A "Y" Girl in France: Letters of Katherine Shortall Part 1

A "Y Girl in France.

by Katherine Shortall.

At the solicitation of many friends I am publishing, unknown to my daughter, these letters written by her while in the service of the Y.M.C.A. The letters have come to me scribbled in lead pencil and in every color of ink upon an a.s.sortment of stationery that in itself revealed the s.n.a.t.c.hing of whatever opportunity to write occurred in a busy life.

I make here public apology to the author if I have caused to be printed anything she would prefer not to have said outside the family circle.

The spirit manifest in these letters has been that of hundreds of girls wearing the same colors, doing faithfully and perseveringly the work that was given them to do, whether it chanced to be dramatic and exhilarating or plain drudgery. To each one of them as she doffs her uniform I would say, in the recent happy phrasing of a statesman: "Let us not demobilize the Spirit of Helpfulness!" and with sincere homage I dedicate this little book

TO OUR "Y" GIRLS.

M.C.S.

September, 1919.

A "Y" GIRL IN FRANCE

Monday, Dec. 23, 1918.

Well, dear Family, here I am at sea, and everything is fine. At noon on Sat.u.r.day our tugs pulled us away from the dock ahead of the "Prinzes Juliana" which lay alongside. Great waving of handkerchiefs between the blue-hatted crowds of Y.M.C.A. girls on both ships. The harbor was misty and the sky line of New York was very beautiful and shadowy. As we steamed out we pa.s.sed the "Baltic" coming in, laden with troops. The boys were wild with enthusiasm at returning home.

Many had climbed way up the rigging and as we pa.s.sed they all cheered and we cheered back, and handkerchiefs fluttered and hats were waved.

Then we went by the Statue of Liberty and out to sea. Before long the deck was covered with tired Y.M.C.A. girls lying prostrate in their steamer chairs with their eyes closed. You never saw so many green capes and blue hats in your life! We are in the great majority on the boat. The sea was calm and silvery, and it was delicious to have nothing to do but to enjoy it and to let that salt water lethargy creep over you. However, I also felt a cold creeping over me, in spite of "red pills" and fresh air, and Sunday when I woke up I had a feeling in my chest that made me decide the better part of valor was to remain in bed. It was a nuisance, because the weather outside was like a day in June. I looked out of the porthole onto a level blue sea and warm, balmy air blew in. It was unbelievable. The ship's doctor visited me, tapped me and put on a hot compress, and I lay in my upper berth all day in a sort of feverish stupor, enjoying the faint motion of the ship and the singing from the church service which floated in to me clearly, and this morning I woke up practically well. I have been out all day, walked four miles and feel splendid. Such weather you never dreamed of for December. Clear blue skies, a chipper breeze off the starboard bow and waves just big enough to make us pitch gently in a very un.o.bjectionable way. This evening's clouds are piling up round the horizon, so who knows but old Eolus may be getting ready to send us a Christmas present.

There are four girls to each stateroom. My room-mates are very nice girls, and we get along very well in spite of the congestion. There is a Miss S., a very splendid, dark-haired, athletic-looking girl who attracts me exceedingly. Then there is Miss A. from Baltimore, with a strong Southern accent, kind-hearted and sensible. Also a quiet little mouse of a girl, Miss C., who is very earnest and wants to improve each moment, and was quite worried about herself because she sat in her chair a whole afternoon and didn't do anything.

There is a sprinkling of Englishmen on board, a few American men, ten j.a.panese, an Italian Colonel who apparently is very much of a lady-killer, one Y.M.C.A. _man_ and about a hundred of us in our high collars and greenish suits.

The "Caronia" has been an armored cruiser in the Pacific during the first part of the war, and then was hastily fitted up to carry troops.

She is in rather bad condition, battered and dirty. Nevertheless ship life seems just what it was before the war. The food is good, tea is served, the attendants with their nice English voices are all so remarkably courteous and--charming! That is the only word for it. And now I must go and dress for dinner, which means, I shall put on a clean high collar. Ugh!

