Category Archives: YANKS

Excerpts from the 1918 publication “Yanks” as published in THE STARS AND STRIPES, the official American Expeditionary Forces in France.

YANKS

DAD’S LETTERS

My dad ain’t just the letter writin’ kind –
He’s rather let the women see to that;
He’s got a mess o’ troubles on his mind,
And likes to keep ‘em underneath his hat.

And p’raps because he isn’t very strong
On talkin’, why, he’s kind o’ weak on ink;
But he can work like sin the whole year long,
And, crickey, how that dad o’ mine can think!

When I set out from Homeville last July,
He didn’t bawl the way my sister did;
He just shook hands and says, “Well, boy, good-bye.”
(He’s got his feelin’s, but he keeps ‘em hid.)

And so when mother writes about the things
That I spend half my time a-thinkin’ of,
There’s one short line that every letter brings;
“Father will write, and meanwhile sends his love.”
“Father will write,” Well, some day p’raps he will –
There’s lots of funny prophecies come true;
But if he just keeps promisin’ to, still,
I’ll understand, and dad’ll know I do.

1918 Yanks poetry
Yanks 1918 – Dad’s Letters

YANKS – Copyright 1918 – FOREWORD

The verses that make up this little book have all been published in THE STARS AND STRIPES, the official newspaper of the American Expeditionary Forces. They have come in from the field, the back areas, the ports; they have been written on the eve of battle; the men who wrote some of them have paid the great price. They are the heart and soul of the American Army in France. It is their only claim to distinction. It is enough.

YANKS

ON LEARNING FRENCH

YANKS – Copyright 1918 – FOREWORD

“The verses that make up this little book have all been published in THE STARS AND STRIPES, the official newspaper of the American Expeditionary Forces. They have come in from the field, the back areas, the ports; they have been written on the eve of battle; the men who wrote some of them have paid the great price. They are the heart and soul of the American Army in France. It is their only claim to distinction. It is enough.”

Throughout the remainder of November, we will be posting excerpts from this amazing little 100-year-old book that is literally falling to pieces. It is time to share it, rather than just have it sitting on a shelf in a plastic bag. We will eventually make a slide show gallery of photos of all of the pages in the book.

ON LEARNING FRENCH

Like silver bells heard in a mist,
Or moonstone echoes from some brook
Where silver birches wall a nook,
Or like sea ripples moon-lit kissed,

Or like a lake of silver ledges
Where iris water-lilies lave,
Or like some lark’s translucent wave
Of song above white hawthorn hedges,

The maiden ripples French to me;
But I am like an argonaut
In some mute agony of thought,
Lost in sound’s sweet tranquility.

ALFRED J. FRITCHEY, Camp Hospital 30

1918 military poetry
On Learning French
Alfred J. Fritchey, Camp Hospital 30