Letters from Paul Green to friends and family

Camp Greene,
Aug. 11, 1917

Dear Buie:

Doubtless you think I haven't thought of you since leaving home. But I have. We have so many things to do that our time for writing is very small. We get up at 5:15 in the morning, and immediately go up to a high place in the field for our morning exercise, which consists in deep breathing, arm, head, back, neck, legs, and knee movements. Such work will soon make one strong. At 6:00 o'clock we have breakfast. Sometimes we have something good to eat and sometimes we do not. But one thing I like about this camp is the better way of eating than we had at Goldsboro. We have dining halls, well lighted and screened. I'm getting used to eating out of a tin plate now. I shouldn't be surprised if this life makes a man out of me in the long run.

When we finish breakfast, drill hours begin--from 7:00 till 11:30; and then back for dinner. After dinner we go back to drill, and then come in to supper at 6:00 o'clock. We don't drill so very much in the afternoon, but work at many things. I even do my own washing. You'd better be glad you haven't the chance to see me scrubbing my tough yellow clothes. I make quite a figure.

It's quite odd--unpleasant to some, too--how we sleep at night. Eight men stay in one tent--16'x16'. Each one sleeps on a separate cot. Of course, several of my tent-mates are not nice men, and accordingly I try to listen to their talk as little as possible.

Often at night five or six of the men in my tent will start snoring. And they surely do keep up a racket. Last night I listened to them until I had to laugh as much as they worried me. One fellow snored so peculiarly! The noise sounded as if he had a handful of fleas up his nose. But after all, this noisy lot bothers me very little. When bedtime comes I usually am so tired that I sleep quite soundly.

When you write, tell me all about your plans for going to school this fall.

It is time for dinner, and on that account I must close.

Love to all,

Paul

 

Camp Sevier
Nov. 22, 1917

Dear Papa

Mary's good letter came to-day and under the spell of it I'm writing home. I should write oftener, and really wish I could, but the chances for writing often are slim enough here. During day one has no time for writing, and in the night there always is a crowd of boys talking and standing around the stove in my tent. Even to-night there are a half-dozen in here tell telling jokes, etc. Despite this, I should write you once or twice a week, but for the fact that I'm writing for the Greenville Daily News--writing verses of little value, but they ease me inside. That takes nearly all my spare time. The verses are written under the title of "Sons of a Soldier," and consist of some half-dozen poems, printed weekly. I'm going to try to keep this column up as long as I stay here. It will help me no little in mastering the English language, which thing I expect to do at some far off time. There are only two reasons that I especially wish to come safely through this war. One is for the sake of the homefolks; the other is that I may write something worthwhile. I don't love life enough to dread the shell's and a gases of Europe. The two reasons I spoke of are all that makes me anxious about the outcome so far as I am concerned. But perhaps that point of view writers call the fatalistic (what's to be will be), which most of the soldiers believe in, is the best way for a fellow to believe after all. But somehow I can't believe such a way now.

As I mentioned, I am writing some, but doing very little reading. Nevertheless a few weeks ago I read a book by Mr. H. G. Wells of England, called "Mr. Britling Sees It Through." I'm going to mail it to you. Perhaps you already have heard of the book as it is world famous. After you've read it, doubtless your idea about sacrifice in this war will be changed considerably, although there are few men in Harnett County paying the price for this conflict that you are paying. To be sure, you are proud of it. I am. As much as I should like to see Hugh back at home. Somehow I don't mind going through it for my part, but I don't like to see Hugh in it, although he is faring as well as I. You know how I feel, and you feel the same way about it. He always will seem young and dependent to me.

Hugh passed here this afternoon, coming from the rifle range on the mountains. The infantry has been there at rifle practice for the last week or two, and all day long we could hear a steady roar of fire. I'm getting a good idea of what a battle means. The sound of rifle fire is enough to deafen one, not taking into consideration the heavy artillery. I haven't heard any of that yet, but I shall soon as a heavy artillery range is being built beyond the rifle range back in the mountains.

And another touch of real war I am getting is the gas--gas exactly like that the armies are using in Europe. A doctor from Europe is here teaching the use of the gas mask. Last week Captain Boesch appointed Sgt. Cureton and myself to attend the gas school. Of course I was pleased with the honor, small tho' it was. Well, before the first lesson was over I was heartily sick of the whole thing. We had real gas masks like those among the Allies. Here is a crude drawing of the thing taken from from the satchel.

Now think of having to wear that thing hour after hour. The most disagreeable thing about it is that the saliva gets all over one's face and clothes. My, I sometimes felt as I'd vomit, but there was no taking it off. They drilled us hour by hour with that thing on. Yesterday we took a test of chlorine gas. With the mask on you are safe. But the minute it is taken off, the gas almost suffocates you. When one is in a gas attack, at the word "gas!", he stops stock still holding his breath, while he puts the mask on. The required time to take it from the satchel and place it over the face, with the mouthpiece and nose clip adjusted perfectly is 6 seconds. Very few have been able to put it on in that time. The ability to do it comes with practice, of course. I've done it only twice so far in the required time. I shall be glad when I get out teaching other fellows how to do it.

Now for a few jerky paragraphs:

We are quarantined for an indefinite time on account of measles, pneumonia, and meningitis. Many poor boys have died, as many as six in one night. But I think I am safe from any attack. I'm trying to see after Hugh, too.

I've taken out $10,000 insurance for Caro and Erma, $5,000 each. You see there's no telling what may happen to me. This with the bonds takes nearly all my salary, but I'm wanting them to be sure of an education either way. Tell Erma and Caro I'm proud of them both. Wish I could write; too busy now.

Tell Mary I'm writing to the beautiful Miss Byrd in Greenville. Can't say how I like her tho she writes a splendid letter.

Will you send some copies of The Daily News with my stuff in them. I'm going to try to get away Xmas. Don't know. Tell Mary to leave off the turkey for Tkg. Send other.

Am working to get into officer's training school. Slim chance. Too many old men ahead of me.

Love,

Paul