About Me

Born August 4, 1894 in Auburn, New York to William and Alice Beardsley Woodruff Hills. Younger brother Carroll Beardsley Hills and younger sister Mary Day Hills. Educated at St. Paul's School, Concord, New Hampshire and Princeton University, class of 1917

Sunday, November 2, 2008

Letter written June 4, 1918

Dear Mother -:

Yesterday when I had begun to think that all the mail service between U.S. and France had been completely stopped I got about six letters from you and one from Nannoo and also some clippings from Papa. It was great to hear from you and get all the news from home.

Tyrant certainly seems to have disgraced himself for fair, but the people of Auburn give me an awful pain with all their picking and noise about it all. (Tyrant was one of two Great Danes the Hills family had at that time, and apparently committed some kind of serious offense. –Ed,) It seems just like some of the people you mentioned, tho I hardly expected it of the Clarks.

I supposed that Mildred W’s letter from Paris was a bit mystifying as to my movements but she really didn’t know herself exactly what I was up to. Now it doesn’t make any great difference. Due to the fact that I can speak French, when the division changed sectors, which it did about that time, I was sent ahead to arrange the billeting and had to pass through Paris on the trip. It was rather good fun and I particularly enjoyed the twenty-four hours I had there. I have about decided that this ability to speak French, tho, is a decided detriment to a military career. Everywhere I land I become sort of semi-official interpreter and am given all the odd strange jobs that involve the mysteries of the Gallic tongue. The result is that I am never at anything more than a short time and while I do a hundred and one odd jobs, never complete any large one and gain the merit attached thereto. Verily if ever I am transferred again I shall keep said knowledge under my hat and confine myself to my calling of shooting Bosche. I haven’t managed to land a leave yet and have no prospects. They are given again to those not on active service in the advanced zone of operations. That means that anyone with a soft pleasant post in the rear gets leave to rest him from the rigors of his work while the lucky individuals close up who live in holes, sleep about two hours a night and escape with their lives by a hair about twice a day (or don’t) are left there to enjoy themselves indefinitely. All that last description doesn’t apply to me for I have told you I think that I have splendid living quarters. However the leave arrangement makes me very ill.

This is all now – so good bye With love Paul

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