Sunday, Dec. 29th.

I must tell you about our Christmas at sea. It is the custom on all English ships for the stewards at midnight to go all through the ships singing carols. As I lay in my berth I heard them begin, such a fine men's chorus, singing in harmony. They came down our corridor, pa.s.sed us, the sound gradually dying away, then the "Y" girls began and also went all over the ship, singing very well. Christmas was a wet, foggy day. The old "Caronia" would put her nose down into a wave and send a shower of spray over the decks. There were a few seasick people, yet one would hardly have called it rough. In the morning there was a short Christmas service, but the nicest part of the day came in the afternoon and will always stand out in my memory. All the girls had a tremendous lot of candy and fruit, and they decided to divide it all up so that every man employed on board the ship should get a present from the Y.M.C.A. In the afternoon we all went way down into the lower regions of the ship to sing and to distribute our gifts. There all the men who work down in the darkness were a.s.sembled. The "Y"

girls sang, then the men sang, Christmas carols at first, but the party got merrier and merrier, and funny songs and solos and stunts of all kinds were performed. An old piano had been brought down. One of the stewards, a true comedian, gave us several awfully good songs, with a charm and a rhythm that were quite irresistible. One little Irish-looking boy with waving dark hair and a mischievous, sensitive face, sang c.o.c.kney songs, the others joining in the chorus. Then, as the "Y" girls sang a catchy "rag" he was pushed forward and began a nimble clog dance. The first thing I knew, I was in the ring dancing with him! There was a shout of surprise from everybody, and they kept us at it over and over again. Finally we left, feeling really happy.

It had been one of those rare parties where every one contributed to the entertainment. A few days later the enclosed expression of grat.i.tude from the "catering department" was handed to each "Y" girl, also several others, equally appreciative, from the engineers and members of the crew.

The day after Xmas is a holiday in England. The men were again trying to have a little festivity down below and I was asked to go down and dance for them, so of course I did. I did the "Cachuca" to horrible old waltz music banged out by one of the stewards, I did every dance I ever knew and more than I knew; and then we had songs and more stunts from the men. Such good songs, and so catchy. It was great fun, and the men were so appreciative. And all down in the dark, damp, unknown region of a big ship!

The American men on board are not to our country's credit; a poor lot.

The Italian colonel is the centre of attraction. He is a fascinating person, liked by men and women equally. He has borrowed my guitar for the voyage and sings and whistles to delighted groups.

This morning, after a foggy but calm voyage, we came up on deck to find everything glistening in sun. The sea was streaked in green and black and the white caps gleamed, while ever widening patches of blue appeared among the clouds. To port, barely distinguishable in the gray clouds, was Ireland. Pretty soon, on the other side, Wales came into sight. The day has become brighter and brighter. Continually we pa.s.s little steamers. There is the thrill of approaching land. We do not know where we are going. Such a delightful, irresponsible sensation! I know just how a boy must feel in the army.

New Year's Day, 1919.

Here I am, writing like any soldier at a Y.M.C.A. canteen in Liverpool. There are four of us crowded round one little table in a large, bare, smoky room. The place is buzzing with soldiers, a game of billiards is going on in one corner and in another a graphophone is never allowed one moment's rest.

You would laugh, (or perhaps you wouldn't!) if you could see me camping out in the wilds of England. Sunday night when we were all at dinner on the "Caronia" the engines suddenly stopped throbbing, and when we went up on deck there were the lights of Liverpool on either side of us, a sky full of stars above, and little lighted steamers scudding about. We were to ride at anchor in the harbor all night. A tug brought the Alien Officer on board, and each one of us and our pa.s.sports had to undergo his scrutiny. It was a tedious business, and as I did not come till near the end of the alphabet he didn't get around to me till after midnight. One thing I have learned already is the immense advantage of belonging to the first of the alphabet. Your future is made or marred by your initial.

