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February 24, 1973.

Dear Wanda, Jessica and Ted:

My association with the British in World War I was brief but pleasant.  It began when we boarded the Adriatic the morning of September 8, 1917.  The Adriatic was one of the White Star (later merged with Cunard) line's big passenger ships.  It had not yet been remodeled for troop carrying, so we enjoyed the usual amenities of an ocean voyage in peacetime.  As an officer I was entitled to first class passage.  But being of the lowest rank I drew the cheapest of first class accommodations.  I had an inside stateroom.  It was small, I estimated 6 by 7 feet.  But it was mine own, and each morning the bath steward knocked on my door to announce "Bahth ready, sir".  I had never been so pampered before.  (Coming back 14 months later, on the American ship Finland, I shared two-decker bunks, in a stuffy room only slightly larger, with three other wounded officers.  Nobody cared whether we took a bath or not.  There were showers but not enough, and it was hard to find a stall vacant.)

Nevertheless the Adriatic on this voyage was functioning as a troop carrier.  When we arrived at the pier it was already taking on the men and gear of the 101st Field Artillery.  That continued for 36 hours after we had gone aboard.  The tugs did not pull us away from the pier until late in the afternoon of Sunday, the 9th.  Meanwhile we were required not to show ourselves on any of the outside decks.  It seemed to be a rather futile effort to hide from the German intelligence what was going on.  Nearly all the first class passengers were American officers, either of the 101st or men being sent over unattached as we were.  I don't think there were more than half a dozen civilian passengers.  There was Lady Drummond, a handsome, amiable old dowager who spent an hour each morning giving French lessons to any of us who cared to sit in.  I attended her class regularly.  I met a Professor Trowbridge, a physicist from Princeton, who was going over to work with the British on some technical problem.  And there was Sir Gilbert Parker, a Canadian novelist whose books were then quite popular though they are now forgotten.  I can't even recall any of his titles, but he made an urbane speech one evening at dinner.