“There are a very few new buildings. Some of these are stucco and seem to be quite modern.
“A large church stands near the centre of the town in whose tower is a clock which rings out the time every fifteen minutes.
“There is only one or possibly two streets in the town large enough to be called streets, but there is a great maze of little narrow alleys running everywhere and crossing, turning sharply around corners, sometimes leading into a barnyard, and again plumb into the side of a building and others seem to lead nowhere. Sometimes you will start for a store just a block down the alley, when suddenly you find you have chased yourself right back to where you started from, having reached nowhere, not even the end of the alley. It is one of these that begins in the centre of the town where the street through ‘La Porte du Bourg’ stops, and after winding and twisting around a bit leads you to the little entrance at the rear of the village from which a steep, narrow path leads to the Valley of the Ozerain.
“The village is electrically lighted, gets its current from a little power-house down by the Ozerain River.
“A convent building and grounds occupies a large portion of the village extending from near ‘La Porte du Val’ to the extreme lower corner of the town.
“About half way between ‘La Porte du Bourg’ and ‘La Porte du Val’ is another entrance, just inside of which is a large and very old abbaye. Both this and the convent are now used for the accommodation of tourists and travelers.
“Just outside this entrance the Y. M. C. A. building stands. The road going from this entrance leads to the inevitable wash-house where on wash-days congregate a large number of women with large bundles of clothes and plenty of gossip.
“There is a Post and Telegraph Office combined, as is usual in France, a butcher shop, several grocery stores, a bake shop, drug store, barber, tailor, milliner, wooden shoe maker, barrel maker, rope maker, numberless cafes and little shops.
“Inside the majority of homes are neat and well-kept even where one room has to serve as kitchen, dining room, living room and bed room, often serving all purposes at one time. There are, of course, more prosperous homes that are as pleasant and comfortable as those we have in America.”
This was our home for over five months. That time will be merely sketched, as it was a monotonous existence punctuated by flurries of excitement caused by rumors of westward bound ships with which we never connected. Imaginary Bolsheviki were driven from every hillside; the Campe de Cesare was the slaughter house for thousands of imaginary machine gunners; and drills and manuevres of every sort made up the schedule. Mr. McNab tried (and failed) to get us excited about the gentle art of rifle shooting. French weather was at its abominable worst. But through it all, if the writer may insert a personal tribute into an impersonal history, through it all there was in Company “B” a bunch of boys whom it was both a pleasure and an inspiration to be with. Joking at discomforts, chafing, but bearing with as much courage as it took to face the Hun, the seemingly interminable wait and showing a spirit, a snap, and a dash which overcame everything, you formed a body of men which was a privilege to command and a pleasure to serve.