[Letter of Robert Lincoln O'Connell to his sister, Ellen, March 24, 1918]

Mar. 24
Dear Ellen,

	I will try to scrape together enough news for a letter but it is a tough 
proposition when the censor is considered. They gave me a tip, a few days ago,
about writing too much of a military nature and I've been writing the other stuff
until I must have used nearly all the combinations. Well, I was glad to get Mame's
#1 letter and yours because I had begun to wonder if the subs had got that 
letter of mine. I shouldn't have left such a gap in the mail but, at that time, 
things were as uncertain that a few weeks didn't seem to matter but I have 
changed my opinion and am writing each week at least I am trying to write this
in the Y on a board table, with a game of dominos raging on one side and a game
of cards and a Victrola on the other. About fifteen minutes ago, one of the
fellows, across the table, wished that he could get

(2)
some more mail and I quite writing long enough to remakr that I had seen a wagon
load of mail-bags go up the street a couple of hours before. As they were 'doughboys',
that started a chat that lasted ten minutes and when I tackled the letter again,
the Victrola was imitating a bagpipe, the card players were slamming them down
hard on the table - and I had to hunt a quiet place on my own bed.

Next Day

They called us 'Outside for pay' a few minutes after I got back from the Y and
after that was supper and a little later the day's work, and so it goes. I won't
send any more money home for a while because we are to get a chance, in turn, to 
visit the recreation places and we might as well get all that's coming to us.
We cannot go to Paris or across to England. Are the fellows at Devens still wearing
the old canvass leggins? Everyone over here has the new puttee and very few would
care to wear

(3) 
the leggins again. The puttees are of O.D. wool and wrap 'round and 'round, are
soft and light and fit any 'shape' but it takes practice to wrap them smoothly
and the first efforts were outrageous. It was hard to decide whether they grew
that way or something awful had happened. Then there are the shoes, either French
or English. They are built for endurance and are large and roomy and broad toed
and have a mania{?} for picking up mud. They brought back the old joke about the
front rank man who was told to "Get back in line, there." "I am, Sir, It's the rear-
rank man." How would you like to wear an iron hat? That isn't as bad as it sounds
because the helmets are light and well-padded and I have got used to the feel of
mine. One is apt to get careless in going through a low doorway because a bump
doesn't hurt now but we won't always wear them, and then -.

(4) 
Of course, it's very thoughtful of you to keep that place in the garden for me
to eat[?] and the purp[?] will be glad to help with the good work of making me
feel at home but, by gum, I intend going to the other extreme and have all the
comforts of home and any others in sight. Mame wanted to know how the girs here
dance. I don't know. There isn't any. And about the wooden shoes - all small-
town people wear them as we wear rubbers. In the house, they wear felt slippers.
One day, a dozen of us were lined up for guardomount, facing a house where three
sisters lived. Only two were in sight but, suddenly, one of the fellows gave a
loud groan "Ow!" and there she was. She was the same type as - I'd better quit -
medium height, very plump and good looking and rather sleepy-looking and about
twenty. She stood on the step and looked helplessly at the mud and her patent-
leather pumps (fact) and a bugler pranced across the

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street with a pair of wooden shoes in his hand, helped her into them and escorted
her across the street, so politely, and the guards all spick and span and whispering-
just looked. It was awful. The 'killers' hadn't a word to say and the rest of us
didn't care a rap, anyway. This war is a bad game but it has a funny side, too.
Tonight's paper tells of that new German gun that shoots 75 miles. Shall have to
get another helmet or two. I heard from George Harrington yesterday. He always
finds time for a letter and seems to be doing well. Mary Jones's brother, Jack,
has been transferred from his instructor's job and sent to an infantry regiment
and, as I haven't heard from him, in a couple of months, I am beginning to wonder.
He had a rather one sided deal altogether, judging from his letters, he is a very
nice chap

(6)
and I should like to meet him. He may be over here, in that big German drive.
Well, this is enough for one letter. Keep the news coming and I will tell all 
the law allows but you know how it is. Tell Ma that I like to read her letters
as well as anyone's, and she might as well use that money I sent because it isn't
costing me anthing to live and I can easily get along when I get back. That
Victrola is rasing Cain again, so good-by.
		Rob
P.S. Sarah's letter of Feb. 8 has just arrived. It had been opened but that didn't
hurt it, any.

[Transcribed by W.J. Shepherd, May 3, 2009]