on November 2. Some of his friends here think there is an error in the date, believing it more likely he died on November 20. No information has been received as to the length of his illness, its origin or any of the attending circumstances.

Evatt, who was a student at Barnes medical college in the spring enlisted the first of May in Base Hospital Unit No. 21, made up of St. Louis medical students and physicians and left on May 16 for France. In the same contingent was Edgar Hanvey of this city.

Evatt, who was about 24 years old, was a son of Rev. and Mrs. Robert B. Evatt of New Kenswick, Pa., the Rev. Evatt having been rector of the Episcopal church here until about five tears ago. After the family moved, Evatt remained here, boarding with the family of August Pausch on Burroughs avenue and working in the office of the St. Louis Smelting and Refining Co. Later he was engaged under G.C. Bartells in the smelters smoke department, and formed the closest friendship for Bartell and his family. He was a young man of great good cheer, his letters to Bartells and others here radiating with optimism. He wrote excellently, and many friends here have letters which they will always treasure.

The last letter and another written on September 30, follow:

“Dear Mrs. Bartells:

“Your fine letter enclosing letters from Lois and Christine and G.C. together with the highly valued snap of the kiddies, received O.K., and was delighted to get them. We had not had mail for a long time and when it did come the truck backed right into the camp and dumped about 10 big fat mail sacks on the ground and needless to say there were plenty of volunteers to help sort and deliver it. Then next day packages and bundles came and it seemed just like Christmas time and everyone went around smiling. Nothing like knowing you’re still remembered by the folks at home.

“When I read the part of the letter about Punky Dunk and the bears it brought me back to times when I used to read them these stories and I can feel them tugging away at my coat and running around old man Cohn’s place just as if nothing in the world made any difference to them. I heard some one whistling “So Long Letty” some time ago and traveled back to the old Victrola real quick. Well, these kind of dreams don’t last long enough- that is the only trouble.

“We are getting along nicely with our work and have ourselves pretty well adapted to the life here in sunny France, which I am sorry to say is far from being sunny, at any rate where we are located. The climate is rather damp but is not at all bad when one becomes acclimated. Shaving in water at freezing point might seem strange at first but after becoming accustomed to it its not so bad and it is amusing to see some of “Tommies” who have to use water out of shell holes and in some cases their coffee or tea when no water was available in the trenches shaving with little or no lather and not caring much whether they got all the soap off their bronzed faces or not. And let me say right here that they are men from start to finish too. I had occasion to go to the hospital with an absessed early last week which thanks to the expert medical attention is well now. During my day and a half there I became disillusioned as to English wit. Some of them may be dull but to hear them talk of their trench life in their droll queer fashion is a vaudeville continuous. One fellow who was in the bed next to me was shot through the chest, the bullet coming out down the lobar region and smashing a couple of ribs. How he lived through it is wonderful but he is now in England all O.K. and happy. This fellow laid there and joked about every thing past, present and future, much to the delight of another one in this ward who seemed inclined to take things too seriously. The nurses have books for patients to write in and draw pictures in art and literature, as you can well imagine. One fellow wrote on the front page “ By Hook or Crook I’ll be the First in this Book,” some other genius was not to be bested wrote on the bottom of the last page “ By Hook or Crook I’ll be the Last in this Book.” And all of these little kid tricks from men who have been through hell on earth. Pardon: It takes my mind away from the realities for the moment at least.

“Well, this must be all for now as it is getting rather late and sleep is a valuable asset, especially at 6 a.m. when you have to roll out of a warm bunk into the cold.

“Will try to write a letter to G.C. soon and enclose with this.

“Bye for now, with the kindest regards and best wishes to you and yours, as ever,
sincerely,
“Tubby”

“My Dear Bartells,

“Your letter of September 9th enclosing letters from Erny Adams and Austin Demy came this morning and I certainly was pleased to see that old scribble again and cussed every now and then while digging out the inner meaning of the words, but find I am just as good as ever at deciphering your short hand and was just a little out of practice. One thing if your letter had been censored I think the censor would have had a wonderful time.

“Many thanks to your better half for stirring you up to write. I was getting pretty anxious about a letter and was mighty glad to hear from you. I am going to take the liberty of passing Austin Demy’s letter along to Alvin Davis. He is not far from me. I hear from him quite frequently. I heard about Erny Adams being drafted, also Richard Schneider and a lot of other boys. Got hold of a copy of the Advertiser from Pte. Rapp of the R.A.M.C. (Royal Army Medical Corps), brother of the fellow I roomed with last year.. Isn’t it funny how you meet after coming such a distance. He walked in on me one day. The ambulance train he was on happened to land here so he paid a visit and maybe he might be back this way again. He had a lot of news from the old burg and I exchanged some of my news with him, just like swapping beads to an Indian.

“The Boches are awful in their bombing of helpless wounded in hospitals and of women and children, but it seems that that is what is to be expected of them. They must be in desperate straits to pull off such deeds. They will go down in history with a blot on their names that will never be forgotten and when reckoning comes I hope they will be bled for all they are worth. Don’t worry about us, we are happy and making the best of everything. As you may have surmised. I am still alive and kicking around as much as ever.

