That's War: An Authentic Diary

William A. Sirmon

• Publisher: Lucknow Books
• Year: 2015
• eBook ISBN: 9781786256904
• Topic: History
• Subtopic: Military Biographies
• Index: History

That's War is a diary of the authentic experiences of Lt. William Arthur Sirmon from January 1, 1918 to November 12, 1918. In this account of a regular officer in the 82nd Division, 325th Infantry, you are led through ten chapters of a heartfelt, attention-grabbing journey. It starts out at Ft. Gordon, Georgia, where Sirmon was in charge of training soldiers. His story takes you across the beautiful, yet run down, terrain of France.
William Arthur Sirmon spent more than four years prior to 1917 as an officer of the Philippine Constabulary, serving primarily in Mindanao, the "Island of Blood". He was the most highly decorated soldier from Georgia, and it is believed, of the entire Great War. February 16th, 1919, only he and Sergeant Alvin York were awarded The Legion of Honor of France, Distinguished Service Cross and the Croix de Guerre with Palm by General Pershing. These accolades made him an honorary citizen of England and France.
This diary is not completely blood and guts, but surprisingly light for the most part. It describes the day-to-day life of typical American doughboys and the obstacles they faced through the entire war. That's War is a great read filled with excitement and humor, with education and entertainment throughout.—Print Ed.

CHAPTER ONE—TRANSFORMATION

January 1st, 1918. Camp Gordon, Georgia. The day of resolutions. I have made none. If the old adage about the routine of the first day of the new year being the routine of the 364 to follow it holds true for 1918, I am stuck for guard duty for a long, long time. I stood Reveille at six o’clock as officer of the guard. Inspected the guard three times during the morning. I was relieved at one o’clock and went on duty with the company. The afternoon was dull and drizzly. Private Beck of Company “L” gathered some of the talent drafted into the Service and gave an entertainment at the Officers’ Club in the evening. There were Keith circuit stars and a jazz drummer from the Knickerbocker Hotel in New York, in his cast. I was impressed by the varied talent that has been called to the colors “To Make the World Safe for Democracy.”

January 3. Reveille seemed to follow retreat. I was startled out of bed at 5:15. At seven o’clock we marched about two miles out of camp and were issued picks and shovels. There were two hundred yards of trenches to be dug, and we had two days in which to dig them. We put men to work, two shovels and a pick to every three yards, and the snow-bound earth began to open up. Marching out through the pine groves I remarked the beautiful effect the soft, white veil gave the forest of green. Everywhere were the tiny tracks of rabbits. The frigid north had wedded, for a day, our sunny Dixieland. I cannot compliment our mess officer on the lunch he gave us. Nobody was overburdened internally by any means. We pushed frozen toes into the ashes at intervals all morning. A fine spirit marked the work and the men sang songs of the day when we go to France.

January 4th. I have known many people, but none who are so prompt as the bugler who breaks my slumber at 5:15 every morning. He is never late. I peek out the window and see the stars fading from the heavens, but there is little to indicate that the sun is nearing the horizon. Is it any wonder that the American Army from coast to coast is singing with marked feeling—

“Oh how I hate to get up in the morning,

Oh how I’d like to remain in bed.

But the saddest blow of all,

Is when I hear that bugle call—

‘You’ve got to get up,

‘You’ve got to get up,

‘You’ve got to get up this morning.’

Some day I’m going to murder the bugler,

Some day you’re going to find him dead.

I’ll amputate his Reveille,

And step upon it heavily,

And spend the rest of my life in bed.”

Back to the trenches again in the mud and snow. Though our feet were often cold, we were warm hearted and of good spirits, and the trying weather was lost in considering the reason for it all. Our days in France are sure to come, and we know that we must dig there, where every stroke of the pick must do the most good. We must learn now how best to direct our energies, for the Boche will not hold his fire while we take lessons “over there.” We were finished by eleven o’clock and were given a half-holiday. I stood retreat at four thirty.

