File:Erica (Thorp) de Berry to Thorp family, 15 June 1918 (d7419e72-114b-48ad-bc8a-eac483a813b5).jpg

Manuscript letter

Archives Number: 1006/004.006.002-006#025

June 15, 1918
Dearest Family,
I’m sorry I wrote you such a gloomy letter last week. It would have been better not to write at all, but I was afraid you might think I’d gone up to Paris and got hit by a shell.
The news has been so wonderfully cheering this week, and the American gains so magnificent, ^that all is cheerful^. How thrilling it must be, too, for you all at home to get word of it! I can imagine what it must mean after [p. 2] the strain of being so far away But think of u-boats off the coast and New York in semi-darkness. No more fires on Bakers!
I’ve just heard that Douglas has been wounded knowing none of the details. It makes one feel so sort of desperate to be in France and unable to find out.
Perhaps the [??] will know, and if he is brought to a Paris hospital I can find out through Lucinda or his Group. In the notice in the Daily Mail it didn’t say seriously wounded so one can only hope — But it is hard not to know —
[p. 3 marked 2] Life is strange here. No sooner have we got a doctor than everyone proceeds to get sick. An epidemic of measles has broken out, imported by one of the latest [??] which you’ve probably read about. Luckily it only lasts a few days – fever and upset, but the measles among 108 will be quite an affair. We are turning one of the dormitories into a hospital ward, as the chalet isnt[sic] large enough to hold them all.
The poor Sisters and the Lacaunais are [p. 4] convinced that it’s all caused by the children’s’ going barefoot, which ^innovation^ the doctor instituted about 10 days ago. It’s never done in France, I know, and they think we’re crazy. Also, it[sic] a sign of beggary, so lots of the older children feel ashamed and make every excuse to get out their old wooden “galoches” again. Poor kids, you ought to see the sandals of bricks and wood they improvise on the sly! The younger ones love it, and it is so good for them in the delicious long grass. We hope, too, it is going to harden their feet, so that winter chilblains won’t make such ravages[?] —
[p. 5 marked 3] Another innovation is ^the^ taking of naps after dinner, everyone stretched out like dead soldiers on the grassy hillside under the pines. It’s the loveliest sight you ever saw! of course, the big ones hated it at first, but they’re awfully good and are quite getting with the habit, even sleeping occasionally. Any throwing of pine-needles or insects is punished by 10 minutes extra nap!
Also, After long and gradual working-up to the point ^also, of having^ all windows open at night! You can’t realize what it means to have actually arrived, unless till you’ve been [p. 6] long enough with the French to know what a deadly prejudice they have against it, especially against anything that can be translated into a “courant d’air.”
Our next effort is to get the children totally undressed, for that also sleeping in shirts is ^also^ an iron-bound French habit. Almost every French person ^big & little^ sleeps in some undergarment, with or without a [??] force]?] — and always have & ^always^ will. Oh, one has to work up to any changes so gradually and tactfully, by gentle suggestion and demonstration rather than by command or [p. 7 marked 4] sudden innovation. And they are so tolerant & long suffering about it! When I think how we would resent any such correspondingly radical changes in our habits presented to us against our desires and beliefs! It’s a continual never-solved problem to work out how to help them without interfering too much. We has[sic] to proceed so cautiously, and close one’s eyes temporarily to so many things that grate upon one’s sense of order and fitness!
None of us outsiders can command (except the Doctor, in a medical way.) The mother Superior is the head [p. 8] of the house, and we can only suggest and try our best really to help and not hinder. Other minor excitements occupations of the week have been the lecturing of the local cure’ for his very unsatisfactory unchristian attitude toward our poor old [??], and the being obliged to call out the guard to force our perfect wretch of a refugee gardener whom I fired last week, to pay me some money he owed and to see that he didn’t walk off with any of our furniture in his exodus from the village. We certainly have had the worst possible luck with refugees. I don’t know what gets into them, for it’s the [p. 9 marked 5] same story, in large measure, all over France. They feel that the world owes them a living, and that their losses justify their lying down and not raising a finger again. As the govt is obl or whoever imports them is obliged to house them till the end of the war, there are many difficult and unpleasant situations. [??] de Rose had imported our particular villain before we arrived, so we were obliged to house him as long as he stayed in Lacaune. We got him off the place, at least, with the village, tho’ he swore that the whole [p. 10] American army couldn’t budge him from our “garage.” And now I believe he’s going to take himself off from Lacaune as he’s made such a bad name for himself that no one will like him.
The [??] has been so kind & fatherly to me in all my troubles, helping me out of bad messes and advising me about the scale of wages, how to deal with different characters etc. etc. Never did I dream that I should get into such funny mix ups — But it certainly is instructive, and so far we haven’t lost too much, except patience and faith in the [unsigned?] [also strike through unreadable] word.
Human beings here [p. 11 marked 6] seem to be of two classes only — either very kind and absolutely reliable or worthless rascals. The P. B. people shower kindnesses upon me, telephoning me the communiques every day, especially every American bit, letting us into the P. O. after hours, bringing up my mail at odd hours times after the facteur has made his rounds, telephoning me ahead of time when I have interesting letters, presenting me with lovely bouquets at every moment — in fact, quite overwhelming me. It is a lovely custom here, that of giving bouquets.
[p. 12] If you pass a friend’s house in the village, they hail you in to gather pansies or peonies & roses, and workmen arriving in the morning, bring flowers from their ^wive’s^ gardens. As a whole, the people are very lovable and once they make up their minds to like you, they stick by loyally.
I have such fun interpreting for the Dr. in her free consultations to the village people. They are ^extremely^ grateful and insist on bringing her fresh eggs or flowers to show their appreciation. I can’t begin to understand the patois yet, which is a perfect hodge podge with no French in it; so often we have to have a double translation! It’s so funny!
[p. 1 crosswise in the margins:] The bats are a – squawking[?] outside & the[y] have[?] falling[?] in chilly sheets as my own sheets are getting[?] ever more chilly, too, & the hour is late. “Bien ser”[?] (patois) dearest people, and the[?] deepest love of your Bun

• Keywords: long archives; henry w. longfellow family papers (long 27930); erica (thorp) de berry; document; correspondence; anne allegra (longfellow) thorp; joseph gilbert thorp jr.; places; france; lacaune; europe; education; school; war; world war i; health and illness; friendship; religion; social life; women; Erica Thorp deBerry Papers (1006/004.006); (LONG-SeriesName); Outgoing (1006/004.006.002); (LONG-SubseriesName); 1918 (1006/004.006.002-006); (LONG-FileUnitName)