Monday we were up at five thirty, and finally, after interminable bustle and waiting and crowding, we and our luggage were through the customs. The Y.M.C.A. here weren't expecting us, and were rather overwhelmed at the prospect of housing us. They got accommodations for the first thirty (of the alphabet) at a good hotel. The remaining sixty-five were sent to a Y.M.C.A. hut called Lincoln Lodge, where one floor of soldiers' barracks was turned over to us. Imagine a huge chill room with brick walls, containing four hundred double-decker beds and nothing else. The atmosphere was like a tightly bottled and preserved London fog. It was raining outside. On each bed was a burlap-hay mattress and a coa.r.s.e blanket. After lunch downstairs I fixed myself up in my own blankets with my fur coat on top, got very comfortable and had a three hours' rest. Every night I ever spent on the rocky ground at our Mountain Lake stood me in good stead, and I didn't mind my lumpy, "rolly" mattress a bit, but it has been hard on many of the girls. That night I slept twelve and a half hours, and woke at nine thirty yesterday much refreshed. In the morning I helped with the dish washing down in the canteen in the bas.e.m.e.nt; such a filthy place I don't wonder the "flu" spreads. I don't want to begin to criticise so soon, but if I see much more of the conditions I saw there I shall do my little bit to instigate a reform, at least where I work.

In the afternoon I went with a nice Washington girl, Miss P. and a great enormous Irish officer with a gentle smile and sweet voice, to see a German submarine in the harbor. It was one of their largest models which has surrendered. We were allowed on board and examined it all. It gave me a strange feeling to be walking that deck and to read the German signs everywhere, and to see those deadly guns, now become the playthings of little boys who swarmed over the boat and up into the gunners' seats.

New Year's Eve the Y.M.C.A. made use of all of us girls and gave a dance, five of us furnishing the music, I alternately playing my guitar and then using it as a drum, beating it on the back with my ring. It made quite a hit. And really with two violins, ukulele and piano we weren't a half bad orchestra. The "Y" men were immensely grateful as they had searched the town unsuccessfully for a band. The place was jammed with soldiers, American, Canadian and British, and really it was a very jolly, nice affair. And now we are on the point of departure for London.

Paris, January 12, 1919.

So much has happened since I wrote you from Liverpool and we have all pa.s.sed through so many moods that I wonder whether I can think back and tell you everything. We left Liverpool for London a hundred strong, the Y.M.C.A. having reserved enough first cla.s.s coaches for us all. We were a jolly party in our compartment. I played the guitar and we all sang. We had afternoon tea served at stations and it was all very much like peace times except that the train was not heated at all and was excessively damp and cold, and in the compartments were various signs ordering the public to keep the shades down after dark and on no account to let any light show. The English landscape was beautiful, soft and undulating, but _damp_ looking. That dampness gets into your soul. The trees were brown, without leaves, yet the gra.s.s in the fields was vivid green.

We arrived in London after dark, about eight p.m. There we were met by some "Y" men, and after the identification of baggage, which with a hundred girls is a desperate affair, we were all loaded into huge trucks or "brakes" as they call them, and carted to our various destinations. About twenty of us were dumped out at the Melbourne Hotel, a decidedly G.o.d-forsaken place just off Russell Square. There I shared a room with Miss P. an awfully nice Washington girl. If you could see that room! It was desperately cold, and so damp the towels were wet. A broken gas mantle way up near the ceiling gave a dim greenish light which seemed to mix up with the fog and become part of the oppressing atmosphere. We were back in the land of pitcher and bowl and slop jar, and brushing your teeth from a tumbler. Neither of us had heroism enough to bathe, but crawled into our humid bed with sweaters and warm wrappers and bedsocks on, and all the capes and fur coats piled on top. Somehow we shivered ourselves to sleep.

