One of the men who used to work in the atelier when we had French workmen, came in to see us the other day. He had just got back from his permission and from seeing his wife and son who had been prisoners. The Huns had cut the forefinger from each of his wife’s hands. That was mild compared with some of the other things that they did.
The other night we staged a party. The result is my drawing of Monsieur Light Wine. Never again.
Rumors are flying about. The latest is that all men will return to their original companies. That’s all right, but what becomes of the Field Service men? If it’s all the same to those higher up, I’ll take home.
December 19
Dear Mother—
Winter has at last taken the padlock off. The rain that has been falling for the last few days, has now turned to snow and the temperature has moved from its suite half way up to one near the ground floor. Rubber boots and an over coat are very much in style these days—also a red nose.
We are now taking the count in the village of Boulzicourt near the cities of Mézières and Charleville. Sedan is also quite close by. The day before yesterday I took a trip to Charleville: object, a bath. Managed to catch a ride on a truck going over.
