Buffalo, Cleveland, Pittsburg, St. Louis, St. Paul and Syracuse. Information concerning the above can be secured through Central Office, 50 State Street, Boston, Mass.

INDEPENDENCE HALL

In the Spring of 1920, I saw France, and again in August, 1921. One must marvel at her heroism. The greatest sufferer of all the Allies in the World War, she stands today in the best position in so far as unemployment is concerned. Against the millions out of work in the United States and Great Britain, and hundreds of thousands in Italy, French official figures show about 20,000 unemployed. A Country's wealth is measured by what its people produce in tilling the soil and converting its raw materials into finished products---not by the amount of paper money turned out by its printing presses. The time for work and action, if we hope to get back to a pre-war basis, has long since arrived and the time for talk passed; while we are prone to do a lot of the latter, the Frenchman is carrying on with the former. Nature and hard work are making a new France, the fields are aglow with abundant crops. Even up through the battle-torn district of the North, the trees that seemed dead last year were sprouting with leaves and reconstruction of the ruined villages rapidly progressing. No one need fear for France's future; a few years hence she will be squarely on her feet and those of us whose ardent sympathies have been always with her, will be able to point to her accomplishments with even greater pride.

J. H. M., T. M. U. 133.

M------ R------
The Somme,
December 20.

Dear Harvey:

Well, Harvey, here we are in the Somme. We come into this village after running 200 kilometres on convoy, and they made us drive our cars into a farmyard that had a big heap of manure piled into the middle of it. They tell me they judge a farmer's prosperity over here by the size of his manure pile and by that token, Harvey, this feller musta been a millionaire. Well, the French Lieut. says "this is where you sleep," so I run right over to the barn (you gotta act quick in this bunch, Harvey, or someone else'll horn in on the dry places) and honest there was a rat in there that coulda stood up on his hind legs and put his front paws onto your shoulders.

"Lookahere," I says to the Lieut., "that ain't any place for American volunteer gentleman drivers to sleep. Besides, there ain't no abri."

Maybe you don't know what an abri is, Harvey. A Frenchman digs a hole in the ground and covers it over with a couple laths and a layer of brick and crawls into it and thinks he's safe from German bumbs. That's why they's so much work for the American Ambulance, they don't know any more about digging abris than Wilson knows about Furrin Politics.

Well I went over to a farm house and asks the old lady "avey voo une chambre avec abri?" (I speak French pretty good now, Harvey.)

"What do you want with an abri?" she says, "you're 42 kilometres from the Botches."

"That ain't any too far away for me," I says, "You can't tell what them canals will invent over night. (Canal is French for sonofagun.)

Well, I couldn't find any abri so I had to sleep in my voycher (voycher is French for auto) and you ought to see my voycher. It was give to the Section by a princess with six names and I'm supposed to write to her every week and tell her what her voycher is doing. I'm going to write to her alright, Harvey. It's give me a sprained wrist and the dysentery already, and I think she ought to know it. I got a touch of the lumbago, too.

Well after I got settled down, I went over to hunt the café where somebody says we're to eat supper, and honest, Harvey, that wasn't any more a café than you're a Hebrew Rabie. It hadn't any steam heat nor even a store and there was only one pain of glass in four windows, and as for liquor, if a snake had bit you you woulda died right there without a hand being raised unless it was a gendarme to come in and tell you not to make so dang much noise.

These gendames is mean cusses, Harvey, they're these French traffice cops like the one over to Millbury Centre on Sunday afternoons.

Well we were camped alongside this duckpond for nigh onto a week and I caught a snootful of cattahr on top of my sprained wrist and the dysentery I got. General Sherman was right when he says, "War is Hell." That's what I told the boys the other night and they says "You're right, Ed." I keep telling them these little anecdotes just to keep their spirits up. You remember how I was allus full of funny stories back home.

But you ought to see some of the city fellows in this section, Harvey. Most of them has bought these here big yellow officers belts that has hooks to hang a revolver and sword onto, but about all they have to hang onto 'em is a slug of gin and a monkey wrench. I reckon they try to make themselves up like English officers so as to flirt with the girls over at Moreye (thats a big town near here.) Between you and me, Harvey, they're no more than privates and get paid 5 cents a day, like any trench-digger.

Well we've had a week's rest and today we finally got bony fidy orders to move right up to the Front, Harvey. I reckon we'll see some war now, there hasn't ever been an American Ambulance in the Battle of the Somme before. My great grandfather spent a whole day behind a stonewall in the battle of Lexington, and I'm going to follow his example.