“ I was very sorry indeed to hear of the troubles at the smelter. It seems that troubles never come singly though and that must have been the case with them. It is very unfortunate too, coming at a time when all internal trouble should be forgotten for the common cause. I am afraid the war has not yet been brought home to the people. However, we are all proud of what has been accomplished in such short time and Lord Northcliffe’s eulogy of what has been done was well appreciated.

“ Your force is pretty well weeded out and it makes me feel that you are perhaps lonesome with all your old pals gone from the laboratory. But I am glad on the other hand, to think the boys have responded to the call the way they did. The more of them that get in the game, and the quicker they get in it, the sooner it will be all over. Old Bill the Emperor of the world (?) Must have the gauze pulled off his eyes and realize that the world isn’t going to stand for any tricks such as he had tried to get away with, being pulled off. Furthermore he ought to have the history of that guy called Napoleon read to him so he can draw a parallel from the tale. St. Helena and Elba are too good for him. They ought to heat hell seven times hotter than usual and let him and the crown prince sizzle a while. Excuse my French, s’il vous plait, Monsieur.

“ Well, as you understand it is not possible to tell much about what we are doing. And it is for our own benefit of course. Suffice it is to say that we are well and happy. That seems to be the formula. The weather recently has surprised everybody by confirming the maxim “Sunny France,” and needless to say we have enjoyed it much more than any weather we have had since we were here. If it will only keep on going for another month it will be fine.

“ Am getting so I can speak a little French now and that makes it much nicer. Of course there are no flourishes but at any rate we can exchange our thoughts in a way. Someone said in a joking way “Our boys in France will out of politeness try to speak French, and out of politeness the French will try to understand.” Well, there is a lot of truth in that but as long as you can wiggle your hands around and shrug your soldiers and say Oui Oui and ca ne fait rien you can get along pretty well. The girls here have a peculiar beauty about them that you can’t help admiring and they are tre aimable indeed. They have a wonderful way about them that makes you like them all. Even the little youngsters are cute. There will be a great many go back I think. Amerique in the French mind is one wonderful spot and so many of them have told us that when that great time “apres la guerre” comes they are going to America. I feel sorry for them. They have made the supreme sacrifice. When I see some of the mothers and daughters walking alone in the fields it makes one realize what is missing. You can see no young men here. They have all gone to the call and if anyone hates a slacker, the French do. A civilian is a strange sight, and they are generally men who are absolutely unfit. Everyone is doing their bit and how they hate the “Allemandes”. And they have their reasons. I was in a theatre, a cinema. They showed some pictures of the cathedral of Reims. It brought home how terrible the destruction of these old treasures of centuries have been: and the Archbishop of the place was still there. The French show their dislike for the Boche when anything like that is shown and you can’t help entering their spirit yourself. On the other hand the showing of any American pictures brings loud applause and it is easily seen that they look to America as a big brother who has come to their aid.

“ Now I must stop. Hope this will prove of interest and also the basis of immediate inspiration as you used to term it. Give my kindest regards to the Mrs.,the kiddies and to Charles and his family. I hope they are all in good health. Here’s hoping it won’t be long till we are able to be together again.

“ With kindest regards to all, I am.
“ The same as ever, your old friend.
“ Tubby”

We had our first military funeral on the 23rd for our little boy Sergeant who died of pneumonia. It was most impressive. At two o’clock all who could be spared from the wards assembled in the front of the grand stand. The procession started there, first the group of sergeants who were honorary pallbearers, then all the Officers, then the American enlisted men, then the British enlisted men, then about fifty blue-coated nurses. We marched in twos
down to the mortuary and lined up along the road; then the quaint French hearse, driven by a man in a three cornered hat, was driven through the long line of his friends, His brother, a little private from the Canadian army, accompanied by one of our men, walked just behind, and the six active pallbearers, his best friends, walked on the two sides. Then we all fell in and marched a mile through the mud to the military cemetery. It is just a big field, nearly filled with wooden crosses, each bearing the name of the soldier. Ours was the first American laid there. The two padres were waiting for us in their surplices, dearly loved British clergyman, Dr. Page, and our new young American, Mr. Taylor, who came to relieve Dean Davis. This special place has been set apart for the Americans.

It is a lovely, quiet place outside the wall of an old French burying-place. Far off to the West were the blue, blue hills that are on the other side of Rouen, and near a long double row of bare, black poplars. And near were the rows and rows of others who had given their all and gone on before. One could almost feel a welcoming stir as we laid our first American among them. A little group of French people had gathered to see what had brought so large a cortege to a place where there are daily internments and where every day the firing squad gives the last salute for the brave boys from our hospitals. The beautiful words of the service had new meaning to them. Then the salute from the firing squad, and “Taps” from the bugler. While the officers and most of the nurses marched away, his Masonic “brothers,” led by our Rabbi, held their symbolic ceremony. There were many flowers, weird French wreaths, which were hung all over the outside of the hearse when it left the mortuary. If only Evatt’s mother could have been here, it would have comforted her to feel the love and respect of all of his friends and to see the quiet, lovely place where he is laid to rest.

Lovingly,
Julia

Note: Letter written by Julia C. Stimson - Chief Nurse, Base Hospital No.21

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