Philip A Embury Journal #3

for the first on Saturday. My luck still follows me.

Sunday July 28 ‘18.

Saw Charlie Knox, and had dinner with him. He gave me a lot of dope on M.C. fellows that are over here in aviation.

Wednesday July 31 ‘18.

Went on rulliers this morning. I couldn’t get by, and so had to go back for more work in the afternoon. Got by O.K. then. Larrie Higgins and one other fellow turned over on their noses.

Friday August 2 ‘18.

Went down town this morning. Gee! what a dead town.

Saturday August 3 ‘18.

After much talking I managed to get a pass to Selles-sur-Chere to see Dave. Left here at 10:30 and arrived at Chatillon at 3:30. Walked to Chateau Murrielle. Dave has a wonderful place. All the comforts of home with plenty of servents. War is not hard for him now, but he expects, and wants, to go to the front this month. I wont envy him his quarters there. Dave and I went down to the village store and had a little wine to celebrate the ocasion on, and then went to the Y.M.C.A. tent and kidded the ladies there. Dave is some kidder.

Sunday Aug 4 ‘18.

I slept with Dave in his nice feather bed. My bunk is nothing like his. After lunch Dave took me to the station, and then sent the driver back with the car and went to Vierzon with me on the train. We had dinner together in Vierzon. I left for home at 7:30 he left at 8:30. Got home at 11:45.

Soissons was recaptured today.

Monday Aug 5 ‘18.

It was hard to pull out at 4 A.M. this morning, and then I didn’t get to fly, but I had to be on the field. Another fellow was killed Saturday afternoon.

Thursday Aug. 8 ‘18.

I could have been asigned to a line but waited to get on Lt. Brown’s line. I was very anxious to fly this morning, but thought a day more or less wouldn’t make much difference, as long as I got a good monitor — Pete Peterson got run over by a plane on the field this morning, and was prety badly broozed up but not seriously hurt. — When I came in from the field Grub told me that Schreiber had been killed. I couldn’t believe it at first, as just last evening Schreiber, Cook, Higgins, and myself were talking about who would be the first one to go, and Schreiber remarked that he wouldn’t give much for his

chances, as in the morning he was going to do his spirals and that he would need all of his luck. He was joking, but I can see now that he was quite nervous and realy ment some of it. Poor old Schrib is the second one of the old bunch to go. He was a wonderful boy. Full of fun, and wit. We all went to the funeral this afternoon. Grub and I went together. Larrie and Cook were paulbearers. We couldn’t get a regular casket, so one of the wooden boxes was used. It was sickening as the box wasn’t tight and blood was dripping out as it was carried to the truck and then to the grave. There was a large