"Vive la France!" Thats what we say over here when we go into action.

Yours for civilization,

ARTIE.

The Somme,
In my abri, at Fay.
Dec. 24.

Dear Harvey:

Judas Crout, Harvey, I wish you was here. This abri is forty foot deep but you can hear the shells busting around up above just as if you was sitting in the cellar and the dang house blew down.

You being my best friend I make you my executor, Harvey. The fold hunting case stem-winder that belonged to my grandfather is wrapped up in the blue socks in my right hand bureau drawer. I give that to you. The rest of my stuff you can dispose of as you see fit. I ain't very much interested in it. You'll find it in the hole in the plaster behind the mantel.

Well, I suppose you'd like to know something about how I spent my last days, so I'll try to collect myself and tell you about it. Well, we drove from that place where I wrote last to a town only 14 kilometres from the Botch lines. Think of that, and the Botches have cannon that carry clean across the English Channel. Thats getting dang close, eh?

They stopped our convoy in about two foot of mud in a little town named P--- and then the officers went out on a sightseeing expedition to the trenches and left us setting in the cold.

After about six hours they come back and says, "Park your cars down by the duckpond boys, we'll dig em out in the morning." So we went down and sunk em in the mud, and I'll be danged if I could see how I was going to get out without getting drowned, but I clumb up on the roof and swung out onto a tree, and clumb down the tree and walked along a root and even then I went in plumb over my shootops. Thats all the consideration a volunteer gentleman driver gets Harvey.

Well, they put us in with the rats in another stable and next morning they says, "Boys, five or ten of you have got to go up to the Front today and get acquainted with them Posts of Secure."

Thats a Frenchman's notion of a joke, Harvey. Those posts aren't any more secure than your watch and chain is in this bunch of volunteer gentleman drivers. If you was to jump hard onto the roof of any one of 'ern you'd go through like it was a base drum. You can imagine what a Busy Bertha would do to them, eh?

Our Lieut. says "Artie, you better go along and get acquainted with them Posts of Secure."

"How nigh are they to the Botches? I asks.

"O, about a mile away," says he.

"Lieut., I says, Id like to go, but I got a sprained wrist and the dysentery and it would make my cattahr worse if I was to go out in the mud so much. I worked on a railroad once, I says. Give me a map and in an hour I'll know those roads better than if I was to see them with the naked eye."

"Alright Artie, he says, here's a map." So when the other fellows had gone I set down and begun to study the map.

Just then a Frenchman comes in that was one of the French ambulance drivers we was to replace.

"Monsewer, I says, point out to me these Posts of Secure that we are to shershay blessies at." (blessies is French for wounded.)

"Well, says he, you see this long straight road leading out of Amiens and hitting for St. Quentin?"

"Yes, I says, and I swan, Harvey, it was straight as a gun-barl for twenty mile right into the Botch lines.

"Here is P----- I says he, on this road. Now you ride down it about eight mile and these here Posts of Secure are along it or else down side roads near to the trenches."

"They never told me, I says, that you had to drive down a boulevard into the mouths of them Botch cannon. Ain't it dangerous?"

"O no, says he, we only had four voychers smashed and one man killed and we been here several days. It wouldn't be so bad he says, only that road is so straight that a high-power shell started at one end of it'll clean up everything on it clean to tother."

"Judas Crout, I says, ain't there any side roads?

"Not that you could take unless you was driving a submarine, says he. And that ain't the worst of it, he says on moonlight nights these here Botch Taubes comes out and flies down that road about a hundred yards offen the ground and squirts a machine gun onto it." I looked at my pocket calendar, Harvey, and its a full moon in three days.

"Ain't there some work a fellow can do around Proyart?" I says.

"Take my advice, says he, keep away from Proyart. They gotta big naval gun especially constructed to drop bumbs onto this cross road outside the front door and you can't never tell when they're going to try her out."

Well, Harvey, I'm a brave man and I come from a long line of fighting ancestors, but danged if I call it fighting when they shoot bumbs down a road like they was autobusses out of hell, and turn a hose of death onto your defenceless head out of a clear sky, and bumb you from as fur away as Dewksbury to Newton Centre.

"And that ain't the worst of it in Proyart, he says. Them Botches has got a habit of shooting a bunch of gas bumbs into the village every once in a while, but its alright if your a good sleeper because you'll never know what ketched you. Take my advice, he says, and keep away from Proyart. Keep as near the trenches as you can. The nigher you be to a Botch, he says, the safer you be --- any soldier knows that."