January 5th. Reveille today brought anxiety to all company officers. News had come down from the mighty seat of the Division Commander that we would have a general inspection. It developed, however, that but one company would be selected from our Regiment, this one to be thoroughly inspected. My own apprehensions were eased by my appointment as acting Battalion Adjutant for the day. Company “D” of the First Battalion was selected, missing us entirely. I bore the good news to our Company Commanders with a remorseful face. As I approached each one of the withered believing his company would be inspected. Noting their uneasiness, I began each report with, “Sir, the cruel hand of misfortune has fallen most heavily upon—” and when I paused they would almost faint before I could add, “Company ‘D’.” Then the sun blinked in the face of smile from the Commander’s face. I was offered the Battalion Adjutant’s job as a permanent dish, but was permitted to remain with my platoon when I expressed my preference. Went to town with Captain Whatley. Spent the night at the Kimball House.

January 7th. The bugler, evidently angered because I escaped the fierce attack of his Sunday morning Reveille, blasted the tenth hour of my slumber with a fusillade of C notes, I believe, before the usual time. Just the same, I responded. The ground, wet and sloppy, made drills slow and disagreeable. I like snap in my drills.

News that the whole Regiment is to be confined in camp until all enlisted men are clothed, came down in the form of an order from the Commanding General—the effect of a Congressional investigation now being made to determine the reason for the lack of clothing for our soldiers. The fault is not hard to place here. At six thirty we had a lecture by some Britisher on trench mortars.

January 8th. Reveille brought me out of my bunk with a bad cold. When assembly sounded I could only whisper “Here.” It was a cold day and I was excused from outdoor work after the first hour. I studied “Modem Weapons of War” beside a good fire—a very unusual luxury. I ventured out again in the afternoon and reported to Captain McWhorter at one o’clock for instruction in grenade throwing. We had a short workout and then attended a lecture on the history of grenades, by a French Captain. He was a failure at reading English and surrendered the manuscript to Captain McWhorter, who failed even worse considering the opportunities each have had to learn the “Queen’s English.”

I located my long lost trunk after the lecture. It was stranded, tag less, at Chamblee. Stood retreat at four thirty and lectured N.C.O.’s on “Modem Weapons” from six to seven.

January 9th. Just like a good little soldier, I stood Reveille at the appointed hour of 5:15.1 mention the fact every day because it is a daily occurrence and leaves a cold, chilly statue in my mind—a shivering pair of pajamas put aside for a uniform. Every morning I am reminded of a little ditty to one of the boys in the Second Training Camp.

“J. Ed Bell

Says, ‘who can tell,

Whether five o’clock Reveille

Or War is hell?’”

The weather man sprang a surprise attack on us during the night, and this morning we were greeted by a timid white out-of-doors instead of the rough and ruddy clay hills of Georgia. It would seem that all of this snow has come to keep the Yankee boys who are training in the South from becoming homesick. We followed an indoor program all morning. We were very pleasantly surprised at the Officers’ meeting by having the restrictions keeping us confined to camp, removed, so none of us lost the half holiday. However, I did not leave camp but devoted the afternoon to study. I dined at the Hostess House with Lieutenant and Mrs. Vass.

January 10th. There is no use in repeating the fact that I stood Reveille at 5:15, but I did it, and am going to record that momentous event. After inspecting my platoon squad room I set about trying to get together enough lumber to complete a wall on an obstacle course for my physical exercises. I covered about twenty square mile of territory and stumbled into every Q.M. office in Camp Gordon. I finally got so many O.K.’s on my requisition that I was convinced its validity would not be questioned, so I quit my travels, got a wagon and attached a lumber yard. I had just loaded one load when General Cronin came along, countermanded Captain Hawkins’ orders, and I had to tear out two weeks’ work already completed on the course, and unload my wagon. Such is life in the army. Afternoon spent at grenade school. Have been sick with a cold all day. A yawn, and goodnight.

January 11th. All Reveille is bad, but some Reveille is damnable. This morning was about the limit. During the night about six inches of snow fell. Then came hail and sleet. At 5:15 it was raining hard, and was pretty cold. In all of this I marched over for Reveille. Daylight did not improve the weather a bit. I call today the most disagreeable I have spent in many years, but I guess we’ll get plenty of the same medicine in France. To add to the unpleasantness I discovered that the Quartermaster had failed to deposit my salary with the First National Bank of Mobile, and my checks were charged against my father’s account. I had it straightened out, but of course greatly regretted it. I forgot my Sunday School lesson—not an entirely new thing with me. I did not go to grenade school for I had a bad cold and did not want to risk it in such bad weather. Lectured to Non-Coms of my platoon on “Field Fortifications.” Arranged weekend and guard fosters for Officers.

