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| National World War I Museum, Kansas City, Mo. |
One of the Missouri volunteers was Kenneth C. Davenport. Born in Fort Scott, Kansas, on August 2, 1891, Davenport came to Springfield, Missouri where he worked for the Springfield Republican newspaper before the war. By 1917, he had moved to Joplin where he joined a unit being organized at the University of Missouri in Columbia. When he arrived in France, Davenport learned additional ambulance drivers were not needed. Instead, he was trained to transport artillery ammunition for French batteries. Davenport’s letter to friends in Springfield and Joplin describes his adventures in France.
"As I write batteries are booming over the horizon and nearly a dozen French planes are scouting overhead for Taubes [German aircraft]. The droning of the powerful motors in the sky seems to fit into the rustic simplicity of this farmyard, taking the place of buzzing bees back home.
The monotonous undertones are broken now and then by some turkey gobbler, the playful bleating of a young billy goat or the chattering of the French farm wife sitting at the back door picking a goose. The farm is about twelve miles from S-----, which is reported to have been bombarded by German planes last night. Early this morning some of the fellows saw a Taube dropped before a rain of French plane bullets.
There are forty-nine in my party and eleven will be added. When I arrived in Paris the French were not desirous of ambulancers, so the service shot us out here to train two weeks for transport duty. I am wrestling with a big truck, trying to get the knack of spinning it.
Americans in France have renounced “Sammies” for a name of the their adoption---“Teddies.” A dog pup we captured near ----- as a mascot has been named “Teddy.”
So far as I can learn, France needs men. It has food, although not too much, and is faring much better than Germany, according to returned prisoners. French prisoners are treated cruelly in Germany because the Germans are in a cruel national position they say.
“Do you want to know when the war will end?,” I asked a soldier. “Two years, three years,” he replied. “Not next spring”---and with a shrug of the shoulders, “so it goes---this damnable trench fighting.” He was many months in the trenches, and is now a transport mechanic. For twenty years he lived in the United States.
Tuesday evening, July 24: By this time the buzz of airplanes cause little excitement for we have seen hundreds. After exploring some third-line trenches, some of us emerge from a dugout to see a dashing birdman turning somersaults and doing giddy glides that caused us all to stare astonished.
For the past two days we have been driving trucks. I am getting by. Spun it, by Gosh. This afternoon I was driver No. 2 and was in the front seat when No. 1 ran down a lieutenant. We dragged the poor chap out from under the five-ton truck, badly smashed up, but not fatally injured.
Frenchmen are teaching us. “Troy beaus,” they say, meaning “very good.” We backed and plunged over hills under a hot sun, over dusty roads and through a beautiful country. We saw four oxen pulling one farmer’s plow.
There are rumors of a big drive up near -----. The Boches have been hitting hard at Craonne, but the brave Frenchmen turned them back. I wish you all were here with me to hear the heavy booming of the batteries.
Our day’s menu: Breakfast---Coffee, bread, two eggs, jam. Dinner---Tea, beans, bread, cheese, roast beef, jam, wine. Supper---Roast beef, tea, potatoes, carrots, bread, three jellies, wine. All we need to eat.
I am a real fighter now. I am armed with a rifle, a gas mask, a steel helmet and a regulation mess kit and canteen. I probably shall drive from S--- our base, to ----, a point where the Germans are hitting hard, and the veterans say I’ll have a taste of German shells. Kill all you can is our order, and all of our gang is eager to get off to the front.
Let the boys who are coming over know they should bring all the warm clothing they can carry. It is July, but at 4 a.m. we’re cold. Setting up the clock is a wonderful plan. It is daylight almost to the minute when we get up in the morning and it is dark just at bedtime. A billy goat shares our barn at times. We have been adopted. The poilus [French soldiers] are locating our kits.
We landed at Bordeaux and marched up to the depot. One old man rushed after a small United States flag, and while he waved it over his balcony the banner fell from the staff. The anguish on his face was impressive. “Viva France,” we cheered. A huge crowd gathered at the station. We sang the “Marseillaise” and “The Star Spangled Banner” and a few of the song hits we learned while in New York. When we finished a package was ready for each of us, containing soda water, war biscuit, sardines, and prepared beef.
They like Americans. A French private of an Algerian regiment rode in the section I was allotted to in a third class car. He had been wounded four times and had many medals---and he proved he was a soldier by being in a beastly state of intoxication.
Will write more when I get to the front. The censorship is very strict. You boys close to the Associated Press wire know more of the war than I do. Gad, how I eat. “Boom---boom---boom---boom. That’s the way they thunder.
Disregard all previous addresses and use the following: K.C. Davenport. T.M. 537 Convois Autos, Par B.C.M., Paris, France."
Sources:
“Former Newspaper Man of Springfield Writes of Army Life in France,” Springfield (Mo.) Republican, August 28, 1917, 3.
The Military and Mizzou: 1861-1946
http://muarchives.missouri.edu/military.html#6
History of the American Field Service in France, “Friends of France,” 1914-1917, Told By Its Members
http://net.lib.byu.edu/estu/wwi/memoir/afshist/AFS1a.htm