"Which Post of Secure is nearest the Botches?" I says.

"Fay, says he."

Well I'm writing you from Fay, Harvey, and if Fay is safe God help the boys back in Proyart.

More tomorrow --- mebbe.

Your old chum,

ARTIE.

The new French Commemorative Medal known as the Médaille Commemorative de la Grande Guerre, with red and white striped ribbon, should be applied for by writing to L. Dubreuil, Major, French General Staff, Acting Military Attaché, 1501 18th Street, N. W., Washington, D. C., giving dates of service as a volunteer with the American Field Service, and also mentioning any subsequent service. Application Blanks for medal may be obtained from the office of the French Consul at 10 Post office Square, Boston.

Field Service men eligible for this medal are as follows:

All American citizens who served at least six months at the Front with the American Field Service between August 2, 1914 and the time when the American Field Service was taken over by the American Army.

Those who served with the American Field Service for less than six months, until the Field Service was taken over by the American Army, but who signed up in the U. S. A. A. S. or the U. S. M. T. C. with the French Army, provided the number of months served with the American Field Service, when added to that served with the U. S. A. A. S. or the U. S. M. T. C., gives a total of not less than six months.

Information has not yet been received to cover the case of a volunteer in the American Field Service who served for less than six months, until the Field Service was taken over by the United States Army, but who did not sign up in. the United States Army working with the French Army.

Volunteers who resigned before six months are not entitled to the medal.

This Commemorative Medal will also be awarded to all Americans and other members of the Allied forces who served six months in French Units or in the welfare services, including members of the Red Cross, the Y. M. C. A., the Knights of Columbus and other organizations officially accredited to the French Army.

Paris, October 25, 1921.
American Field Service Association,
50 State St., Boston.

Amicale officers Service Automobile Français meeting in annual banquet address their war comrades of the American Automobile Service their best wishes and drink toast to them.

The President, Rigal
6 rue Baudin, Paris.

This view, taken by W. W. Kellett, T. M. U. 133 and pilot in French Aviation Corps, shows the headquarters of the local branch. Any Field Service Man coming to Philadelphia, who wishes to look up his old friends can step from the Pennsylvania R. R. Station (lower right hand corner of picture) to the Commercial Trust Company and get any desired information from J. H. Mason, Sr.

---

The Memorial Volume commemorating the one hundred and twenty-seven former members of the Field Service who died in the War is now ready for immediate delivery. The book is a companion volume to those of the History of the Field Service, and is selling for $3.00 per copy, postage prepaid, from the Association office, 50 State Street, Boston. Checks should be made payable to the "American Field Service."

K B. Murdock (Harvard '16) has reviewed the book in the Harvard Crimson, of October 28, 1921, under the heading "Many Soldiers are an Answer to Three." His article in part, is as follows:

"In this volume an attempt has been made to catch in short biographies the true spirit of those who volunteered to serve with the Field Service in France and died for our Cause." However carried out, such an attempt is in its very nature worth while. And the present volume, compared not with the ideal sketch each of us preserves of the friends mentioned in its pages, but with other similar memorial lives, must stand high. Indeed, these are times when the ideal seems to have been realized, when the printed page accords with our most intimate memory of the essential nature of some classmates, and brings a warmth of feeling that speaks eloquently for the editor's and writer's skill. Wisely the material facts of each life have been relegated to a brief summary of names and dates beneath the picture of the man described. The "biographies" themselves are free to catch this spirit and names of their subjects "pressed in their letters, in words in their friends, and in memories of those dearest to them. Such a method does credit to the speech or in editor, and even more deserving is the frequent use of some telling incident to introduce and crystallize the relation of each life.

John Dos Passos's "Three Soldiers" in its skillful depiction of three apparently abnormal types subjected to the soul destroying side of war and forgetful of their opportunities to turn hardship and contact with sordid realities into material for character and growth, could have no better answer than such a book as this. Against his three men, deftly imagined and rigidly controlled by the author's own ideas of the basest side of human struggle, we have here many soldiers---artists, poets, schoolboys, intellectual and not, grave and gay, vividly awake to the horror of war or shutting their eyes to all but the joy of action---all strong in a secure sense of the reality and nobility of a cause. These men are real, not the characters of a novelist and their meeting of the problems which faced the "Three Soldiers" as conditioned only by their vigorous conception of the meaning of life and their ear consciousness of a purpose bigger--- than life itself.

Such books as this memorial seem today the truest record we are likely to have the reaction of our generation to the shocks of the war years. The spirit that gives life to these pages is proof against the best of time. In this is the permanence the memorial and the value of the book."