January 12th. Reveille did not draw me out of a very comfortable bed, but it brought me out into the coldest weather it has ever been my experience to feel. Flat zero on a damp, misty morning, with a twenty mile wind cutting around the comers is not so hot. We followed an indoor schedule all morning. I conducted the inspection of my platoon and lectured on target preparation the entire forenoon. At eleven thirty we were advised that we could not leave camp until we had put an allotment blank on file for every man in our Company. We were the first out. Missed dinner working on allotments. Went to Atlanta with Captain Whatley and Lieutenants Duncan and Thompson. We walked two miles, then caught a truck which we rode for four miles, then caught a street car eight miles in. Saw Neil O’Brien’s Minstrels at the Atlanta. Not up to standard. Spent the night in room 104, Kimball House.

January 15th. With pneumonia running wild in army camps, I treat a bad cold with plenty of respect. I kept mine with me in bed when Reveille sounded. I did not impose the obligation of standing Reveille upon it. I did nothing, in fact, calculated to give it an excuse to rush into pneumonia and start housekeeping in my lungs. All day I kept it very well covered in bed. Captains Whatley and Hawkins called several times to see me. I was transferred to the machine gun company, but managed to wiggle out of it and stayed here with Captain Whatley, my side kicker. A day in bed is a bad thing in quarters that are not heated. At the end of the day I feel that I would be better off if I had walked around all day. Trotsky story of the Bolsheviki started in the Atlanta Constitution. I am afraid of this publication of radical Socialists views.

January 16th. A man is never a fool until he admits the fact himself. Since crawling out of bed, when I had been told to stay there, to stand Reveille at 5:15, I am pretty thoroughly convinced in my own case. However I did not want to stay in bed all day, and if I missed Reveille and then joined my platoon later, my men would have felt that I was just lazy and did not get up in time, and it would have made a bad impression upon them. Therefore I crawled out, much as I hated to do it. These little things count in the end. I did not stay in bed all day because I do not believe my men keep up the snap I have put into them when other officers drill them. Have had a severe headache all day. Conducted the physical drill this morning. The afternoon was a half holiday. I stayed in camp and wrote letters, almost catching up with my back correspondence. The day has been a hard one from every angle. Rain, snow and sleet, all within an hour, came down during the afternoon. I feel much better than I did about 1 p.m.

January 17th. Lest I forget the fact, I again record that I stood Reveille at 5:15. I swiped Lieutenant Thompson’s bed for the night, and it was warmer at the early hour than at any time during the night. It is a strange thing. I sleep cold, but wake up warm. Wonder if that damned bugler has anything to do with it?

Conducted physical drill of the whole company. Had a fine morning’s workout with my platoon in close and extended drills, bombing exercises, bayonet work, patrolling and an hour’s lecture on courtesy and discipline. My men displayed lots of pep and smartness and I was greatly pleased at the end of the morning’s work. These are real men in my platoon. I like to study them. Some are Italians from the East Side whom I can hardly understand. We have had to make out naturalization papers for many of them—they are not even American citizens yet. Then there are the backwoods boys from Georgia and Alabama, slow of motion and drawling in speech, but certain of performance. Whipped into unison by training, and woven together by discipline, this All-American platoon of mine is a real fighting unit. To give it the final spark of fire is the spirit of America’s Democracy. I have no qualms whatever as to how they’ll behave under their first baptism of lead and shrapnel.

In the afternoon I went to bombing school, and in the competitive throwing I was best among the officers in training. I saw Major Longstreet about saddles for ...

Table of contents

• Title page
• TABLE OF CONTENTS
• DEDICATION
• CHAPTER ONE-TRANSFORMATION
• CHAPTER TWO-THE CROSSING
• CHAPTER THREE-FLOWERS OF PEACE-BIRDS OF WAR
• CHAPTER FOUR-THE FRONTIER OF FREEDOM.
• CHAPTER FIVE-GHOSTS OF NO MAN’S LAND
• CHAPTER SIX-DARKNESS AND DEATH.
• CHAPTER SEVEN-THE TOURIST
• CHAPTER EIGHT-AMERICA AT THE POST OF HONOR
• CHAPTER NINE-THE ELOQUENCE OF ARTILLERY
• CHAPTER TEN-PEACE
• Illustrations