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Letters from Ira Kent

"Somewhere in France.”
Oct. 10th 1918.

Dear Mother and Father;

I have been “over the top of the top” as Mr. Foote says. We just kept on going over after we once started for several days. I claim it is some thrilling adventure to experience, and if I was ever scared in my life, it was during this time. Old Fritz gave us new green Yanks a mighty warm reception until we grew familiar with his tricky ways.

This is a war of wonders displaying human intelligence. Talk about your Civil War veterans, I say we will have something to tell when we get home, which time is apparently not far away.

Fritz is strong for machine gun emplacements, but these weapons are but a mere trifle of the doughboys troubles compare to the big shrills. The high explosive shells including shrapnel are the beasts that shake the earth and compel the Infantry boys to dig in to secure cover. I think I broke all records digging holes to get out of sight and even the officers were quite busy. Some of these shells tear holes in the earth from eight to ten feet deep and from then to sixteen feet in diameter. The Yanks are a brave bunch there is nothing to that. The Huns are afraid of us, they give up, when we get them in tight place, they merely come our of their secret hiding places, throw up their hands and yell “comrade.”

The first day “over the top” about two o’clock in the afternoon we captured a number of Hun prisoners in a dugout. As I neared the scene I formed a basket neatly covered with a cloth, and upon removing the same, I found it contained food. I sat down for a few seconds and that the situation over and decided that a Hun tried to make his escape with the basket but the reception grew too warm for him when he left it in the excitement, therefore, there would be no chance to get poisoned if I indulged in a feast. Immediately rounded up two other friends of my company and we sat down and proceeded to partake in a feed on Fritz thought would be a fine luncheon for the “old boy” himself. This food apparently proved to be a German officer’s ration and believe me we fared well. Wine, bread jam, butter, mild, coffee, meat, say it was some feast for a Yank “doughboy.”

I have opened a few German packs round on dead soldiers and I was surprised to fine out how well they ear. They all seem to carry abundance of food and of the best of quality. I do not know much about the German people but I can say the soldiers are supplied with plenty to eat.

One day as we advanced I came across two German bayonets inserted in the earth to half their length. When I first saw them I thought the situation quite peculiar and upon making a more close investigation I formed a wire attached to each that was neatly tucked in at their sides and extended down into the earth parallel with the weapons. I did not have time to make a further investigation of the trap, therefore, I have no idea what was attached to the other end, but it was very evident to me, that it was placed there to catch some poor Yank victim. Since that time I have not tried to collect many souvenirs from the battlefield as one is very apt to get hold of a live wire. This goes to show that the Huns are full of tricks but the Yanks are too wise to be caught in the manner.

Uncle Sam sure gave Fritz a good bombardment the night we went “over the top.” At daybreak the fog was dense and it was some adventure through the almost solid barbwire entanglement across “no mans land” to the German lines. I got hung up in the wire several times, although in each instance I managed to get out in due time but with less clothes than I had to my credit before.

Now dear folks I came across the pond to share my bit in this great war and I am proud to think that I had the opportunity afforded me. I pulled through one more severe battle without a scratch and have two notches on my gun or at least I accepted the credit which may be doubtful. I feel sure that the war will be “fini” ‘as the Frenchmen say’ before long and I will come home much the wiser and get on the job.

With loads of love to all, from your son,
Ira L. Kent

G.Co. –363 Infantry
Via New York A.E.F
A.P.O. – 776.

Read More of Ira Kent's Letters.


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