Jon Bouman to the Bouman Family

Jon Bouman to the Bouman Family

Bouman, Jon Anthony, 1873-1958

WWP23040

1919 May 20

Letter from Jon Bouman to his family.

Gift of William C. and Evelina Suhler

Correspondence

Paris Peace Conference (1919-1920)

Rachel Dark

Denise Montgomery

Austin Shifflett

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.

Dearest, -

    Thanks for the trouble you have taken at Flowerdews. I think I will let matters take their course now; I am not in a hurry so long as I know “where I are”, and I have today got my passport renewed for another year; to my great surprise it was done in 5 minutes: price 15 francs; I was afraid there would be all sorts of delays. So now I’m allright for the trip home, barring different visas; I don’t know what they may bring forth, but I will have to wait for that until later.

    I also put £40 into my bank today and had to pay 30.50 francs for a pound, isn’t it wicked, the normal rate is 25. So in a few days I will send you £38.3- which includes 3 gs, for the boy’s specs. What about those photos, aren’t they done yet? Yes, a watch for Bill wouldn’t be a bad idea; at one time I thought I would give him mine, when I got that wristwatch, if I knew he would care for it and prize it as I do; it has been my faithful companion for upwards of 30 years.

    The Joan of Arc celebration last Sunday was quite interesting; I don’t love crowds, but the Parisian crowd hasn’t lost its attraction of newness to me yet, so I mixed with it. The procession of people from Alsace Lorraine in their picturesque costumes was worth seeing.

    By the way, I wrote the children about the Parisian bank holiday but I didn’t tell them about an enchanting sight, a young woman in the deepest mourning riding on a pig in a roundabout to a jazz band tune! It was an odd sight.

    At the Joan of Arc celebration street hawkers sold all kinds of souvenirs, and I got some for the bairns. If you think of something else for Bill, let me know, I confess his case stumps me, though I scrutinize shop windows. No end of choices for you girls, but boys of his age are difficult.

    Is your landlady still decent? My fierce owly one is fiercer than ever. She has had a row with the meek one, and the latter has been driven away, to be replaced by another weak looking person. I think the lady is given to hectoring her subordinates and I am sure she loves no one but her silly fat dog; I wish the girls could see him, he looks completely silly through being overfed and getting no exercise; I am sure he will die when she dies.

    For your edification I enclose a story about the life of an American journalist here; it was written by Charles Smith, formerly our St. Petersburg correspondent and now attached to Paris. It is quite amusing, and true enough.

    In a few days it will be the 14th anniversary; too bad we should have to be separated; but maybe twill be the last we shall not be together. That reminds me, it is really nothing, compared with the case of Mrs. Hiatt, the Italian wife of our correspondent at Budapest who came to see us recently; she hadn’t heard from her husband for some time and wondered whether he had been cast in jail or executed by the bolshevists. Happily I just had received a wire from him, so her fears were soon allayed. They have three boys of the age of our children, who speak English, French, and Italian with equal fluency.

    I forgot to tell you that Mrs. Frank Grundy narrowly escaped death the other day; she was run over by a motorcycle, fortunately got off with a few bruises but it happened in one of the busiest streets, Rue de Rivoli. But she is allright again, only grumbling because old Frank could not have a day off yesterday as it was her birthday. It was due him too, but we are shorthanded now with different numbers of the staff being temporarily placed elsewhere.

    With all my love dearest,

Letter

Bouman Family