---

Paris, Aug. 30, 1921.

On the 25th of July, 1921, again following the shaking radiator cap of a Ford, I found myself once more on highways and byways well known to members of the Section 13/631. Starting from Amiens on a typically hot and dusty French summer morning, we picked up the old tracks at Cottenchy, where, in the very comfortable house by the mill we ended that long convoy from Commercy to the Somme in August '18. Save for one old woman (not an extraordinary spectacle) who was ironing in the kitchen, the place was deserted. We learned that the family was "still away." The garden was untouched, and seemed strange without its usual litter of spare parts, bidons and what not; the pond outside the gate, where poor Amby Howard did his last bit washing cars, was as ever.

Then on to Cayeux-en-Santerre, whither the Section had been so quickly moved from Cottenchy (with the help of the R. V. F. bus) and where it had stayed for the first part of the last big advance. Cayeux seemed especially full of thronging recollections and associations. The big iron gates through which the cars had rolled into the chateau grounds were shut and rusted, so we entered by the farm yard. Here indeed there was no need of the imagination to recall the past. The gaunt, smashed chateau and its grounds had not even been visited by the reforming broom. All about strewed the casques and helmets, French and English bidons. drinking cups, bits of clothing---all just as we had known it. Inside it was the same-broken glass, wire beds, a little round Boche cap hob-nobbing with a khaki handkerchief and an empty "Prince Albert" can. Only in what had been our bureau and kitchen was life stirring---an aged caretaker, his wife, child, and dog. Here, certainly, the post-war souvenir hunter had not penetrated, and four years' destruction and three years' dust had been disturbed by nobody; not even the caretaker. We cannot leave without a glance at the gate, where it joins the wall that borders the beginning of the road to Caix. One remembers having stood just there on our first night in Cayeux, and watched two endless lines of men pass, one up and one down, as soon as night had fallen. Those who were thankfully leaving the line---they happened to be Canadians---had their music, their songs, ("Over There" mostly) their cigarettes, and a light hearted joke on every lip. On the other side, silent and bent under the packs, trudged our "fantassins," our poilus to the relief. And then the "Zoom-Zoom" of the Boche bombing party up and down over the long lines of the changing divisions; they took a heavy toll on the white shining roads that night, and first one and another of the cars that had gone up with the battalions, rolled back; from Caix, from Rosières, from Vrely, with loads for the Triage in the farmyard. One could go on indefinitely with this tumbled rush of recollection ---the impossibly long roll back to Conty (which we finally took it on ourselves to shorten), the taking of Lihons and Chaulnes, the gas attack at Rosières, when we thought we could never get them all out, and the consequent longing for the White truck, long since in the Parc. That the chateau looked just as bare and conspicuous on this summer morning of 1921 as on that moonlit night in 1918, only made the road to Caix more strangely quiet and peaceful in the hot sunlight.

Of it all, only the farm showed signs of having tried to live again, under its new roof and fresh paint. From what had been the G. B. D. peered the farmer's wife; "Ah, vous étiez ici, Monsieur? . . . n'est ce pas que c'est triste, eh? Mais oui, mais oui . . . espérons bien qu'ils ne viendront pas encore, vous savez! Qu'est ce qu'ils ont fait, ces sales types-là! ! --- ah, vous croyez ? mais ils sont toujours là, vous savez! Que voulez-vous?"

In view of the present dispositions of Congresses and Parliaments, there was nothing but to echo her words---"que voulez-vous?"

So once more we took the familiar road; Caix, Vrely, Rosières, Lihons, Chaulnes. Empty now, save for the litter of war piled in the ditches, and except the occasional cry of a farmer to his horses, silent and lonely. Vrely, past the poste where Mike Hunt's name seemed to suggest itself; Caix (surely remembered by Savon Gibbs) ; Rosières, where we all sweated, and where Mitchell (or was it Doepke) got so enmeshed in wire by the station, trying a short cut to Villers-Bretonneux! How the little voitures rolled up that street and back, while the place shook from the British Howitzers in the back gardens! Then out by the station to the Lihons-Chaulnes road, where one immediately had a vision of the little red house on the cross-roads; overflowing with blessés and "gazés," a succession of cars always adding to them, and the German shells in the fields. Up the road, by the remains of the 59th poste, "devant Lihons" there is now a large cemetery, and only the other day a "pauvre" had been found in the churned-up earth to add to it. Another remaining tribute to this once hectic spot was the burned chassis of a motor truck, still stuck in the fateful ditch. How it all does come back! . . . here Banty Graf bent his steering rod-here Bill Corry hit a tree,---and there Sidney Ashmore demolished a five ton truck!

