A solemn tribute to two friends fighting a war on brace fronts.
From the outset of this novel virus, and especially since it has sunk in, and I am beginning to realize the enormity of the monster we are battling, I have engaged myself in pursuit of another “strain” of novel understanding.
Perusing articles published in the Hoisington Dispatch, I came upon a letter from Nace Finn written to his friend, my 3x cousin, in 1918 at the height of America’s involvement in W.W.I. Of course, at that time, we were fighting a war on two fronts; a world war and the Spanish Flu. This is somewhat comforting to dwell on amid our present crisis.
At the time when both of my parents were living, I was not astute enough to have queried my father who s is served in the army in the WWI era or my mother who was still a schoolgirl on there 1st hand memories and experiences through those terrible years
How they coped with and responded to the crisis of their generation gives me thought to pause. A new lens would have been cast to focus upon the events of today and bring a wealth of knowledge into my dictionary of life’s lessons.
This letter from Nace Finn to Burr Spencer was received after, Burr’s death:
September 14, 1918.
Dear Friend -Burr: Your: letter from Norfolk gladly received a few days ago, but things have been too darn hot to answer. I am on the front today, and if you watch the papers of this date, you will know I told you the truth when I said things were hell.
I just saw two German planes brought down in flames and one German balloon. I sure can see the whole game from where I am doing the observing but have to keep low, or Fritz will knock my post out from under me. He hates observation posts and snipers worst of all.
Boy, if any one person has seen the war, I have, but it is a close call lots of times, but all a fellow can do is trust to luck and dig in. I have lived in dugouts and everywhere else. At present, when at home I am in an old German cemetery—a ≠good place—for the only good German is a dead one. We threw nine in a hole the other day and then put a sign over it. “Here lies nine good Germans.”
I bet you are having a good time, are you not? You are, not far from Camp Morrison. I also bet that Hoisington is a—deadburg. I was sorry to hear about Gleadall: Boy, Old Slang ts thought several times he was gone. I want to see the good old U. S. A. again. Fritz gave me a good dose of gas. I would give anything to have you know what I see now. It is as if hell itself had broken loose, and I think from the Fritzies going over the hill it is. I am rather tired; I would like a rest. I have been in this steady since May 16. I have never been to a town, and girls are the last of my thoughts now. I hear that Glen is over here. I would like to see him.
I am still lame from Fritzies’ rough stuff. Will be glad when we ‘have that dirty bunch licked. I don’t think much or this living in dugoüts, but it is a thing we have them, or we would not last long when Fritzie cuts loose with his big Berthas.
I am getting mail pretty good now. When you hear from me, just remember paper is a scarce article over here. A fellow has to go 30 miles from the front to find a Y. M. C. A. The paper is dirty, but I have carried it quite awhile. Guess there are lots of homeboys got wooden crosses by this time. I hope not, but this is a rough old game. I am sure to see my share, believe me. I am ready for a furlough back to the states, but no chance I guess unless Fritzie getting a leg, and I hope he doesn’t do that.
I wish the guy that showed Fritzie bow to drop bombs was in the lower regions, for he makes it just that hot for us. Fritz fed us a little bailing shell this morning. It failed to explode, so we looked it over. It Was 17 inches through and 5 feet long and weighed just a ton. Now, if that had hit a fellow, it might have crippled him some.
Well, big boy, take care of yourself and leave it to me; to my keep down. So long; while I watch Fritzie tear out. NACE.
The death of Burr Spencer at Norfolk. Va. came in a message to his mother, Mrs. Lillian Spencer, Saturday. Mrs. Spencer received a letter from her husband, F. A. Spencer, who was also working in Norfolk, three days previous, stating that both were ill with influenza, but we’re getting along very well. Burr developed pneumonia, which caused his death. A message Monday noted that the body was shipped that day to Hoisington.
Burr left Hoisington July 6 for Norfolk to work with his father, who had been working as a locomotive engineer in the yards there since spring. At first, Burr worked as a checker. But for the past four or five weeks had been employed as a fireman. He had made all arrangements to start home the day he was taken- to the hospital. He registered at Norfolk, but expected to be called into service and was coming back on that account. His questionnaire had never reached him, and Mr. Spencer wrote to his wife to see the local board about it as he had received a transfer from the board at Norfolk to the Barton county board.
Burr was born at Grafton. Kansas. September 20, 1898. and at the time of bis, death was 20 years and 2 days old. The family came to Hoisington 14 years ago and has since made this city their home. Besides his father and mother, Burr leaves to mourn his sad loss one sister: Hazel, and one brother Roy, and many warm friends.
And so ends the saga of a friendship brought short, victims on brace fronts.
𝚨nything for A Quiet LifeΩ 