The next morning the sun was actually shining. After a sloppy breakfast, we all reported at the Imperial Hotel where we were given instructions on all kinds of things. We were to be sent to Paris in relays just as quickly as possible. In the meantime London was ours.

Miss P., who knew London, and I went shopping. I was chiefly interested in discovering all evidences of war. London _had_ changed somehow, yet not exactly in the way one might vaguely imagine. Shops were all thriving apparently, Liberty's windows as entrancing as ever, movement and crowds everywhere. Yet if you observed closely you saw how few automobiles and taxis there were, though the busses were the same as ever, except that there were women-conductors. The streets were absolutely flooded with men in uniform, soldiers of all kinds.

There were many Australians and New Zealanders, tall, lean men with weather-beaten faces and a certain attractive swagger which is augmented by their broad-brimmed hats turned up at one side. Canadians were everywhere, and in less numbers, Americans. And of course the British in their splendid uniforms with their unmistakable bearing. I was glad to see so many, many specimens of n.o.ble Anglo-Saxons. They seem to me to be the hope of England. The most striking of all are the Scotch; perfect giants of men, in their kilts and plaids, bare knees and all. Then there were many wounded, men wearing the blue hospital uniform, with arms and legs gone, heads bandaged, limping forth to get the air; but most of them smiling. Miss P. and I decided that the greatest evidence of the terrible strain of war was in the expression of people on the street. No one ever smiled. Faces were dull and joyless. Clothes were old. Shoes were shapeless and soggy. Every one seemed hopeless rather than actively sorrowful. And in the keen, blonde faces of the men one sees about Whitehall, the men on the inside of affairs, there was a far-away, set, determined expression.

We had arrived in London on New Year's day, Wednesday, and were to leave on Sunday. Sunday afternoon we were all taken to South Hampton and after interminable business at the customs house we boarded a channel boat for Havre. A smooth pa.s.sage. At 5.45 a.m. I looked out of the porthole and there was the sh.o.r.e of France, all black, with little lights twinkling and a great white searchlight flashing back and forth over the water. After breakfast, when we went up on deck, the sky was rosy with the approaching sunrise, and suddenly in a burst of glory the sun came out of a golden cloud and warmed us all! It was an indescribably beautiful scene. The masts of many ships and all the ropes and rigging against the glowing pink clouds in the sky, the beloved bustle of a harbor, the French language, the smiling French faces, the excitement of arrival at dawn, all made us happy, and I, for one, loved France with all my heart at that moment. We were gathered on the wharf for some time, where we watched red-capped German prisoners unloading our trunks from the ship. Then, in rows of fours, we were marched up through the muddy streets to the Y.M.C.A.

headquarters. There we were given a good, direct talk by the man in charge and were again marched off for an early luncheon. My admiration for the Y.M.C.A. is rising continually. I am proud and thrilled to be a part of it. I am glad I came.

"Premiere Cla.s.se" coaches were reserved for us on our trip to Paris.

We left Havre at noon, closely packed into our compartments. Such wonderful country as we went through! We stopped at Rouen and had fine views of the Cathedral, the excited "Y" girls running from one side of the car to the other in their effort to miss nothing. In the Rouen station a fine old lady was giving coffee at a Red Cross canteen. A continuous stream of soldiers in blue came up to her booth. I saw one greenish-coated Italian soldier step up and order coffee just as a French soldier was beginning his. The two c.h.i.n.ked their cups together, while the shrewd-faced old lady in her flowing Red Cross cap beamed at them.

