Jon Bouman to the Bouman Family
Title
Jon Bouman to the Bouman Family
Creator
Bouman, Jon Anthony, 1873-1958
Identifier
WWP23069
Date
1919 September 30
Description
Letter from Jon Bouman to his family.
Source
Gift of William C. and Evelina Suhler
Subject
Correspondence
Paris Peace Conference (1919-1920)
Contributor
Rachel Dark
Denise Montgomery
Language
English
Provenance
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.
Text
13 Place de la Bourse
Paris Sept. 30, 1919
My dearest,
Ha! Joy! Tonight, for the first time, the radiator is spreading grateful warmth through these sunless apartments. We were nearly getting “friz,” and I have been wondering if it has been as cold in London as it has been here, and what about that little gas stove you talked about. Last Sunday it was perishing, and a cold driving rain. When I got up early in the afternoon, after a chilly night’s work, not a soul to be seen on the Quai Voltaire, except one inevitable couple of loveyveiers under one umbrella which blew inside out in the strong gale. No question of going out, and my room had to be “done,” so that I migrated downstairs into the cold little “salon,” where there are a few good pieces of old French furniture but no comforts, and where smoking is not encouraged. From a little bookshelf I took one of the few relics that odd wanderers must have left behind, and dived into “Joseph Vance” an “ill written biography” by William de Morgan. Found it rather boring at first; but afterwards had to give way to the horrible habit of reading in bed. If you can get it at the Library, or borrow it from somebody, read it and tell me what you think of it. Unless indeed you have already read it, which wouldn’t surprise me.
I wonder when you will get this letter with this railway strike going on. Now that quick and regular transport is of paramount importance, and there is money in it for all, these crazy people go and devise means for getting trade into a horrible mess. The news one reads about it here is rather confusing and contradictory but unless things get working again quickly we shall feel the pinch this coming winter and no mistake. Of course these people are stark mad, but they are mad everywhere, so perhaps it evens up all round.
Herewith father’s letter back, and glad to have seen it, as it gives evidence of his continued good health and spirits; also glad to hear about your outing with Minnie B, that pleased me so much, as I have been wondering what you would be doing with yourself now that the days are getting so much shorter and evenings lengthening. About Bill’s music lessons I would gladly let him have them but do you think he could wait till next term, when we shall know better where we are? I suppose it is the piano that is meant. As soon as I get back we must do some figuring, for it will be necessary to set aside a fund for income tax and holidays – not to mention possible doctors’ bills which Heaven forfend!
I hope both birthday parties passed off happily. Please pull Mary’s ears for writing “hankiciefs” for what she gave to Bill. Shame! Mary! You know better. Perhaps it was the toothache that got into the “hankiciefs”. I guess it was better when the fruit in the park came miraculously rolling their way!
I shall give you no information on the size of my waist but this much I can tell you: that I expect to wear my wedding breeks another season. Let that suffice.
We have just heard that a man of our Rome staff, a young fellow named Morgan, (who used to be in Paris) has got into Fiume among the D’Annunzio crowd by hiding among the coal in an engine tender. He tells about big lumps of coal bumping on his head as he jolted along the worn railway track in those parts. He must have been a sight for the gods when he got there!
Winter will soon be upon us now; only a few weeks ago the chestnut trees in the Champs Elysees were blossoming for the second time this season time this year; and I am afraid my wandering days in the country will be over, unless I happen on a fine day Friday. No word from Roberts yet; he hasn’t written to anybody here for a long time, but it is now getting time that he should come back to his post. I have just had the coat of my grey suit re-lined, as the old lining was getting too holey—what do you think they charged me? Forty-two francs!! Unfortunately I can’t put that on the office expense bill.
Remember me kindly to Mrs. Bacon; I still smoke one of her pipes; the other has given up the last puff. I am glad she is in a better way now. Love to the babes and to your dear self from
thine,
Jack
Paris Sept. 30, 1919
My dearest,
Ha! Joy! Tonight, for the first time, the radiator is spreading grateful warmth through these sunless apartments. We were nearly getting “friz,” and I have been wondering if it has been as cold in London as it has been here, and what about that little gas stove you talked about. Last Sunday it was perishing, and a cold driving rain. When I got up early in the afternoon, after a chilly night’s work, not a soul to be seen on the Quai Voltaire, except one inevitable couple of loveyveiers under one umbrella which blew inside out in the strong gale. No question of going out, and my room had to be “done,” so that I migrated downstairs into the cold little “salon,” where there are a few good pieces of old French furniture but no comforts, and where smoking is not encouraged. From a little bookshelf I took one of the few relics that odd wanderers must have left behind, and dived into “Joseph Vance” an “ill written biography” by William de Morgan. Found it rather boring at first; but afterwards had to give way to the horrible habit of reading in bed. If you can get it at the Library, or borrow it from somebody, read it and tell me what you think of it. Unless indeed you have already read it, which wouldn’t surprise me.
I wonder when you will get this letter with this railway strike going on. Now that quick and regular transport is of paramount importance, and there is money in it for all, these crazy people go and devise means for getting trade into a horrible mess. The news one reads about it here is rather confusing and contradictory but unless things get working again quickly we shall feel the pinch this coming winter and no mistake. Of course these people are stark mad, but they are mad everywhere, so perhaps it evens up all round.
Herewith father’s letter back, and glad to have seen it, as it gives evidence of his continued good health and spirits; also glad to hear about your outing with Minnie B, that pleased me so much, as I have been wondering what you would be doing with yourself now that the days are getting so much shorter and evenings lengthening. About Bill’s music lessons I would gladly let him have them but do you think he could wait till next term, when we shall know better where we are? I suppose it is the piano that is meant. As soon as I get back we must do some figuring, for it will be necessary to set aside a fund for income tax and holidays – not to mention possible doctors’ bills which Heaven forfend!
I hope both birthday parties passed off happily. Please pull Mary’s ears for writing “hankiciefs” for what she gave to Bill. Shame! Mary! You know better. Perhaps it was the toothache that got into the “hankiciefs”. I guess it was better when the fruit in the park came miraculously rolling their way!
I shall give you no information on the size of my waist but this much I can tell you: that I expect to wear my wedding breeks another season. Let that suffice.
We have just heard that a man of our Rome staff, a young fellow named Morgan, (who used to be in Paris) has got into Fiume among the D’Annunzio crowd by hiding among the coal in an engine tender. He tells about big lumps of coal bumping on his head as he jolted along the worn railway track in those parts. He must have been a sight for the gods when he got there!
Winter will soon be upon us now; only a few weeks ago the chestnut trees in the Champs Elysees were blossoming for the second time this season time this year; and I am afraid my wandering days in the country will be over, unless I happen on a fine day Friday. No word from Roberts yet; he hasn’t written to anybody here for a long time, but it is now getting time that he should come back to his post. I have just had the coat of my grey suit re-lined, as the old lining was getting too holey—what do you think they charged me? Forty-two francs!! Unfortunately I can’t put that on the office expense bill.
Remember me kindly to Mrs. Bacon; I still smoke one of her pipes; the other has given up the last puff. I am glad she is in a better way now. Love to the babes and to your dear self from
thine,
Jack
Original Format
Letter
To
Bouman Family
Files
Collection
Citation
Bouman, Jon Anthony, 1873-1958, “Jon Bouman to the Bouman Family,” 1919 September 30, WWP23069, Jon Anthony Bouman Collection, Woodrow Wilson Presidential Library & Museum, Staunton, Virginia.