. I ' m the man of the house, and if I don ' t sell papers, — well— 7 have to sell ' em, he said. Phoebe thought it over. She was going to a part} 7 herself that night, and if she had to miss it — ! She could understand Tony ' s sorrow. What time ' s your party? she asked. Six o ' clock, said Tony sadly, but I must sell my papers till after eight. Phoebe beamed. I know, she cried, you go to the party and I ' ll sell papers for you ; my party doesn ' t begin until eight, and I don ' t mind being a little late. Tony, young as he was, realized how strange it would seem to people to have the beautiful young creature in a fur coat sell- ing papers. So he simply answered, Oh, no, you can ' t. Yes, I can, she answered, I ' ll just stand here and when a man comes along I ' ll say, ' Paper, sir? ' and he ' ll buy one! I ' ll be here a little before six and you bring me the papers then. She hurried on, leaving the little newsboy gazing after her in wide-eyed astonishment. That noon at the Christmas dinner Phoebe said, May I have the car and Pierre at six, please? Yes, answered Mr. Allen. Where — Phoebe abruptly changed the subject. Six o ' clock found Phoebe at the corner, telling Pierre to come back at quarter after eight, and not to mention where she was. Selling papers was such fun! Everyone bought them, more, perhaps, from curiosity than from actual need. About quarter of eight, Phoebe saw a gentleman coming, and she addressed him with her usual Paper, sir? Yes, please — why, bless my soul, it ' s Phoebe! and there stood her father. What does this mean? he asked. It means, said his daughter, that the newsboy was able to go to his party, and in a few minutes I ' m going to mine. Now, please don ' t scold, she coaxed. Mr. Allen was very much inclined to scold, but after he understood the situation and Phoebe ' s sentiment, he was pleased. Well, he said finally, this is what I call an act of ' Peace on Earth — Good Will to — Tony. ' Isabel Corey. ALL ' S WELL THAT ENDS WELL There ' s a silver lining always through the dark clotuls shining. At a little cottage in a small town in New England, Mr. and Mrs. Laywood, Louise Laywood, a girl of about twenty, and four- year-old Marvin were all seated around the fireplace. It was December 24, the night before Christmas, a time when one would expect that every one was happy; but it was not so with this little group. There was a dark cloud that hung over the Laywood fam- ily. Philip, the oldest child, who had gone over to France in 1917, had been reported missing ever since the first of November, 1918, but it was not until the first of Janu- ary that the family received the telegram stating that Philip Laywood was missing. The big morris chair, which had always been Philip ' s favorite, was vacant. No one had felt like sitting in that chair, for it had always seemed so closely connected with him, and they all knew that no one but him could ever fill that chair. The family had hoped against hope that Phil would return, but, as the days had passed and nearly all the other boys had returned home, and still no word had been received, the Laywoods gradually gave up hope. As the family were sitting around the fire each with the thought of Phil uppermost in his mind, mother and father of Philip ' s child- hood, Louise of how Phil used to take care of her when she was younger, and little Mar- vin of the joy that would be his if he only had a big brother to take him to the circus like some of his playmates, — they heard someone coming up the path to the door. Little Marvin jumped from his chair and hurried to the door, saying as he went, I just know it ' s Santy Claus with just what I ' ve been praying for every night. The family knew that Marvin had been praying that Santy Claus would bring his big brother home to him. The tears came to the eyes of the three left sitting by the fire as they thought of the disappointment the little fellow was to re- ceive. But — in the next instance Marvin was yelling, I got him, I got him, and in a second the whole family were eagerly em- bracing the lad. No, not Marvin, but Philip, for Philip it surely was, without a doubt. The family were all anxious to know where he had been and to hear his adventures. Philip ' s story was short ; it was this : Philip and his buddy had been sent out to recon- noiter. It also happened that a party of Germans were out spying. Phil and his buddy had seen the enemy coming their way, and since they were outnumberel, they had ducked into a shell hole. As Phil ' s buddy rolled over in the shell hole he coughed. But

