March 14th, 1917

Washington, D. C.

453 Irving Street, N.W.

John B. Turner

Esau, W. Va.

My only surviving brother - Dear John,

Each of us are old now having well nigh done our do. Soon we shall pass out and, in time, be forgotten. So tis true “man at his best estate is altogether vanity.”

I sometimes abhor the thought of passing out to be remembered no more! Twas this thought that caused me to write out and have printed in booklet form a brief memoriam of our Grand Parents Rev. John Turner and his family of 13 children and a number of their grand children et als. Some future writer can refer to my brief for dates, names, ages, and localities. In this a Turner history can be perpetuated and traced. Take good care of yours. I sent you a copy, didn’t I? If not, I can send you one.

I am quite proud of my ancestry. The original Turner’s were a fine race of people. English Stock. Our Mother’s Stock was Dutch. John, I have you an alphabetical list of the names of the Military Company I had the honor to command from February 11th, 1864 to August 1st, 1865. Grand list of old boys. I loved them all. Native Virginians. At least 50% of them have past over to answer roll call on the other shore. I thought it would please you to have a list of their names.

John, our brief life history has been checkered and strange indeed. Our road from the cradle on thus far has been seasons of storm and sunshine. Our road way, very hilly in part, and in part smooth and very pleasant. So on the whole, we’ve little to complain of. This is the best world we were ever in. I’m in love with it. The fellowship of kindred minds is like to that above. The two worlds have many striking resemblances I think. “One family we dwell in Him.” Part of which has crossed the flood and part of crossing now. Out of the storm, into the house. I get lonesome sometimes. So many of my old chums have passed over. The passing of William H. Abbott, my dear old brother, he’s the gained, I doubt not.

Total 113 men discharged at Brownston, W. Va. 1st August 1865. Goodbye old Boys.

Wm. Turner