Manuscript letter

Archives Number: 1006/004.006.002-006#029

July 24, 1918
Dearest People
Four days late, and a wretched old scrawl at that. One of these days I’m going to write a real one again and tell you about this place. I don’t know when.
Les vacances have begun, and tho there’s still an hour of some kind of study in the morning, in the P.M. everyone goes off “aux fraises,” for we’re trying to lay in a large enough store of fraises, myrtilles (which is like our blueberry) and groseilles3 to make couftrire[?] for [p. 2] the winter, when there may be no sweet things left in France. The older boys work regularly with the masons or in the vegetable garden, and they’re so happy!
[p.1 margin:] Dr. Flech[?] had Miss Blodgett for a patient once!
We sent three of the Sisters off to Lourdes this week for a rest, and the nurses and Doctor have gone for a few days on a sudden wonderful chance to motor to Montpellier.
The measles and grippe are all over, and there are only the ordinary little derangements left, for which I’ve called in the fascinating French “Mayor,” who’s been mobilized for Lacaune.
[p. 3 marked 2] He’s the best looking and the nicest Frenchman I’ve ^ever^ met, over here, perfectly charming in manner and so quiet and efficient in practice. If the gov’t lets him stay on this winter, (which I doubt) we’ll certainly be in luck! He’s quite won the hearts of us all, and if he weren’t married I might be quite serious! You never saw more dangerous brown eyes, nor more captivating a ^blu^ horizon uniform The masculine side of “colony life” is coming up in leaps and bounds. We have [p. 4] another armorer[?], a younger, cheerier soul who has lots of ideas for the boys ^with^ many of which I most heartily agree. He’s giving them lots of singing and looking up plays, [etc.?] Then two days ago, dropped in Dr. Flech[or Fleck?] a New York osteopath, who has come over to start a tent-colony in one of our fields — only of course the tents haven’t arrived! If you searched the world over, you couldn’t find a more typical American osteopath type, New York American to the bone — Plunged into unfamiliar surroundings [p. 5 marked 3] not speaking any French, with none of his paraphanalia[sic] to work with he’s been pretty [???]! poor soul. But he’s going to start in tomorrow with gymnastics, and perhaps some day the tents and all the woodcraft business will arrive — tho’ I doubt it.
Oh, life is so funny. I nearly die at the combinations in this place. If you could see me presiding at our little family table, set in the dingiest of former hotel — offices, [p. 6] carving for the curé & Dr. F while we try to keep up a conversation of bashed French, bashed English and very much bashed patois (which I’m trying to learn)
It’s so funny that I keep go off into semi-hysterics every few minutes. Curé “Thees vine ees very feeble.” Dr. F. “Feeble’s the word. Where can we get the real stuff?” or F “Do you call this egg-nogg? It hasn’t any stick in it.
[p. 7 marked 4] C with a distracted frown. “I beg your pardon?”
He’s a true sport & tries his best to keep up his end in English, straining every muscle to catch Dr. F’s ^New Yor in Yorkk[sic]^ smooth flow but finally admitting sadly “It ees not easy for me to hear him talk.”
He has to have a special diet of eggs & rice, & makes wonderful hashes[?] in his soup-plate, never forgetting to offer us some with a generous “Will you?” [unintelligible word crossed out] Some day I’m going to take down a [p. 8] whole meal’s conversation, word for word, for it’s too rare to let pass.
We’re making investigations right & left for a place to put our 50 youngest for the winter, not far away, in the real midi climate. A hotel au bond de la Mediterrane is the latest suggestion & we can get the necessary permit from the Minister of the Interior to use the gasoline we’re going down there, en automobile! Think of it!
I looked at one place at Castres, a lovely, rambling old mansion in a pine grove [p. 9 marked 5] overlooking the valley and foothills of the Pyrenees, but it was too damp & dilapidated for even the wildest stretch of the imagination.
