It was dated 28 OCT 1918 and mailed through the US Military Postoffice Service.

I noticed he spelled Mother's name wrong ie:Myril Christy instead of Myrl Cristy.

It was sent to 3536 Ford Ave. Kansas City, Kansas USA (before zip codes.) It was getting so dim I thought I'd try to make a hard copy.

There are places difficult to read, but this is close to the original. (Words or letters left out but understood were included in ( ). The school teacher still has her red pencil in hand, it seems.

A.E.F.Framce

Oct. 24-18

My Dearest Myril,

I haven't written for several days but it isn't because I didn't want to or have forgotten you. But honest, Myril, it is awfully hard to write at all. It is Thursday evening about 6 o'clock.

I just came back from supper. We had beans, bread, jam and coffee. You know I have often wondered why everyone thinks all a soldier eats is beans.

I understand since I came to a hospital I don't believe there has (been) a day that we haven't had beans since I have been here and that will be a month Monday.

This is sur(e)ly a gloomy place nothing but low concrete buildings and tents, absolutely no amusement and you are lucky if you get a magazine.

Of all the faces one can see here and still you can't recognize any one. I have gotten a(c)quainted with a fellow a little older than I but have found him to be an interesting companion.

Jolly good natured and seems to be just the kind of guy that appeals to me. He has been married for three years but you see it was three years ago that he lost his mind so I can look over that.

We were talking over old times today to pass the time away I guess. His and my adventures seem to have been about the same. After our conversation I got to thinking very strong about times gone by and believe me I got the blues then.

I got a magazine from a guy, read a story and that only made the blues stronger. It was a story of a love affair in springtime. It reminded me very much of the early summer of 1917.

I believe those first few months after we met one Sunday evening in the park were the happiest days of my life. Of course you know the Sunday of which I speak.

Well dear I must close can't think of a thing. Am sending my best wishes for your happiness this Thanksgiving Day. This won't reach you much before that time I'm sure.

Here is a picture of the man that wrote this in his later years.