Going into Chaulnes we met two old men gathering up barbed wire; we stopped and talked a little of the guerre. They smoked two 'cigarettes Américains' and said they had just found a 'sergent anglais' with 15 centimes and a good briquet in his pockets. Went on through Omiécourt --- (shades of the mines) --- Pertain, and crossed the Somme in front of Croix-Moligneaux. Could find no remains of the pontoon bridges, about which Banty and Fitz fought as to who had crossed first. Passed through Beauvois, Savy, and Etreillers, and found the old 88th poste by the last named town. (This is where we were relieved for a time in October '18, to evacuate Voyennes and Hattencourt; after which the division came back into line in front of St. Quentin). Crossed the exploded Hindenburg Line above Essigny, and reached St. Quentin in time for supper.

The old 'patronne' of the hotel began to talk about the Boche occupation of the town and ended in a flood of tears; and they are still as afraid of them as ever. These half-destroyed towns, full of people trying to live it down, are the dreariest of all.

July 26---Left St. Quentin at 8 a. m. for Homblières. (One remembers Frank Laflamme doing this bit one night with the pay in his pocket and a front spring on his back; it may have been the night the bombs caught the ammunition convoy right in Homblières.) In Homblieres the G. B. D. abri was still uninhabited, but our old cantonment is alive with the personnel of a farm. A new barn is where the cars used to stand, but it is not much cleaner than our Boche prisoners kept it.

The daughter let us look once more into the rooms where the Section had lived and allowed us to descend into the precious old cave. The latter smelling as of yore --- cold and damp and foul --- but comfortably underground. It was queer to think we belonged there no more.

From Homblières to Marcy, and out to look at the poste by the 'Arbe des Saints,' in front of Bernot, Neuvillette, and Noyales. A few bits of scrap iron, a poor growth of weeds by the roadside, and the dugout are left. The door of the latter was locked and barred. All about was the hot breathing stillness of the summer morning, and people peacefully at work in the fields. . . .

Back, crossing the Guist road, to Regny ---(here the memory of a nasty night and day)---through Ribemont and so on down, through villages still plastered with German signs, to Laon and Reims.

July 27 --- Reached Chalons about eleven a. m. Got 'essence' and stayed for lunch. As the post-war prices at the Haute Mère-Dieu were beyond belief, we dejeuned next door. Out on the Reims road, in its usual heat and dust. Missed the sight of the H. O. E. at La Veuve, but Les Petites Loges and Les Grandes Loges were as ever. We did not go to Villers-Marmery, but turned off and took the little road by the 'canal de Sept-Saulx.' Now entirely deserted and so overgrown with weeds at the sides that we almost went by the spot where had stood the famous Triage of the Champagne attack days. Even the wine-press machinery by the entrance had gone, which everyone will remember who had to slide and bump his way to and from this spot in April and May '17. One remembers Battershell, under the stress of approaching 'obus,' hurling cog wheels and girders about to allow the White truck and its load of 'assis' to pass; assisted by Phil Potter, who was successfully despatching all the duties from Medecin-Chef to brancardier.

Through Sept-Saulx and on to La Plaine. The latter untouched, with even the éclat-pierced G. B. D. sign lying against a tree. Some of the abris were not yet filled in, and lying about in them was all the derelict equipment of the last blessés that had been rolled away.

Starting from here to Prosnes, the familiar, scarred white summit of Mont Cornillet once more showed over the bleak branches of the 'bois de l'artillerie.' Poor old Prosnes, save for the inhabitants of a few corrugated iron huts and the cement abri, was lifeless,---and seemed likely to remain so for time indefinite. So too did the white and pitted plain that leads away, past the postes of Constantine and Moscou, to the bruised and shorn ridge of hills, so white against the blue summer sky.

Surrounding it all is that strange stillness; that will probably always seem a little unreal to those who knew these places in other days.

Beyond Prosnes we followed the trail of the Section no more, and this prolonged account had better stop with the diary. Its only excuse for existing is in the hope that some may be interested at the mention of names and scenes they once knew so well, and may not see again before all is changed.

Apart from the sadness of the desolation, the feelings with which one revisits it all are quite undefinable, and probably vary with individuals. Some vague hankerings there are, for this which has definitely gone; perhaps for the thrill of hard work, of danger, or the carefree irresponsibility of the life. But it is certainly not saying too much, to believe that the happiest memory is the bright light of fellowship in a common cause.

