Jon Bouman to the Bouman Family

Jon Bouman to the Bouman Family

Bouman, Jon Anthony, 1873-1958

WWP23020

1919 February 9

Letter from Jon Bouman to his family.

Gift of William C. and Evelina Suhler

Correspondence

Paris Peace Conference (1919-1920)

Rachel Dark

Denise Montgomery

English

Evelina Suhler is the granddaughter of Jon Anthony Bouman and inherited the family collection of his letters from the years of World War I. She and her husband gave the letters to the Woodrow Wilson Presidential Library & Museum in 2013.

13 Place de la Bourse, Paris,
Feb 9, 1919
Sunday morning

Dearest; -

“It snows very rarely in Paris,” says my Baedeker, but that must have been before the war. The snow of a fortnight ago is still on the roofs and it is freezing hard, but the sun is shining brightly this morning. I am often thinking of you all, and about the getting away; also whether you would be crossing on Sat. or Sunday as your telegram read “having” (probably leaving) Saturday. I have been worrying a good deal about your health lately, and am afraid the strain will be too much for you. Let me know how much you really feel and how you travelled. I hope there will be not very great bother about the luggage, and that none of us may be ill until we have time for it.

I still find my little feeding place in the Marche H. Honore very satisfactory, but dry bread in the morning likes one not. At the hotel, no butter can be obtained, so I am getting into the French habit of sopping it in the coffee or chocolate. To the people of the restaurant I am known as “Monsieur who walks all the way.” It appears they cannot understand how anyone should want to walk when there is the tube going the same way. The other night, while it was freezing hard, it was a brilliant bright night and clean underfoot. “Monsieur surely will not walk home this weather?” asked Madame. “Yes certainly” I said, “this is the very weather I like for walking home.” Whereupon hands were lifted to heaven – “oh Monsieur! Non Monsieur!?” People here also imagine they protect themselves against cold by muffling their mouths up and leaving their shoulders and backs exposed. This confirms me in my estimate of human beings.

The customers of my little restaurant are always American officers with a sprinkling of journalists, an army nurse or so and YMCA workers, and the language is American. The other day Madam was admiring a flying man’s sheepskin coat, which the owner, not knowing enough French, described as “gigot” as somewhere near it, as it came from a sheep. Madam gave a roar that shook the kitchen, and slapped her ample thighs. “This is gigot, my friend” she bellowed. “this is gigot”. And even the poor downtrodden husband wiped his eyes with laughter, and the fat aunt, and Louise the serving wench, got the hiccups.

I am still in my eyrie on the top floor of the MacMahon caravanserai, waiting for an American officer to quit his hotel, when I can get his room. Poor people have to spend the nights in waiting rooms at railway stations; the place is so crowded, and I certainly should not know what to do if I had to pay for my own lodgings – my whole salary would be swallowed up. They keep hotels nice and warm however – two radiators greet you when you come in by the front door, and all the public rooms, and one’s own room, are comfortable in that respect.

Sunday evenings I have been spending at Frank Grundy’s after dinner, just an hour or 1 1/2, as they are early people. Madam wore a lace scarf over her head last Sunday. They are having trouble with their stove which, after a period of giving every satisfaction, has developed a habit of going out. Just the same as with us, poor fuel apparently. Central heating is the thing, and no error.

I am anxiously awaiting your wire announcing your arrival and that you are well. Kiss the children for me – I shall write them when they get to Newcastle.

Much love to yourself from

Thine,
Jack

Letter

Bouman Family