Speaking of Castres, we came near having one of the most terrible explosions of modern times here last week. About 2 of a hot breathless day as I was deep in latest war news, thinking how ^incredibly^ far away from it we were, suddenly came the a most terrific explosion, shaking the house and sending the children with a reflex ^action^ bound into the cellar — [p. 10] Before I could get downstairs even came another & another, exactly like the bombs in the Presles park. And it kept on and on, first a series of deafening crashes, then a long-drawn-out continuous rumbling like the sound of guns at the front ^for 3 solid hours!^ Of course we guessed right off that it was the munitions plant at Castres, and but the Lacaunaise washerwomen couldn’t be convinced. They were sure it was either the Germans or an earthquake, and all the poor children from Melle[?] de Rose’s farm came [p. 11 marked 6] tumbling down in terror with cries that the mountains were crumbling. I wish you could have heard our boys’ scornful remarks, from the height of their years of bombardment! It was a pretty agonizing afternoon, for there was no way of getting into touch with Castres. We had no doubt but ^were sure^ that the whole town had been wiped out, if we at 52 kilometes it could make such a terrific noise. The only train of the day had left & there wasn’t an automobile to be had in Lacaune. Even [p. 12] if there had been, our 15 litres of [escence?]/the sole supply in the village, wouldn’t have got us there. So we had miserably to wait with all the rest, planning out with the mayor how many wounded we could take in and feed etc. etc.
Late that evening a telephone message got thro’ saying that the main factory at C. had not been reached, only a long series of [obus?ordinance??] depots beyond C. Carelessness in loading a car had started the thing, but there was time to give the signal to the factories and flood the poudrerie
[p. 13 marked 7] Castres was immediately evacuated & the panic must have been horrible. But the miracle of it was that in spite of the explosion spreading [???] acres & acres of bomb depots, there were very few deaths and wounded & little material damage. Everyone agrees that if it had reached the arsenal, the whole town would have been wiped out & everything for 10 kilometres around. It certainly was a narrow escape!
— The Greenings letters have been so blessed. Think of old Al with the “scarlet” —
[p. 14] of all tough luck!! I only hope she could get to the island to recuperate.
[???] description of a rain-walk with Papa’s blue sweater hanging limply off James, the Round Robin from the J.T. — the whole thought of that sudden reunion — well, it’s just all part of the dream that all those past days have merged into now. It doesn’t seem as if they could have existed —
If you knew the rejoicing at the Allied offensive — Do you all realize I wonder at home how magnificent the [???] & spirit of the Americans has been. It’s beyond all belief —
A sweet note from major Harry Holland came from Paris a few days [p. 15 marked 7] ago, just as if I’d known him all my life! He went straight to the Montana to find me. If only I’d been there. He didn’t say ^exactly^ what his position at the front was, but I imagine it exceedingly important. How I should love to meet him at last! I think he’d love a letter from the island, for he spoke about it, wondering what everyone was doing. No word from any of the front liners. I image that Douglas must be flying again, as I’ve seen no mention of his being [p. 16] sent back for propaganda as he dreaded.
A wounded ambulance driver friend of Dr. Fs may come down here to recuperate & Willard & Machado swear they’re coming [???] for the fishing season. He told me that he threw hand-grenades into shell-hole lakes to bring up a mess of fish for the General’s breakfast! — so we may have a “season” after all.
Do Willard & M[achado?] write home any of their recent experiences. I wonder, & has W. told you that he sends special shells in memory of each of you?
Dearest people please don’t mind my soggy brain. I wish I could tell it all to you as [p. 16 margin:] I want to — but can’t.
Your lovingest,
Bun!
[Note: This letter was written on 3 sheets of official stationery, front and back. The header of the paper [pages 1, 3, and 5] says: COMITÉ FRANCO-AMÉRICAIN POR LA PROTECTION DES ENFANTS DE LA FRONTIÈRE 77, RUE D’AMSTERDAM, PARIS Below that, on the left, is printed: “COLONIE FRANCO-AMÉRICAINE DE LACAUNE” LACAUNE-LES-BAINS (TARN)]

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