S. S. U. 13

One of the Country's foremost speakers has said that a speech should be like a woman's dress---short enough to be interesting but long enough to cover the subject. With this in mind, I offer the following short resumé of our activities in endeavoring to perpetuate the friendships formed overseas and to create, as it were, a small part of France here in Philadelphia.

In the early part of this year, a committee was formed consisting of the present officers (mentioned in the September Bulletin) and Ollie Chew and Art Hutchinson, who rounded up the Field Service men living in this District for an organization meeting and banquet. On the evening of March 31, 1921, this affair took place and proved to be exactly what we all expected ---a riot of a time. At the final count it was found that only three casualties had been sustained.

Among the speakers were Major-General Price, Dr. Herbert Adams Gibbons, M. Piallard, French Consul at Philadelphia, Hon. A. Piatt Andrew, John H. Mason and various fathers of Field Service men. Details of the addresses are unnecessary. We all, including the speakers themselves, had a helluva, good time.

The chance of seeing ourselves as others saw us was offered by the films sent down for the occasion by the Boston office. Judging from the howls that were frequently heard, the pictures proved to be a great attraction.

There is not much more to say ---save that we get together about once a month for a luncheon and bull fest at a small and seclusive restaurant where the service and eatables are truly French, including du bon pinard and liquer. In closing let me say that we are always glad to welcome any wandering Field Service man who may blow into town and wish to look up his one-time buddies.

E. S. CLARK.

Marechal Foch is coming to Boston on November 14th. A Committee consisting of Henry D. Sleeper, Austin B. Mason, and Richard Lawrence, will represent the Field Service at the reception at the South Station, and will act as part of the escort to the Copley Plaza. In the afternoon all Field Service men who can possibly do so are to march in the parade which will be held under the auspices of the American Legion. During the ceremonies the Marechal will be presented with a set of the American Field Service History.

Reunion Banquet: The third annual discussion of who won the War and how it was won will be held at the Hotel Westminster on Friday evening, December 2nd, at 7.00 o'clock. The banquet is open to all American Field Service members, and the tickets, which are $3.50, are now on sale at the Association office, 50 State Street, Boston.

The annual reunion and banquet of the Far Western Branch will be held in San Francisco in the near future. A tentative date has been set-November 19th.

John B. Whitton is in charge of the affair.

Members of the Field Service and holders of Fellowships of the American Field Service Fund assembled Saturday evening, July 2, 1921, at the Cercle de la Renaissance, in Paris, for the first of a series of "get-together dinners." Mr. Elliott Shepard, one of the Field Service Trustees resident in Paris, acted as toastmaster. The guests of honor were General Serrigny, Professor Earle Babcock, director of the American University Union, and Dr. Edmund L. Gros.

Sigurd Hansen, S. S. U. 4, is working in Paris for the Vacuum Oil Company, 34 rue du Louvre.

At the Guaranty Trust Company are Joshua G. B. Campbell, S. S. U. 1, Horton P. Kennedy, T. M. U. 526, James M. Parmelee, S. S. U. 27, and Mlle. Jeanne, formerly of the Paris office.

At the Bankers Trust Company are Julian B. L. Allen, S. S. U. 4 and 29, and Mr. Hereford, formerly of the New York Field Service office.

With the New York Herald in Paris is John R. Ellingston, S. S. U. 10.

Walter Chrystie, Jr., S. S. U. 9, is connected with the Franco-Belgian Tourist Agency, rue Edward VII.

Connected with Lockwood Greene Company, Ave. de l'Opera, are J. Marquand Walker, S. S. U. 2 and 3, and Herbert D. Hale, S. S. U. 3.

Louis P. Hall, Jr., is with the J. I. Case Threshing Machine Co., Paris.

Allan H. Muhr, Controller and Cdt. Adjt., Hdqrs., and S. S. U. 14, has just been appointed to the French Committee in charge of the Olympic Games to be held in Paris, 1924, and is now in this country.

John C. B. Moore, Cdt. Adjt. S. S. U. 9, and T. M. U. 526, has just returned from Paris where he has been manager with the Harvard Glee Club.

Nathaniel T. Robb, S. S. U. 33, is representing an English firm in Cologne.

Robert Buell, S. S. U. 15, and Thomas McGowan, S. S. U. 70, have been running the student architects of the Harvard Reconstruction Unit, with a great deal of success. There were groups at Soissons, Rheims and Verdun.

