Jon Bouman to the Bouman Family
Title
Jon Bouman to the Bouman Family
Creator
Bouman, Jon Anthony, 1873-1958
Identifier
WWP23125
Date
1923 November 21
Description
Letter from Jon Bouman to his family.
Source
Gift of William C. and Evelina Suhler
Subject
Germany--History--1918-1933
Correspondence
Berlin, Germany
Contributor
Rachel Dark
Denise Montgomery
Language
English
Requires
PROOFREADING
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
Adlon; 21st Nov. 1923
Dearest,
I received your first letter yesterday, much to my content. I was glad you were all right, and hope Goo Goo didn’t do any damage about the house. I am afraid my first letter was rather rambling; new impressions came quickly tumbling on top of each other. Life here is too hectic for anything – I could go on talking about the exchange difficulties for hours; one day one 16 billion marks for pound 1 and the next day maybe 26 billions; and the trouble one has in getting the cash; I have just got my laundry bill for only half a week; it comes to 8,550,000,000,000; this is no joke but the honest truth. On Sunday afternoon Bodker (of Reuters) asked me to tea at his home where Moloney used to live; a large flat of 8 rooms; his wife and the wives of other correspondents are worried to death about servants and how to buy, as prices change so often, always upward, and certain things not to be had at all. There was dancing to the strains of a gramophone, and one man who knew Russian sand the Song of the Volga Boatmen very well. All the English correspondents were there: Daniels of the Times, Spray of the Chronicle, Greenwall of the Express; a couple of Frenchmen, several Americans and my old friend Del Vayo of Buenos Aires with his Swiss wife; they have a baby boy whom they have left with grandparents in Switzerland as they cannot get any milk here. On Monday the Browns asked me to lunch instead of at home I found them both in the Adlon bar, with the former American Vice Consul Krogh of Rotterdam whom I used to see often; and a New York Herald man. After drinks we went to the Browns’ flat, most luxuriously equipped tho’ in shocking bad taste, despite some exquisite pieces of Dutch marqueterie. Both Browns are getting very fat and flabby: I think they will pay some day for their high living.
‘Howe has come back today from Oels where the ex-crown prince is, Interest has petered out there, and Roberts has gone back today from Munich to Paris, and now we are waiting to see where the next outburst is going to be.
We have two young German students in the office who are able to do enough translating work, but they don’t know journalese well enough to draft cables or write stories; They are studying for their degrees and make a bit of money working for us; one of them is a very bright lad but of course without experience. He wants to go to America.
We are kept busy all day long; there are always party meetings or cabinet councils going on until impossible hours – everthing is vague and things just happen along; matters have a way of looming up seemingly important and then fade away into nothingness and then something else comes lumbering along. It is a strange life here. This is a church holiday –The Day of Humiliation as they call it, and all shops are closed. I took my first walk in the Tiergarten this afternoon. Foreign postage has been suddenly doubled, from 40 to 80 milliards, and all prices up again accordingly. I saw one respectfully dressed woman yesterday pick up a raw potato from the gutter, wipe it carefully, and put it in her bag. Another woman tipped the contents of a horse’s nosebag into her handbag when the driver wasn’t looking probably kept a goat for which she couldn’t afford any fodder. There are all sorts of tragedies happening daily, and fighting in the workmen’s quarters in the suburbs, where bread carts are attacked and food shops plundered, and how it will all end the Lord alone knows.
With much love to you all,
Thine,
Jack.
Dearest,
I received your first letter yesterday, much to my content. I was glad you were all right, and hope Goo Goo didn’t do any damage about the house. I am afraid my first letter was rather rambling; new impressions came quickly tumbling on top of each other. Life here is too hectic for anything – I could go on talking about the exchange difficulties for hours; one day one 16 billion marks for pound 1 and the next day maybe 26 billions; and the trouble one has in getting the cash; I have just got my laundry bill for only half a week; it comes to 8,550,000,000,000; this is no joke but the honest truth. On Sunday afternoon Bodker (of Reuters) asked me to tea at his home where Moloney used to live; a large flat of 8 rooms; his wife and the wives of other correspondents are worried to death about servants and how to buy, as prices change so often, always upward, and certain things not to be had at all. There was dancing to the strains of a gramophone, and one man who knew Russian sand the Song of the Volga Boatmen very well. All the English correspondents were there: Daniels of the Times, Spray of the Chronicle, Greenwall of the Express; a couple of Frenchmen, several Americans and my old friend Del Vayo of Buenos Aires with his Swiss wife; they have a baby boy whom they have left with grandparents in Switzerland as they cannot get any milk here. On Monday the Browns asked me to lunch instead of at home I found them both in the Adlon bar, with the former American Vice Consul Krogh of Rotterdam whom I used to see often; and a New York Herald man. After drinks we went to the Browns’ flat, most luxuriously equipped tho’ in shocking bad taste, despite some exquisite pieces of Dutch marqueterie. Both Browns are getting very fat and flabby: I think they will pay some day for their high living.
‘Howe has come back today from Oels where the ex-crown prince is, Interest has petered out there, and Roberts has gone back today from Munich to Paris, and now we are waiting to see where the next outburst is going to be.
We have two young German students in the office who are able to do enough translating work, but they don’t know journalese well enough to draft cables or write stories; They are studying for their degrees and make a bit of money working for us; one of them is a very bright lad but of course without experience. He wants to go to America.
We are kept busy all day long; there are always party meetings or cabinet councils going on until impossible hours – everthing is vague and things just happen along; matters have a way of looming up seemingly important and then fade away into nothingness and then something else comes lumbering along. It is a strange life here. This is a church holiday –The Day of Humiliation as they call it, and all shops are closed. I took my first walk in the Tiergarten this afternoon. Foreign postage has been suddenly doubled, from 40 to 80 milliards, and all prices up again accordingly. I saw one respectfully dressed woman yesterday pick up a raw potato from the gutter, wipe it carefully, and put it in her bag. Another woman tipped the contents of a horse’s nosebag into her handbag when the driver wasn’t looking probably kept a goat for which she couldn’t afford any fodder. There are all sorts of tragedies happening daily, and fighting in the workmen’s quarters in the suburbs, where bread carts are attacked and food shops plundered, and how it will all end the Lord alone knows.
With much love to you all,
Thine,
Jack.
Original Format
Letter
To
Bouman Family
Files
Collection
Citation
Bouman, Jon Anthony, 1873-1958, “Jon Bouman to the Bouman Family,” 1923 November 21, WWP23125, Jon Anthony Bouman Collection, Woodrow Wilson Presidential Library & Museum, Staunton, Virginia.