Following is his letter:

On Active Service with A. E. F. A. P. O. 740

Nov. 30, 1918

My Dear Sister:

As I sit here tonight in a German cafe I thought I would write you a few lines. I have not had a chance before and I will tell you a little of my life since I joined the American Expeditionary Forces. After leaving England, I landed in La Harve, France, Apr. 7, 1918.

I went into a large artillery training camp to learn to drive the motor truck. On June 29 I started for the front and July 5, I made my first trip to the front with ammunition. The first time I was under fire was July 8. We were met July 14 near Grey’s farm by the “Kaiser’s Own,” the Prussian Guards.

At 11:30 that night, it was as dark as death the bombardment of the Huns’ artillery began. It was a charge of poisonous gas. We were in the woods at a battery position. The country was new to us and with our gas masks on it was so dark we could not read the maps. We dare not light a match for there were many enemy planes flying over us to find our position.

We stayed there under shell fire until the break of day and we could not tell the front or rear of the war zone only from the whistling of the shells as they came through the clouds from seven miles behind.

We came out of that very well, only two of our trucks were hit. From then on for 72 hours we never slept and had only one meal a day of hard tack and coffee. We had scarcely time to eat when we were off gain with more ammunition. For five hours straight we wore our gas masks in the poisonous gas.

After that time we began to advance and in four days had crossed the Marne river. The Huns were retreating in disorder. The third division held them off where the Huns were a million strong.

You thought I had ought to learn to talk French. I have not seen a Frenchman in six months. But talk about your body guards we have plenty of them here. If I had a franc for every cooty in my possession I could pave Public Square. We were hoping for a gas attack that would kill them but I guess they have been in the army too long.

We are having fine weather here but it is not any warmer than it is in France. I intended sending you some of my pictures but they would not pass on account of the background of the war zone they showed.

Your brother,
Joseph O’Leary

* * * * * * * * * *

Nov. 30, 1918.

Manon, Lorraine, American Expeditionary Forces.

Dear Dad:

We are at present allowed to tell where we are, so am doing that while chances are good. If you have a map you can locate the place by finding the town Diedenhoffen. The map may give it Manonhoffen, as all this has been held by “Jerry” for 47 years, as you probably know.

We are also allowed to tell where our division has fought. The first time we went over the top was July 18, on the Chateau-Thierry front, near Cheasy. This was near the Marne river. This date was the starting of the great Allied drive, and that surely started the Huns towards Germany.

We were then pulled back as immediate reserve, and followed up until “Jerry” made a stand at the Vesle river near Fere-en-Tardenoise. There the Fourth Division gave him his second jolt, and helped him retreat across above the Vesle river.

The division was on this sector until Aug. 10, when we were given a short rest. Following this we were shipped to the Verdun front, and were directly in front of Metz at the time the Americans reduced the St. Mihiel salient (sic). From there we were sent to the Argonne forest, and did some fighting until Bulgaria surrendered.

We were being given a rest when Austria gave in, but were on the march into the lines (when) Germany signed the armistice.

Now we are in the new Third Army, as occupation troops, and are on our way to Germany.

“I think after peace is signed that the fighting units, as we are known, (the Third army) will be sent back in the course of three or four months, so that by April I ought to be in Carthage; of course, this is my opinion, and the “big bugs” Uncle Sam’s army may decide differently. Let us hope not.

Your loving son,

Ralph

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Hushed and happy whiteness,
Miles on miles of cots,
The glad, contented brightness
Where sunlight falls in spots.

Sisters, swift and saintly,
Seem to tread on grass;
Like flowers stirring faintly,
Heads turn to watch them pass.

Beauty, blood and sorrow,
Blending in a trance--
Eternity’s tomorrow
In this halfway house of France.

Sounds of whispered talking,
Labored, indrawn breath;
Then, like a young girl walking,
The dear familiar Death,

-------Lieut. Coningsby Dawson, “Glory of the Trenches.” (John Lane).

__________

A general came to one of the negro sentries, who called “Halt!”

The officer at once complied with the command, and the doughboy said no more.

After waiting till one might have counted ten, the officer exclaimed with some asperity:

“Well, why don’t you finish it? What comes next?”

The puzzled soldier saluted two or three times with the wrong hand and then confessed:

“Deed, boss, I don’t know any more about it than you do. I’se only been here two days!” Philadelphia

__________

In September, 2002, this your website host received a letter from a descendant of Judd Mortimer Lewis, the author of the following poem. He is hoping to compile a website of his ancestor's works.

Judd Mortimer Lewis in the Houston Post:

They will come from over yonder,
Come with laughing and with song,
And their eyes will speak the gladness;
And their reaching arms be strong;
For the waiting has been weary,
And the hoping has been long.

Loved ones shall go out to meet them
When they hear the bugles play,
And glad arms be stretched in loving
To the lads who marched away;
And the day of their homecoming
Shall be marked a glory day.

But some shall be standing weeping
When the skies are filled with stars,
Weeping where they had their parting
Down the lane beside the bars,
And life’s gladness will flow past them---
For some come not from the wars.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

I told you, Wilhelm, how ‘twould be, when you unsheathed your snickersnee, and said you’d rule the world; I said that any bonehead king who tried to pull so coarse a thing, would from his throne be hurled. And now your splendors all are gone, your crown and scepter are in pawn, no homage do you know; and while, distressed, you walk the floor, I whisper at your bedroom door, “Oh, Bill! I told you so!” Your German Gott, to whom you call, has turned your picture to the wall, the last great, crushing blow; and while your fingernails you chew, I whisper softly down the flue, “Oh, Bill! I told you so!” You wished to set Time marching back along a dark and dismal track to feudalism’s age; you’d have the world no longer see the institutions of the free in your blind, vandal rage. I told you ‘twas too big a stunt for one anointed Prussian runt and tried to stay your hand; but you laughed all my words to scorn and blew a blast upon your horn, and strafed to beat the band. And now you go your path alone; you have no scepter and no throne, no courtiers bending low; and while you dream of seas of gore, I’m at the keyhole of your door, to say, “I told you so!” You’ll hear me when the midnight rain is streaming down the window pane, and when the breezes blow; oh, when you sleep and when you eat, you’ll hear me evermore repeat, the words, “I told you so!”

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Over in France the average doughboy had a gorgeous confidence in his ability to speak the language of the country. In a Norman village one day a perplexed looking private, who had not been abroad very long, approached a seasoned campaigner of the A. E. F. and asked the latter if he spoke French.

“Sure I speak French,” said the veteran. “What’s the matter?”

“Here’s what’s the matter,” said the green soldier. “The Frog that keeps that shop yonder across the street sold me some post cards, and I gave him a ten franc note, and now he’s holding out part of my money on me. I wish you’d come on over there with me and straighten the thing out and make that guy hand me what’s coming to me.”

“Sure I will,” said the other.

Moved by curiosity, a friend of mine trailed behind them, arriving just in time to hear the following dialogue between the linguist and the storekeeper:

“Parley voo Fransay?”

“Oui, oui, monsieur.”

“Then, why the hell don’t you give this here boy his right change?”