Jack and translation of his letter to his mother

Just back from the leave. We got to Paris at noon. I invaded the coiffeur's. He was on permission too. Then lunch and shopping. A French lady helped me out in the post office and I thereby made her delightful acquaintance. Such things, though, are only a matter of daily event in this Parisian swimming pool.

I had an early dinner at the Café des Lilas where by chance I sat next to a charming girl I had met last night in Paris. She is the beautiful "amie" of an ambulanceer and a very good camarade. Then I walked through the grand Luxembourg Gardens; its terraces where the artists' models and young family girls just learning to pose stroll carelessly in its caressing atmosphere. I had a "Fraise" at a café just to watch the types walk the "Boul. Miche." ...

We took the evening-train at eight o'clock with high spirits, but low hearts. Then from ten to one o'clock at night we had a truck ride. That, of course, is like riding on artillery wagon seats at full gallop, in the dust of a whole army through the cold of the North Pole. The rest of the night I slept in my bunk without bothering to undo my shoe laces, having been going since four in the morning before, to one that morning, and "some going."

To-day, Friday, we are taking our last day of rest (it's the only one too) before packing bags for a trip unknown. The sun in coming out, brought out the mandolins, and between the two, vague thoughts of yesterday's Paris and a month ago's home, filter through our weariness as the souvenir notes of a song from out the past.

I received quite a love letter from my little unknown girl way down along the twining Doubs river. But hélas! such other things call me with such other forces that my idle, magnetized soul cannot hypnotize myself to going down to see her --- though I easily could....

By the way, an adjutant of chasseurs whom I was talking with two days ago is now being buried. You see some hand-grenades went off too soon during practise work and --- well, a number of other soldier friends had their faces wiped off at the same time.

I will write you more whenever I get time. You will learn much more, though, of my trip from my diary when I get back, than from the little side notes of those hasty careless letters. With much love,

Your affectionate son

In this letter, Jack, a son, is writing to his mother from Paris. He just arrived to Paris and was getting settled making acquaintances, eating, a little shopping. That night he had dinner next to a pretty girl who he secretly has a love for. He then explore all that Paris had to offer and the interesting history to learn about including all the art. He then got on the train with the rest of the troops and then got onto a car to go back into his army. It was his last night of rest before he had to go fight in WWI. The next day is the final day until he would be shipped of to a battle in god knows where. He is thinking about his rest in Paris and how he was at home a month ago and know he is at war. He received a love letter from a mystery girl. He is telling his mother how he was talking to a soldier the other day and now he is going six feet under, how soldiers drop like flies and its scary out there. He sends his love and will write when he can.