Dear Folks: A Wisconsin Soldier Writes Home

As James Barron sat in his classroom at Platteville's State Normal School in 1914, he likely never imagined that a few years later, he would trade those halls of learning for tents and abandoned buildings a world away. Like many of his generation, the young man found his life interrupted by World War I. James enlisted early and served mainly in France, an experience that was captured in three surviving letters the soldier wrote to his sister in Cuba City.

Image of James Barron courtesy of Jay Stienstra.

James Earl Barron was born and raised in Smelser Township on his family's farm west of Georgetown. Son of a Cornish miner-turned-prosperous-farmer, James had the opportunity to continue his education beyond that of many of his neighbors. His parents moved to Platteville when he was a teenager, and he entered the State Normal School after graduating from Platteville High School.

When war broke out, the 23-year-old aspiring teacher was quick to put his studies on hold, enlisting in Platteville's Company I, 4th Wisconsin Infantry, in April 1917.

The soldiers of Company I were sent to Camp MacArthur in Waco, Texas, for training, which included instruction in gas warfare, trench digging, and bayonet drills. At that time, James became part of the 107th Ammunition Train of the 32nd Division, a unit which would be responsible for keeping ammunition secure and transporting it to the front via motorized and horse-drawn vehicles. James and his comrades spent Thanksgiving and Christmas in Texas, awaiting news of their assignment overseas.

That day finally arrived and the 107th Ammunition Train sailed from New York on Feb 1, 1918. They made stops in Halifax, Nova Scotia, and Liverpool, England, before arriving in Le Havre, France. The army transport document below shows James Barron and fellow local boy, Homer Ralph, at the top of the list. James mentions Homer often in his letters home.

While James was in Europe, he was a prolific letter writer, always trying to respond to family and friends who had written him, and sometimes attempting more than ten letters in one sitting. Three of those were written to his sister and brother-in-law, Bessie and Alfred Daniels, of rural Cuba City, and can be viewed in their entirety at the end of the post. The three letters span the course of three months and follow James from the relative quiet of an Alsatian village to war-ravaged locales near the front. The letters are, in general, quite upbeat and the young soldier acknowledges that his experience was better than that of many enlisted men, but perhaps he was also withholding more disturbing details from his loved ones. These documents, coupled with a historical narrative of the 107th Ammunition Train's service, provide a fascinating glimpse into James's experience.

Envelope from James Barron's June 25, 1918 letter.

First page of James Barron's June 25, 1918 letter.

 

The first assignment for James and the 107th Ammunition Train was in the highly contested French-German border region of Alsace. They were stationed in the village of Roppe which, while not at the front, offered the soldiers some of their first sights and sounds of the "real" war. James mentioned occasionally seeing enemy German planes "that bear the black cross as an insignia."

Despite that, life was relatively quiet and some soldiers grew restless, thirsting for more action. To add to the monotony, a first bout of the "Spanish flu" that would have dire consequences for the world was working its way through the camp. Fortunately, it was a mild strain that affected James and his comrades--he reported chills and sore throat that lasted just a few days, though his bed of straw and blankets likely provided little comfort during his convalescence.

James was quite observant of his surroundings and was particularly interested in the agricultural practices he encountered, a nod back to his early life spent on his family's farm:

"The people are mostly farmers in this vicinity. Most of them drive or lead oxen. It seems queer to see a man or woman going down the road with a team of oxen, some of them are extra large. There is one team here that weighs over a ton each. Not far from here a farmer has one ox that only weighs 3400 lbs., it is sure some animal. It is haying time just at present, the mowing machines they use are some of them made in the States. I saw a Deering mower in use. The women do a lot of the work, pitch the hay on the wagon and off again."

Envelope from James Barron's August 20, 1918 letter.

First page of James Barron's August 20, 1918 letter.

By the time Barron penned his next letter, the 107th Ammunition Train had moved closer to the front, in the Château-Thierry region, between Paris and Reims. They were entering areas which had been looted and destroyed by retreating Germans and had to watch out for booby traps and lingering mustard gas. The soldiers encountered frequent shelling, as well as nightly bombing raids.

The pace of life had picked up for James and his fellow soldiers, and they worked constantly, sometimes night and day, with just a few hours of sleep captured during daylight hours. That sleep was done in  "all kinds of places," but James's lodging at the time of his letter was notable:

 

"Where I now am we are quartered in an old abandoned French house, it is a good place, plenty of air as the windows are all shot out and some time not long ago a fairly large shell exploded in one corner making a nice air hole. We have big thick mattresses to sleep on, expect that any time the owners will come along and claim them."

Despite the increased demands on his time, James did his best to respond to letters received from family members, and he even found time to write to "Goldie," editor Herman Goldthorpe of the Cuba City News-Herald, who published letters from soldiers in the local newspaper throughout the war.

Envelope from James Barron's September 20, 1918 letter.

 

First page from James Barron's September 20, 1918 letter.

Life had quieted down for James by his third letter, which found him "in a little French village," billeted in a barn, with straw for bedding. He was back in his element, surrounded by farmland, and he even helped the locals with their threshing in his spare time.

Much to the soldier's delight, the food situation had improved in this rural setting: "I am fine, getting heavier every day on bread and milk. Buy one or two big cups of milk every day. We built us a little stove, have all kinds of feeds now, hot milk, toast, fried eggs, fried potatoes and such." He and his fellow soldiers were also issued candy, gum, and "lots of tobacco."

This pleasant situation led to even better days ahead. James Barron survived the war, which ended less than two months after he wrote this letter. The soldier made it back to Wisconsin and, in the fall of 1919, returned to his studies at the Normal School, where he was a reporter for the student newspaper, The Exponent, played football, basketball, and baseball, and served as senior class president.

 

 

 

 

Images of James Barron from The Pioneer, 1920.

 

After completing his studies, Barron worked as a principal and manual arts teacher briefly in Wausau before marrying and moving to Beloit, where he spent the rest of his life. James and his wife, Frances, had two children, James and Myra. He died in 1964 at the age of 70.

 

All three wartime letters written by James Barron to his sister may be viewed here:

 

John C. Acker's memoir of his time with the 107th Ammunition Train is the perfect complement to James Barron's letters: