PUBLISHED EVERY WEEK AT, 21, RUE RAYNOUARD, PARIS FIELD SERVICE DIPLOMAS A number of inquiries about the Field Service diplomas have been received from men who entered the Field Service as volunteers during the spring and summer of 1917 but who did not terminate a six months engagement before the ambulance or transport sections with which they were connected were taken over by the American Army. This situation was taken into account in awarding these diplomas to all volunteers of the Field Service who came to France before American troops arrived and who served for six months, or who continued in their sections until their sections were militarized. This means that diplomas will be given to all of the volunteers who arrived in France before July 1917 and who faithfully fulfilled their engagement up to the time that they were released, either by the dissolution ot their sections, or through their section's absorption by the American army. CONTEST Attention, s. v. p. All are invited to take part in the open-to-all- classes, no handicaps, Descriptive Competition which is now opened by these presents: Prize offered of Twenty Francs. Time limit is one month from date of this issue. The quantity limit is twelve hundred words for a short description of anything having to do with your experience in France to be printed in one issue. A two part story can have two thousand words approximately. RAVITAILLEMENT Papa, what did you do in the Great War? Well, my child, for the first six months I served my country if chef de popote in an ambulance section. Did you have many soldiers to command, papa ? Hush, my baby, I was elected to be commanded, commanded 1 y a multitude. They wore soldiers' clothes, yet were no soldiers... And then I will launch forth upon my painful Odyssey of that spring and summer of 1917, telling of my advent to the so-called front, of my labouriously acquired knowledge of French, and of my prompt upheaval from the humble, but oh so peaceful rank of conducteur, 2 classe to the glorious dignity and flowing title of chef de popote. The title was the only consoling feature of the post, and we, poor unimaginative Yankees were unable to discover a more eupho¬nious name than chef de popote variously abbreviated by the vulgar and uncharitable. At least, the British, with the courtly refinement bred in their very souls by three years of war, have graced the dignity with the more expressive and flattering title of mess president. Why could I not have been a president? (never mind the first half it is already an old joke). The word chef somehow brings one into much greater intimacy with stoves and frying pans and warm grease.But nothing could alter our time honored traditions, and I held my title, wearing, as badge of office, a knife and fork, rampant over red cross 011 field of horizon black (color of my thought during the coming months.The daily course of activity brought me into close contact with those glorious, but as yet unsung heroes of the French Army, known to the world as the Quartermaster Corps, but to the Ame-rican Field Service as Ravitymists.Search through the Allied armies from trench to base hospital, from bombing plane to carrier pigeon roost, and nowhere I guarantee will you find men more willing to accept a tactful gift, or more deeply imbued with the policy and doctrine of laissez faire.Watch them, under the vigilance of the officer in charge, throw the frosted cattle to the ground, and gently cleave it with axes, carefully weighing every piece and clipping of the surplus weight, that 110 shortage or loss to the government and our glorious cause may ensue.Watch me slip up with my meat bag tightly clutched, and pass it to the chief chopper, who ducks behind the car and remows the bottle from the bag to his hip pocket, returning to his wor'c, much encouraged, and merely waiting for the officer to pass down the line, before handing out a fifty per cent increase in our weight, carefully excluding all but the finest cuts.Sugar in scarce in France but Bull Durham tobacco is plentiful in the American Ambulance, so we manage to have sweet coffee, and, preserve large quantities of jam in the fruit season.We read of the shortage of fuel, and the shipping difficulties, but the Ambulanciers Amtricains must keep warm in winter, and their private rooms, office and messhalls be kept at a comfortably high temperature; so the art consists in leading the custodian of the coal heap into some distant corner, and telling him a good story, while the busy little assistant loads the camionnette to its full capacity 011 a hundred pound order. All ingenuity is lost however on the pinard gentleman, who mans the hose near the tank wagon and siphons the rosy liquid into the section barrel, by the hygienic and effective method of applying personal suction to the end of the hose, until he has a mouthful, and then allowing the wine to take its own course. In cold weather, the process is still further simplified, and probably made more sanitary by tlie official taking an axe and chopping off a piece of wine corresponding in weight to the quantity due. (Careful drivers are cautioned against keeping this wine too near the exhaust pipe on the ride, home. ) So much for government supplies. Then we have the buying from civilians of all the various delicacies, the little things that add that last touch of flavor. Somebody told us lie thought that salt, pepper, vinegar, oil and mustard just grew on the table, with the napkins and forks, until he took my job and discovered the bitter truth by personal experience. Washing soda, soap, eggs, vegetables, disli cloths, butter, fruit, grease, hors d'oeuvre, cheese, such are a few of the daily requirements, and