Jon Bouman to the Bouman Family
Title
Jon Bouman to the Bouman Family
Creator
Bouman, Jon Anthony, 1873-1958
Identifier
WWP23070
Date
1919 October 9
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 Oct. 9/19
My dearest,
I suppose the mails are still more or less in a disturbed state; your last letter dated the 2nd has the postmark of the 3rd and arrived the 5th but now the arrears ought to be about cleared away, and I hope Mary got her birthday letter after all. How does Bill like his school? Is he happy there?
The news that you and I are waiting for, i.e. about my return to London is still in abeyance. Nothing from Roberts; I expect he will arrive suddenly; he has written to no one here; but time is getting on,; I remember you wrote in August that October seemed such a long way off, and here we are nearly halfway through the month; so the turning in the long lane ought not to be far off.
The other day I was glad to be able to cheer up little Mrs. Hiath with the news that General Harbord’s mission which her husband accompanied to Armenia was on its way back and she might expect her husband very soon. I spoke too soon, for the next day a cable came from New York to instruct Hiath to remain in Constantinople for the present to follow the present to follow the Turkish situation, and see if there was any chance of going with General Denikin's army towards Moscow! Nice job traveling through southern Russia these times! Fortunately for you, such missions are not in my line, as they want native Americans for that, as they have a right to assistance and protection from whatever American commanders or authorities are on the spot, and what difference that little point of nationality makes I found out when I was trying to get from The Hague to Paris!
The first annual report of the AP’s pension scheme has appeared and about half a dozen old stagers have been pensioned off, among them, much to my surprise, a man named Goudey who was with me on the old United Press and was discharged in 1897 when the Laffan Bureau took it over, since when, he has been with the AP in New York, I presume. Goudey must be about 65 now; he was a miserable specimen of a man twenty years ago, weary and worn, full of aches and pains, lived on charcoal biscuits and buttermilk, a nutarian and fruitarian and a sabbatarian and a valetudinarian, all of which earned him the profound contempt of the Falstaffian David Moffat. All the same, Moffat has been dead these many years and John Goudey has lived to draw a pension, which I would never have thought!
I forgot to tell you about a little scene I saw last Friday when making my way to the St. Cloud tram. Through the back streets behind the Louvre, between 12:30 and 1, all the midinettes and shopgirls had just had their lunch and were assembled around three or four swarthy mandolinists and such, who sang ballads, and they sang very well too. They distributed the music around and it was quite a sight, reminiscent of the times of De Musset, to see all these girls and young lads looking over each others shoulders, singing away with perfectly serious faces, for it was a sentimental ditty, after which “a collection was held”. A taxi driver came along but was stopped by the crowd. He caught my eye and smiled, when I called out to him: “Cinq minutes d’arret!” He nodded amiably and folded his arms, while he listened to the music. Can you imagine such a thing happening in London?
I noticed the other day in the papers that Oulahan had got married again; either a widow or a divorcee—at any rate a Mrs. in America.
Tomorrow, Friday, I am off on a tramp again, if the weather keeps fair, and will send a postcard. Did you get all the four cards from St. Michel-sur Orge? Your letter wasn’t very clear as to whether you got one, or all four. Did they arrive altogether?
I am living quite well, and as thin as ever. Hope your arm is on the mend, let me know, dear.
With best love to all,
Thine,
Jack
Paris Oct. 9/19
My dearest,
I suppose the mails are still more or less in a disturbed state; your last letter dated the 2nd has the postmark of the 3rd and arrived the 5th but now the arrears ought to be about cleared away, and I hope Mary got her birthday letter after all. How does Bill like his school? Is he happy there?
The news that you and I are waiting for, i.e. about my return to London is still in abeyance. Nothing from Roberts; I expect he will arrive suddenly; he has written to no one here; but time is getting on,; I remember you wrote in August that October seemed such a long way off, and here we are nearly halfway through the month; so the turning in the long lane ought not to be far off.
The other day I was glad to be able to cheer up little Mrs. Hiath with the news that General Harbord’s mission which her husband accompanied to Armenia was on its way back and she might expect her husband very soon. I spoke too soon, for the next day a cable came from New York to instruct Hiath to remain in Constantinople for the present to follow the present to follow the Turkish situation, and see if there was any chance of going with General Denikin's army towards Moscow! Nice job traveling through southern Russia these times! Fortunately for you, such missions are not in my line, as they want native Americans for that, as they have a right to assistance and protection from whatever American commanders or authorities are on the spot, and what difference that little point of nationality makes I found out when I was trying to get from The Hague to Paris!
The first annual report of the AP’s pension scheme has appeared and about half a dozen old stagers have been pensioned off, among them, much to my surprise, a man named Goudey who was with me on the old United Press and was discharged in 1897 when the Laffan Bureau took it over, since when, he has been with the AP in New York, I presume. Goudey must be about 65 now; he was a miserable specimen of a man twenty years ago, weary and worn, full of aches and pains, lived on charcoal biscuits and buttermilk, a nutarian and fruitarian and a sabbatarian and a valetudinarian, all of which earned him the profound contempt of the Falstaffian David Moffat. All the same, Moffat has been dead these many years and John Goudey has lived to draw a pension, which I would never have thought!
I forgot to tell you about a little scene I saw last Friday when making my way to the St. Cloud tram. Through the back streets behind the Louvre, between 12:30 and 1, all the midinettes and shopgirls had just had their lunch and were assembled around three or four swarthy mandolinists and such, who sang ballads, and they sang very well too. They distributed the music around and it was quite a sight, reminiscent of the times of De Musset, to see all these girls and young lads looking over each others shoulders, singing away with perfectly serious faces, for it was a sentimental ditty, after which “a collection was held”. A taxi driver came along but was stopped by the crowd. He caught my eye and smiled, when I called out to him: “Cinq minutes d’arret!” He nodded amiably and folded his arms, while he listened to the music. Can you imagine such a thing happening in London?
I noticed the other day in the papers that Oulahan had got married again; either a widow or a divorcee—at any rate a Mrs. in America.
Tomorrow, Friday, I am off on a tramp again, if the weather keeps fair, and will send a postcard. Did you get all the four cards from St. Michel-sur Orge? Your letter wasn’t very clear as to whether you got one, or all four. Did they arrive altogether?
I am living quite well, and as thin as ever. Hope your arm is on the mend, let me know, dear.
With best love to all,
Thine,
Jack
Original Format
Letter
To
Bouman Family
Files
Collection
Citation
Bouman, Jon Anthony, 1873-1958, “Jon Bouman to the Bouman Family,” 1919 October 9, WWP23070, Jon Anthony Bouman Collection, Woodrow Wilson Presidential Library & Museum, Staunton, Virginia.