Robert W. Imbrie, S. S. U. I and 3, was seen in Paris in August, having just returned from Constantinople and is now in Washington, D. C.

George K. End, S. S. U. 1 and 3, is in business in Paris, address, 3 rue Taitbout.

Among those traveling for pleasure were E. J. Curley, Jr., S. S. U. 3, Benj. F. Dawson, S. S. U. 3, Dr. Owen Kenan, S. S. U. 2, G. C. Gignoux, S. S. U. 10 and 33, Archibald Dudgeon, S. S. U. 14, and Kenneth Merrick, S. S. U. 2.

On October 19th a very successful luncheon of Field Service members was held at Marshall Field Men's Grill, Chicago. There were about thirty present, representing a large number of sections. This was for the purpose of taking steps of organizing a Field Service branch in Chicago. A temporary committee was appointed, consisting of William B. Gemmill, Secretary, 1610 City Hall Square Bldg., Allan F. Sharpe and Charles A. Ball. On November 2nd another luncheon was held at Hotel Morrison to continue the plans for the formation of the branch. The plans informally discussed include a monthly luncheon and some sort of a banquet during the Christmas holidays.

Richard B. English, S. S. U. 29, has taken up the task of organizing a Washington, D. C. Branch of the Field Service. This branch will include Field Service men in Washington, Maryland and Virginia. All men in this district should get in touch with Mr. English, 451 Penna. Ave., N. W., Washington, D. C.

MacDougall, Albert Edward, S. S. U. 30, of Flushing, L. I., and Miss Ina Brown of Winchester, Mass.

Lyman, George Hinckley, Jr., S. S. U. 9, of Boston, and Miss Eleanor Lee Higginson of Boston and Pride's Crossing, Mass.

Young, George R., (formerly Recruiting Officer, at Boston Headquarters) of Cambridge, Mass., and Miss Frances Willard Robertson of Springfield, Mass.

Burnside, Karl Ackerman, S. S. U. 26, of Orleans, Iowa, and Miss Mary Katherine Storey of Spirit Lake, Iowa, September 10, 1921.

Earle, Arthur Hinckley, T. M. U. 526, of Lexington, Mass., and Miss Mildred Scott of Lexington, October 29, 1921, in the Hancock Memorial Church, Lexington.

Evans, Dr. James Ambrose, S. S. U. 4, of St. Louis, Mo., and Miss Marie Troy Doyle of Worcester, Mass., October 8, 1921.

Fullington, James F., S. S. U. 32, of Columbus, Ohio, and Miss Emma L. Courtright, of Columbus, October 1, 1921.

Harris, George deLancey, S. S. U. 30, of New York City, and Miss Susan Katherine Lovejoy, of New York, October, 1921.

Holt, Carlyle Huntington, S. S. U. 2, of Boston and Miss Constance Lewis of Swampscott, at Swampscott, September, 1921.

Howe, John Farwell, T. M. U. 133, of Belmont, Mass., and Miss Jessie Lawrence Cordingley, of Chestnut Hill, Mass., September 24, 1921.

Kneeland, Frank Edward, S. S. U. 69, of New York , and Miss Alice Bryan Roberts, of Dallas, Texas, at Dallas, November 11, 1921.

McGrew, Dallas D. L., S. S. U. 3, of New York, and Miss Elizabeth Wright Barber, September 27, 1921, at St. Ambrose Chapel of the Cathedral Church of St. John the Devine, New York City.

Mooney, James Hatchell, S. S. U. 625, of Somerville, Mass., and Miss Margaret Ann Ward, of Roxbury, Mass., September 11, 1921.

Walker, John Marquand, Sons Chef, S. S. U. 2, 3, of Lakewood, N. J., and Paris, France, and Miss Marie Antoinette Barthelmy of Bordeaux and Biarritz, France, September, 1921.

Wright, Charles Shelton, S. S. U. 12, of Chicago, Ill., and Miss Jean Stuart Ware, of Chicago, October 8, 1921.

To Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd P. Bradley, S. S. U. 12 and T. M. U. 133, of Wahiawa, Oahu, Hawaii, a son, Jean Puissigar Bradley, February, 1921.

To Mr. and Mrs. John Munroe (S. S. U. 3) of New York City, a son, John Munroe, Jr., August, 1921.

To Mr. and Mrs. Austin B. Mason (S. S. U. 8) of Weston, Mass., a son, Austin B. Mason, Jr., October 28, 1921.

McLeish, Archibald Duncan, S. S. U. 10, of San Mateo, California, crashed to death while flying with a friend from Yosemite Valley en route to Hillsborough, the first week in July, 1921.