it is necessary to reconcile the tastes and appetite of the men with the limited funds drudgingly doled cut by the section commander and pitilessly' mangled by that bottomless sink of iniquity and waste: the cook! We have enjoyed many varieties of cooks: the cook that drank, the cook that did not drink, but also did not cook; the cook that sold the section sugar for a place in the... sun; the cook that lost his kitchen during a move; and last but not least the cook that stood guard over the kitchen trailer with a rifle, the first time the Boclie planes blew over our camp. Oh pity the poor popotier of all ungrateful posts, he holds the worst. May his seat in Heaven be soft! P. A. RTK, S. S. U. 637 (old 19). A GLIMPSE When Dawn peeps over the low A is lie hills And star shells point to morning, And screaming obus send their thrills Through brave hearts in the borning; And then as Daylight grows apace, And boom the guns 110 more. Of things I sought, I see a trace, And this, I say, is War. David DARRAH, Reserve Mallet. PRESENT ACTIVITIES OF FORMER A. F. S. MEN. NOTRE POELE. When ycmv'e had a howling ride Down the steep and frozen side. Of the Valley where there's nothing but your paste, Where the snow blows bleak and bleary, And the night falls dark and dreary, And your frozen breath rides off, a white-draped ghost Then you sort of stamp the boards And you wish the naked swords. Could be sheathed just while you got a little warm; Or the wind would blow up hot As you leave the barren top. Of the Plateau and dip down by the ruined farm. But when with slide and slip The triage ends your icy trip And you've got your blesses safely tucked within, You jump upon your voiture And By Jove you're really glad you 're On your way to that old smoky Rita Tin. Some people talk and rant About their central heating plant. But the thing that always works in thick and thin Is our little franjaise poele That's neither large nor very small It's a soot-begetting-smoky Bita Tin. You can throw in rocks and dust And she'll burn it or she'll bust If you let her have her head and lots of chin You can rake her you can stoke But By Her Dirty Pipe she'll smoke So much, she'll camouflage that modest Bita Tin. She's a whiffle little chose, Though the Keeper hardly knows What insane caper she's in line for now She must not be fed too soon And when she burns just give her room For she'll backfire and Believe Me she knows how. When we've put the Fritz in Hell We'll get our Poele to roaring well And we'l smoke the Bums from neck to very chin. Then we'll hang the sooty Kaiser And we'll chuck the dirty miser In our smoking-sooty-roaring Bita Tin. Shade of Sixty Five. WAR AIN'T WHAT IT USED TO BE The fun has all been knocked out of it. Can't you remember when you got that grand and glorious feeling with a bulge in your side pocket where the permission papers just sort of oozed out with things written all over them that meant anything from ten days to two weeks? Biarritz, Chamonix, England, any place on the map of Europe wasn't too good for us. But GHQEAF has lost all its sense of the just and since the arrival of General Order 6749 we can't do anything for more than seven days. And it is almost impossible to break ones glasses now. Why just the other day we tried it and the Lieutenant made us put 011 our extra pair. And Paris! What are we going to do now since we can't go near the Place? ri will be deserted and those nice rooms that were going to be for us will have to lie idle. And the boulevards will be deserted! For wasn't it the Field Service Boys that kept Paris full and the Gendarmes 011 their jobs? Though Henry has gone his bar has not. It runs, but what for? My God what for? Probably waiting for the end of the war so that those natty boys of Piatt may again live their well earned and narrowly saved lives. No, War ain't what it used to be since General Order Number 6749 came. The only thing we have to live for now is our Field Service Diploma. The Shade of Sixty-Five. Just as a suggestion, Ed, before I yank this from the machine. Why don't you accept a short story or two. Make a limit to the bulk and see what the boys can turn in. We might guarrantee a couple or so with evidence of more forth coming. We have a little contest within our own doors. The sergeant, having nothing else to do, sits up nights and furnishes plots. S. S. U. 629 Convois Autos. A. E. F. Far B. C. M. France February 27, T918. Dear Sir, Am glad to announce to you that old S. S. U. 9 has just been cited for the second time in the following terms. La Section San it aire Americaine No. 629. Section Sanitaire oil tous les conducteurs rivalisent de zele et d'entrain. Le 20 fevrier 1918 la section, sous Pimpulsion energique de ses chefs, le Lieutenant americain Cogswell et le Lieutenant francais La Gerondiere a assure Pevacuation de tous les blesses avec uue rapidite, une discipline et un devouement dignes des plus grands eloges. We get a formal ceremony tomorrow or the day after. Sincerely yours, George Russell COGSWELL. VISITORS AT 21 RUE RAYNOUARD. W H. Cutler (S. S. U. 9) 1st. Lt. (Chaplain) 13th Engineers; J. M. Walker (S. S. U. 3) 2nd Lt. F. A.; B. Harper (T. M. U.. 526) 1st. Lt. Aviation; Vivian C. Neville Thompson (T. M. U. 133) American Mission Motor Transport Division; Bruce C. Hopper (T. M. U. 527) 1st. Lt. Pilot in Air Service; William J. Bingham (S. S. U. 30) 1st. Lt. U. S. A. A. S.; Harold M. Page (S. S. U. 65) Returning to IT. S. A. for Naval Aviation; Arthur M. Dallin (S. S. U. 1) French Artillery at Fontainebleau; John W. Ames, Jr (S. S. U. 2) French Artillery at Fontainebleau; Robert Chambers (S. S. U. 16) American Red Cross. Imprimerie RAVILLY 27, Rue Nicolo, 27 PARIS (XVI)