‘Dearest mother; just back from the leave. We got to Paris at…

Dearest mother; just back from the leave. We got to
Paris at noon. I invaded the coiffeur’s. Then lunch
and shopping. I made a delightful aquaintance with a French lady who helped me out in the post
office. Just a matter of daily event in this Parisian swimming pool!

I had an early dinner at the Closerie des Lilas where by chance I sat next to a charming girl I met
last night in Paris. She is the beautiful
“amie” of an ambulance driver and a very good camarade. Then I walked through the grand Luxembourg
Garden
s; where the artists’
models and young family girls stroll carelessly in its caressing atmosphere. I had a “Fraise” at a
cafe just to watch the types walk the “Boul. Miche.”

We took the evening train with high
spirits, but low hearts. Then we had a truck ride. It’s like riding on
artillery wagon seats at full gallop, in the dust
of a whole army through the cold of the North Pole. The rest of the night I slept in my bunk
without bothering to undo my shoe laces.

Today, Friday, we took our last day of rest (it’s the only one too) before packing bags for a trip unknown.
Vague thoughts of yesterday’s Paris and a month ago’s home, filter through our
weariness.

I will write you more
whenever I get time. You will learn much more,
though, of my trip from my diary when I get back,
than from those hasty careless letters.

With much love,

Your affectionate son’

Spring 1917, Paris – American volunteer & futur pilot’s letters (later killed in action in France)- A Poet of the Airs – Photo: Paris, 1917 – beautifully colorized by myurbanist