The train then became crowded, and a French soldier came into our compartment. I got to talking with him. He had been a prisoner in Germany ever since August, 1914, and had been back in France just five days. He was very young, with one of the saddest faces I ever saw. I asked him how he had been treated. He said that he had never seen any cruelty to prisoners, except that the last two years of the war they had been so poorly nourished. Much else he told us about the French att.i.tude toward their allies. I have talked with many French and American boys during this past week and have heard many stories, but they must wait till I get home. Apparently the men in the ranks from Australia, Canada and the United States, get on well with each other and with the French, but they say many things against the English. I think this is due to a sort of provincial antipathy on the part of our boys to anything "different" from what they are used to. I have run against this att.i.tude in many since I have been here and it seems to me a great pity. Whenever I hear boys talking against the English I am going to try to make them see differently. I have found one exception.

Such a nice boy whom I talked with yesterday in the train. He had been in the one U.S. division that fought at Ypres. As he described the battle line his face was drawn with the horror of it, yet he had to talk about it, and I let him, hoping he would "get it off his chest"

that way. "One thing is," he said, "that no one knows what the British have been through in this war. Terrible as the Marne and the Argonne were, Ypres was ten times worse. It was the most frightful place on the front, and the British have done wonders in holding it."

He told me of many of the horrors, and talked about the wonderful chaplain of his regiment who ministered to the dying boys wherever they fell and who saw to it that the thousands of unburied dead were buried and their identification tags secured. He said that you could tell by looking at a Prussian officer that he would stick a knife through a baby! Then we got to talking about his home in Ohio. When we parted he gave my hand a grip like a vise and said: "You're the first honest-to-goodness American girl I've talked to for fifteen months. I sure won't forget you!" To digress still further, I just want to say that it is a new and I believe quite wonderful experiment, this sending of the right sort of girls to work and to a.s.sociate with the boys in the army. War is bad. The herding of men in armies is bad. I have never before realized how much men need good women. It is up to us to _be_ good, in all the joyous, efficient, and true sense of the word.

To return to our trip to Paris. After our soldier left us, two nice French women squeezed into our compartment. The train got fuller and fuller. In the corridor a tall English officer sat on his bag and puffed his pipe at us. Next to him three exuberant French poilus half lay and half sat all in a heap, their shrapnel helmets, canteens and packs piled about them. There was much laughter and s.n.a.t.c.hes of song among them, and many winks at the English officer who remained supremely indifferent to them. One of them smoked two cigarettes at a time for our benefit, sometimes puffing one through his nose and the other through his mouth. It was long after dark, and we had had nothing to eat or drink since eleven a.m., and we were all squeezed so tight we couldn't move. At last I offered the officer my large suitcase for a seat, which he accepted. One of the French soldiers sat on it with him, the ice was broken, and we all had a very delightful time till we got to Paris at midnight. A hasty bite at the canteen, and we were rushed to another station and put on the train for Versailles where a hotel was reserved for us. There we have stayed under very damp and cold conditions, going into Paris every day for more conferences, physical examinations, etc. Tomorrow I expect to receive my a.s.signment. I have no idea where it will be.

You should see la Place de la Concorde. All the captured German guns have been gathered there. These great, hideous things fascinate me in a strange way, and I wandered among them the other day examining them.

There are hundreds of trench mortars that sent the dreaded "Minnenwurfer"; ugly, chunky guns, peculiarly vicious looking. Around the obelisk are arranged the long-distance guns, their gigantic muzzles pointing in the air. Hundreds and hundreds of guns! As you look toward the Arc de Triomphe the Champs Elysees is lined on both sides with guns close together, all the way. They are all camouflaged, mottled and streaked in green and brown. It is bewildering to look at them. They are the symbol, I suppose, of a great indelible mark in the book of history, which later generations will gaze on with curiosity.

But now, one little mortal standing in the presence of those recently silenced mouths, can only shiver and go away. It is too soon.

January 24th.

I have hated to write for the simple reason that I have been having bronchitis. Not serious at all, but I thought a whole ocean between us might make you think it was serious. Really, if I _had_ to be sick, I am lucky to have been here in comfortable quarters with medical care and no one depending on me for work. But it was a nuisance and a delay when I didn't want to be delayed.

January 26th.