"i Was There" With the Yanks on the Western Front, 1917-1919

Part 1

"I was there"

with the Yanks in France

Sketches by

C. LeRoy Baldridge Private, A.E.F.

"I WAS THERE"

WITH THE YANKS ON THE WESTERN FRONT 1917-1919

BY C. LEROY BALDRIDGE PVT. A.E.F.

TOGETHER WITH VERSES BY HILMAR R. BAUKHAGE PVT. A.E.F.

G.P. PUTNAM'S SONS NEW YORK AND LONDON The Knickerbocker Press 1919

Copyright, 1919 BY C. LEROY BALDRIDGE

TO OUR MOTHERS

Ours the Great Adventure, Yours the pain to bear, Ours the golden service stripes, Yours the marks of care.

If all the Great Adventure The old Earth ever knew, Was ours and in this little book 'Twould still belong to you!

PREFACE

These Sketches were made during a year's service as a camion driver with the French amry in the Chemin-des-Dames sector and a year's service with the A.E.F. as an infantry private on special duty with "The Stars and Stripes," the official A.E.F. newspaper. Most of them were drawn at odd minutes during the French push of 1917 near Fort Malmaison, at loading parks and along the roadside while on truck convoy, and while on special permission to draw and paint with the French army given me by the Grand Quartier Gènèral during the time I was stationed at Soissons. The rest were drawn on American fronts from the Argonne to Belgium as my duties took me from one offensive to another.

It has been a keen regret to me that my artistic skill has been so unequal to these opportunites. The sketches do not sufficiently show war for the stupid horror I know it to be.

I hope, however, they may serve as a record of doughboy types, of the people he lived with in France, with whom he suffered and by whose side he fought.

Many appeared first in "The Stars and Stripes," "Leslie's Weekly", and "Scribner's Magazine", through the courtesy of whose editors I am now enabled to reprint them.

C. LeRoy Baldridge Private, Am.E.F. June 1919

I WAS THERE

Seicheprey, America's old home sector--first trenches entirely under their own command.

THE LINE Form a line! Get in line! From the time that I enlisted And since Jerry armististed I've been standing, kidding, cussing, I've been waiting, fuming, fussing, In a line.

I have stood in line in mud and slime and sleet, With the dirty water oozing from my feet, I have soaked and slid and slipped, While my tacky slicker dripped, And I wondered what they'd hand me out to eat.

Get in line! For supplies and for inspections, With the dust in four directions, For a chance to scrub the dirt off, In the winter with my shirt off, In a line.

I have sweated in an August training camp, That would make a prohibition town look damp, Underneath my dinky cap While the sun burned off my map And I waited for some gold-fish (and a cramp!).

Get in line! For rice, pay-day, pills, and ration, For corned-willy, army fashion, In Hoboken, in the trenches, In a station with the Frenchies, In a line.

I've been standing, freezing, sweating, Pushing, shoving, wheezing, fretting, And I won't be soon forgetting Though I don't say I'm regretting That I stood there, with my buddies, In a line.

The Lids We Wear-- [Illustration: Dungaree style] [Illustration: This tin derby with winter knitted helmet] [Illustration: Old "rain-in-the-face"] [Illustration: The charming red-and-white effect] [Illustration: Fuzzy-wuzzy] [Illustration: The tank helmet] [Illustration: Some managed to hang on to the old reliable] [Illustration: With the French army] [Illustration: With its canvas overcoat on]

Part 2

The Ration Detail--a job which no one relishes. Each day the other fellow's artillery tries to lay down a fire which will keep these boys from getting back. They travel to where their supply company has dumped the food from mule carts--the point nearest front where creaking wheels may go. The man in the center is carrying a string of French loaves, the round black variety common before we got our own bakeries started.

The Headquarters Company of the Reserve Mallet taking its bath at Chavigny Farm. The tub is a tin-lined cigarette box used by the Y.M.C.A. Water is heated in the old farm fire-place.

"PREPARE FOR ACTION"

I ran into Johnny Redlegs A-sitting on his bus, And I asked him why the devil He dropped half his shells on us. He just smiles and puffs his corn-cob, As peaceful as a Persian, And, "Buddy," says he, "you can't blame me, You gotta blame dispersion."

