June 19, 1918 to Mother.

Monty confesses to being a “little late with this week’s letter” as a result of being “too tired Sunday night after a days golf and have been too busy since….”

He reports on last week’s trip “down into the Touraine.” He was happy to have a “change of scene” and “this country is beautiful, particularly at this time of year.”

From the train along the river Loire every mile or two you can see a chateau sitting back on the hills above the river with its little village always grouped around it and on every side the fields of wheat and grain. They certainly know a lot more about intensive cultivation over here than in our own South—no ground at all goes to waste. Yesterday, I ran out about 25 miles in a machine and was impressed with the same thing, both the way they cultivate the soil and the beauty of the country not to speak of the good roads.

Back to the “front” in Paris. “The Gothas were with us Saturday night after leaving us alone for a week but as usual of late only one or two machines reached the city.” He refers his mother to an article in a recent issue of Colliers in which James Hopper writes about the first day “Big Bertha,” as he calls the Paris Gun, dropped projectiles on Paris. He notes that American magazines arrive in Paris up to a month late; he is the designated buyer for his apartment and will “drop by Brentano’s nearly every day and pick up something for the bunch.”

His enthusiasm for apartment life continues. “I am always praising the cook about her desserts and it surely pleases her. The other night was going out for dinner and stuck my head in to tell her I wouldn’t be there when she told me, ‘Ah, Monsieur Montgomery, I am desolated for I have a beautiful dessert this evening.’ She is a typical French woman, short and plump and about 45 years old and wonderfully capable.”

Transliterated letter:

A.P.O. 702, A.E.F.

June 19, 1918

Dear Mother: –

Am a little late with this week’s letter as was too tired Sunday night after a days golf and have been too busy since, but at that you are likely to receive this with my last or my next week’s letter.

Had a brief trip last week down into the Touraine, the château country better known by the French as “le jardin de France”, and enjoyed getting out of Paris for a couple of days, not that I don’t like Paris but that a change of scene is welcome. This country is beautiful particularly at this time of year. From the train along the river Loire every mile or two you can see a château sitting back on the hills above the river with its little village always grouped around it and on every side the fields of wheat and grain. They certainly know a lot more about intensive cultivation over here than in our own South – no ground that all goes to waste. Yesterday I ran out about 25 miles in a machine and was impressed with the same thing, both the way they cultivate the soil and the beauty of the country not to speak of the good roads. Expect from now on to have to get out in the country more and more and find it quite agreeable these summer days although it may be a different thing next winter. Speaking of summer days, they’ve surely been cool ones lately. I’ve worn a light topcoat most of the time in the machine and at night an extra blanket has gone very well.

The Gothas were with us Saturday night after leaving us alone for a week but as usual of late only one or two machines reached the city. By the way was reading an article yesterday in Colliers of, I think, May 22 by James Hopper about the first day “Big Bertha” fired on the city. If you haven’t read it you will find it most interesting and it’s quite true to life. We get most of the American magazines two or three weeks or a month late but they are much enjoyed all the sameB. Our apartment crowd has a magazine fund and I’m the buyer so drop by Brentano’s nearly every day and pick up something for the bunch.

Our apartment continues to be most satisfactory – I realized it particularly last week when I had to take several meals away from it. I am always praising the cook about her desserts and it surely pleases her. The other night was going out for dinner and stuck my head in to tell her I wouldn’t be there when she told me, “Ah Monsieur Montgomery, I am a desolated [sic] for I have a beautiful desert this evening.” She is a typical French woman, short and plump and about 45 years old and wonderfully capable.

But I must be getting out so “Au ‘voir et a biéntot” [sic],

Carl

O.K. Thomas C. Montgomery 2nd Lt. Inf. R.C.

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