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THE CRIMSON AND GRAY a rush, with hardly any equipment, for our commanding officer had received his orders but two days previous to the time set for our departure. In the army, orders are or- ders: there is no excuse for delay of any kind. In the two days we had for prepara- tion not a second was lost. Night and day every member of the detachment was busy, for most of the boys were anxious to leave for France, though most of us wondered if we would ever see Dixieland once again. On Tuesday, October fifteenth, nineteen eighteen, at six o ' clock at night, the train left camp en route for the North. Our first night on the train was one long to be remem- bered. The boys were restless, and gave free rein to their spirits. Every song that could be thought of was sung, and altogether I re- member the occasion as a time of jollity, of mirth, and of laughter. No hint of the more serious side of our journey could be seen, though every soldier was surely inspired with the same high thoughts and purposes which had sent so. many of the American boys across waters, to fight in foreign lands. At frequent stops of the train we were re- ceived by the Eed Cross workers, with dough nuts, apples, coffee and cigarettes. The fol- lowing day, the boys celebrated my birthday, as we were going through Washington. It was an odd way of celebrating a birthday, for they honored me by having me do Kit- chen Police, a term well known in the army. We spent a second night on the train. Early the next morning we arrived at Camp Merritt, New Jersey, our last stopping place in the States, before getting on the boat. At Camp Merritt our time was spent in go- ing through inspections, in receiving over- seas equipment, and in working final prep- arations for the long trip across. I will not go into details in describing the equipment, except to say that, when our sack was rolled into shape, it formed a compact roll of about seventy pounds, which we had to carry the rest of our trip, until we reached a resting place in France. One of the final prepara- tions furnished us with great fun, for we enjoyed seeing the boys lose their curls un- der the harsh horse-clipper. Every soldier had to have his hair clipped. To appreciate the process the reader would have to be present at it. On Thursday night, October twenty- fourth, we received orders to leave camp the following morning at four o ' clock. Every- thing was in readiness. We had our last meal at eleven o ' clock that night, and then washed all the kitchen utensils, for every- thing had to be clean before leaving. From eleven o ' clock till four a. m. we wait- ed for our orders. Just before four o ' clock, our commanding officer in a few words told us of the sacrifices we were making in leav- ing. He spoke impressively of the duties which we bound ourselves to carry out, de- spite the hardships we were bound to en- counter. He also mentioned the fact that strict silence had to be observed while hik- ing to the boat. He told us that we were leaving under cover of darkness, to foil any plots to delay outgoing troops, for spies were always on the lookout, and the strictest secrecy had to be observed. On schedule time, we left Camp Merritt on our way to Hoboken, New Jersey. The hike was about seven miles, and to travel that distance with a pack was not an easy task. Our march was led by several outfits of in- fantry, and all along the road we could see the doughboys falling to the ground, over- come by the weariness of the march and weight of their packs. Ambulances follow- ing the march picked these fellows up and returned them to their outfits. Every so often, we stopped for rest. And those short stops were surely welcome. In many cases the men were so worn out that when they had lain down to rest for that short time, they were unable to get up. (To be continued in the next issue.) ALUMNI NOTES Class of 1919 Gertrude Claflin and Eva Pratt are both employed at the Hamilton Woolen Co. Augustus Lunan is attending Harvard Dental School. Marjory Cormack is working in the Tele- graph office. Marjory Bean began training at Chapin Memorial Hospital, Springfield, but nob car- ing for the work returned and is now em- ployed at the Hamilton Woolen Co. Eric Linblad, St. Onge, Tremblay and Henry Foley are all working at the Amer- ican Optical Co. Margaret Stillwell is attending Penn. College for Women. Isadore Green is at B. U. Pauline Lyon aud Marjory McMaster are both employed at the A. O. Co. Josephine Delehanty is taking the secre- tarial course at Simmons. Elizabeth Love is at Skidmore.