I says to Johnny Redlegs, "If I didn't have nine lives Your barrage would have got me With those lousy seventy-fives." He grins and puffs his corn-cob, And then he winks, reflective, And, "Buddy," says he, "you can't blame me If you pass your damn objective."

I says to Johnny Redlegs (Just kidding him, you know), "The trouble with your popgun is She pops too gol-darned slow." Then Redlegs drops his corn-cob And spits on both his han's, And, "Buddy," says he, "you can kid with me And the whole damned Field Artilleree, But there'll be a dud where you used to be If you kid my swasont-cans!"

"Johnny Redlegs"--guardian of the "Soixante-quinze." (the famous French "75")

...and the doughboy who tries to keep just the right distance from the covering barrage fire.

Among the first sent across/They served with the French in '17

American and French field artillery gun crews camped together in a wood near Charsoney. The canvas overhead keeps the fire from being observed by aeroplanes at night.

The linesman at the front--

Same old job with just a couple percent more risk than usual

Using a shell-shocked tree for a telegraph pole.

St. Mihiel 1918

Dumb Beasts

RELIEF

z-z-z-z-z-z-Z-Z-Z-Z-e-e-e-e-E-E-------------b Boom! There's another! God, this pack is heavy. Glad I pinched the extra willy, Guess I'll need it. And the sweater, too, out there.

-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-Z-Z-Z-Z-E-E-E-EEEEEE- - b Boom! There's another! Jesse! that was a close one. Wonder if......good Christ! Where's Charlie? Got him clean. God curse those Jerries! I'll get even,--p'raps-- out there.

z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-Z-Z-Z-E-E-E-E-e-e----------b Boom! There's another! Over! Well, if one has my name on it Then the guv'ment pays ten thousand. What's the use? I couldn't spend it. Leastways not-- out there.

z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-Z-Z-Z-Z-e-e-e-e-e-E-E-E-E----b Boom! There's another. Where'd I put that plug of Climax? Oh, I s'pose somebody swiped it. Gee, I never thought that Charlie... Glad I ain't out on the wire. This damn trench is dark--ouch! Damn it, Wait a minute.... Hell, I'm coming, I can't run in this equipment. What the hell's the rush to get-- out there?

The Relief--

Coming up to the front lines through the communication trenches, which extend a kilometer or so. On these occasions little love is lost on "beautiful moonlight nights"

The roofs of Vaux after a few minutes of Yank barrage lifted--

In 1870 Grandpère was taken as a prisoner to Coblenz

Madam Framary who sewed on my buttons and who transformed miserable French army rations into marvelous dishes

Erasme, the youngest son who starts his three years of compulsory training in the fall 1919

The eldest son. After his three years of training he was called to war. He has never come back.

Soissons--1918

Part 3

Awaiting the signal to attack. The sergeant is ready to blow the whistle for his squad to follow him out through a path in the barbed wire. In another minute they will advance close behind the bursting shells of a heavy barrage which, lifting, will leave them face to face with German machine guns.

France 1917

The "Territorial"--the name given French poilu between the ages of 34 and 40

Vailly--1917

Noyon, 1918

The Paris Bus--many kilometers from the Place de l'Opèra--used for transporting troops, horses, and fresh meat to the front

FATIGUE

You can see 'em in the movies, With the sunlight on their guns, You can read in all the papers Of the charge that licked the Huns, You can read of "khaki heroes" And of "gleaming bayonet," But there's one thing that the writers And the artist all forget:

That's me! On K.P. In my suit of denim blue I am thinking--not of you-- But the places where I'd like the top to be!

On the posters in the windows, In the monthly magazine, Are the boys in leather leggins Such as Pershing's never seen; Oh, they love to paint 'em pretty, All dressed up and fit to kiss,-- Ain't it funny there's a picture That they always seem to miss?

Bless me soul, Loading coal! In my little shimmy-shirt, Eyes and mouth full up with dirt-- (In the next war I'll be living at the Pole.)

Built for speed / and with light pack to match

R.B.--Belleau Wood / 1918 / A Marine

In an abri waiting for the "Gothas" (big German planes) to go home

The veteran of the Spanish-American war tells 'em how it ought to be done

R. Lufbery

Sketched at the Lafayette Escadrille field near Longpont as the aviator was getting into his "union suit" preparatory to flying in a Chemin-des-Dames engagement

Base port stevedores--Volunteers from the South who work eight hours a day for seven days a week--Bordeaux/18

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