At a special election in the Sixth Massachusetts District, September 27th, A. Piatt Andrew was elected to Congress by a majority of 15,753, receiving more than three votes to every one for his Democratic opponent. Colonel Andrew left almost immediately to take up his duties in Washington.

Miss Lucy B. MacDonald, who has been connected with the Field Service for five years, is now in Washington as Congressman Andrew's secretary.

John H. Boyd, of Wesson, Miss., formerly of Paris Headquarters, is again in Russia with the American Relief Committee.

John Lundquist, S. S. U. 12 and Hdqrs., is connected with the Crescent Tool Company, Jamestown, N. Y.

Joseph Platt Cooke, Jr., T. M. U. 133, who has been living in Cambridge, has gone to Honolulu to live.

Arthur Crosby Hale, T. M. U. 184, of Jamaica Plain, Mass., has recently gone to Buenos Ayres, where he is connected with the First National Bank of Boston.

Edward S. Ingham, T. M. U. 397-526, is now affiliated with the Budd Wheel Corporation of Philadelphia. This corporation is the sole manufacturer in the United States of the Michelin steel disc wheel, with which Field Service members are familiar, and which many have handled on Fiat ambulances and camionettes. If anyone is interested in a set for his own use, Ingham will be glad to hear from him.

Stephen Galatti and Archibald Dudgeon have returned from Paris.

The Autumn Salon, the most important and most interesting of the many official annual art exhibitions held in Paris, opened October 31st with many fine works by American artists. In painting, among the leading Americans, are two Field Service men, Waldo Peirce, S. S. U. 3, and Daniel Gale Turnbull, S. S. U. 66, both with notable canvases.

The American Field Service is to be represented at the ceremony at Arlington Cemetery on Armistice Day by a delegation of A. F. S. men from Washington, Maryland and Virginia.

Four Field Service men of St. Paul, James H. Wilkinson, McNeil V. Seymour, Jr., Reuben W. Lovering, and Elbert A. Young, are the proud possessors of ten-clasp medals. They missed only four of the major engagements in which the American army played a part, including the Vittorio-Veneto battle in Italy. According to Lt. Colonel R. E. Frith, ten is a Minnesota record.

Major C. Claflin Davis, Red Cross Commissions to the Near East and Associate Judge of the United States Consular Court at Constantinople (formerly S. S. U. 4) has recently left there after over a year and a half's service, the Red Cross having given up their work in that section. Major Davis was decorated with the Order of St. Anna and afterwards with the Order of St. Stanislav by General Wrangle for his assistance to the Russian Refugees. Upon leaving Constantinople he also received the Order of Osmanli from the Turkish Government, the highest order given civilians. Among other testimonials he received a long letter of gratitude signed by Commandants of the Russian Refugee Homes, Hospitals, Workshops, etc., assisted by the American Red Cross.

Those who noted what was said in the last BULLETIN concerning "the late La France," will be glad to know that it has taken a new lease on life and publication has been resumed. This reappearance of La France will in no way affect the new policy for the BULLETIN. It will continue to be published at bi-monthly intervals by the various regional branches in rotation.

We have had many nice things said about the BULLETINS, and everyone seems pleased that the present plan of bringing out the BULLETIN with its old-time rue Raynouard flavor has been adopted. It takes considerable time and effort to get out this BULLETIN, as small as it is, and the Committee must have the co-operation of every former Field Service man.

It is impossible for us to get in touch with each Field Service man personally to get contributions for the BULLETIN ---and yet that is what we must have to make the BULLETIN a thing of interest. If each man would make it a point to send in a poem, or short article, we'll see that the BULLETIN does what it is supposed to do.

Unless you want a BULLETIN with nothing but blank memorandum pages, send in a contribution today. If you don't yearn for fame, we'll keep your name dark, or if you prefer, you can have it in heavy caps.

One other thing, which, like Death, Taxes and the Poor, is with us always is the question of ducats, euphemistically called dues. According to the Constitution adopted last spring, the BULLETIN can only be sent to those who are paid up members. (It is $5.00 a year, you remember, $2.00 for the local branch and $3.00 for the central Association.) One or more notices have been sent to everyone, with the exception of some fellows in the Middle West where branches are being organized. The general tenor of the notice was an ultimatum that if you didn't PAY UP, you would no longer receive the BULLETIN. This time it is true! Due to the cost of getting it out, the BULLETIN must be limited to paid-up members. How about a check for five?