by Amy Stewart
Is Mr. Rogovin an agent of Germany, or is he simply the worst carpenter this nation has ever seen? The trial might tell us. It just started yesterday.
What worries me more than the actions of a single carpenter is the difficulty the German men had in reporting the problem. They tell us that they tried to speak to the foreman but were unable to convince him to make a simple inspection of Mr. Rogovin’s work. The foreman, of course, claims never to have heard a word about it. Every worker we interviewed had a different idea about how they might go about reporting shoddy work.
There’s little we can do to intervene in how a factory conducts itself. At least we convinced the management to inspect every piece Mr. Rogovin had touched (he’d only been employed there a week), but imagine what would’ve happened if those aeroplanes had been sent up in the air!
With such a weak defense, I assume the man will be convicted. Typically in a case like this, they’re given a fine they cannot possibly afford to pay, and sent to prison as a result.
Must close—I have an early day tomorrow. Fleurette is well and sends her postcards dutifully. She says that the men at camp are made to practice trench-digging, and that hundreds of them go out with picks into what once was a farmer’s field, and dig trenches for miles, then fill them in again. They come back to the barracks covered in dirt, but grinning, because here we have laundry and showers. In France they’ll simply go to bed grimy and wake up grimy, and they know it.
Yours,
Constance
Norma to General Murray
August 19, 1918
Dear General Murray,
It’s astonishing that you received my letter of August 1 and I had your reply today. The courier tells me that the military service typically manages eleven days each way, but that’s the average: the record so far is seven days.
I appreciate your assurances that these letters will be retained strictly for historical purposes and not acted upon. Please don’t take offense when I say that it is my sincere belief that involving more commanders will not help us win this war, much less revive the pigeon program. Left to my own devices, I can put it right. But the Army is not in the habit of leaving anyone to her own devices.
Here, then, is an account of my progress thus far.
Pigeons issued before today: 1
Pigeons issued as of tonight: 24
Pigeons returned: 0
Owing to the difficulties encountered in issuing pigeons to soldiers departing for the front, I have deployed a new strategy, one involving an off-duty nurse presenting the birds as tokens of affection. While this is not an optimal manner of deployment, as it confuses a military asset with a sentimental gift, it has proven effective. As of this date, twenty-five of our top pigeons have been dispatched.
The new protocol works as follows:
Pigeons are placed in their customary carrier baskets, but adorned with patriotic ribbons in the manner of the sorts of small gifts and packages typically given by nurses and canteen girls to soldiers when they depart.
Pigeon communication instructions have been modified to encourage the soldiers to return the bird with a message for the giver of the “gift” (it is not a gift, it is a military asset, and this must be emphasized), but they are also reminded that should they find themselves in any sort of trouble, a pigeon may be dispatched to call for help. These instructions have been put into verse and written out in a woman’s script, courtesy of Nurse Agnes Bell:
You’re patched and plastered and right as rain
But I couldn’t put you on a train
Without some token from the girl you love
If it can’t be my heart—please take a dove
When you miss the old days and the times we had
Write me a note, and make my heart glad
Or if you’re in distress, lost, or alone
Put pencil to paper—then send this bird home!
Let me assure you that I did raise numerous objections to the content of the poem, particularly the highly irregular labeling of pigeons as “doves,” but Nurse Bell insisted that she had the greater experience in writing romantic poetry, having filled volumes with it as a girl. I had to admit that no one else involved with this project had ever written anything in the way of a line of poetic verse.
Also at the insistence of Nurse Bell, two dozen miniature madeleines were purchased from the Patisserie Confiserie, at considerable personal expense, and wrapped in tissue to be presented to the soldiers prior to the offer of the pigeon, on the theory (proffered by Nurse Bell) that a man who wouldn’t accept a madeleine was even less likely to accept a pigeon.
Having obtained these supplies, Nurse Bell (after nearly an hour lost to hair-styling, nose-powdering, and the trying-on of various scarves borrowed for the occasion) was dispatched to the train station to present her gifts. At Nurse Bell’s insistence, I ferried the supplies in a wagon and kept them out of sight so as not to make it appear that a cart-load of parting gifts was simply to be off-loaded to every man on the platform.
Instead, Nurse Bell took one at a time (a madeleine and a pigeon) and approached each soldier individually, engaging him first in conversation, offering an address where he might write letters, and then presenting her gifts, first the sweet and then the bird. Not a single man refused to accept them, and in this manner, two dozen pigeons were dispatched to the front.
The deployment was deemed a success. The results are less certain. As considerable time and expense was involved, we will await the return of at least three pigeons before sending out the next batch.
I do wonder what use my methods could possibly be to you. I can hardly imagine a new training program at Fort Monmouth on the use of love-notes and lip-stick to deploy carrier pigeons. Then again, war itself is irregular and unpredictable. Our methods must be as well.
Yours in service,
Norma C. Kopp
Aggie to Constance
August 20, 1918
Dear Constance,
Norma forbids me from saying too much about the pigeon scheme I alluded to in my last letter, but I will tell you this: A little charm goes a long way. She has the right idea about this pigeon program—I’m sure she does, after so many years of study—but perhaps she hadn’t considered the best way to approach a lonely, love-sick soldier. They just want to speak to you, and to tell you something about themselves. They very much give the impression that they don’t want to be forgotten, as if, by planting a little memory with one of us, they might live on.
For instance, do you remember me telling you about Private Forrest Pike, who took one of Norma’s birds away with him? He wore a button on the front of his jacket that was ever so slightly thicker than the others. You’d never know to look at it. But then he pried it open and what do you suppose was inside? A tiny photograph—of his mother! He said he didn’t have a girl at home (I can’t believe that and told him so), but he and his mother are especially close, because he is the baby of the family, considerably younger than his older brothers and sisters, and for that reason spent most of his years alone with her.
So imagine that: a young man wearing his mother’s portrait into battle. I told him I would never forget her face or his, and I won’t.
Some of the men want a souvenir. When I went to the train station with Norma yesterday, a soldier handed me his mess kit and asked me to engrave my name on the top of it. I don’t know if you’ve seen their kits: they’re just little oval dishes made of tin with a lid attached. The metal’s quite soft and the men make all manner of carvings: elaborate pictures, a list of all the places they’ve been stationed, and, in this soldier’s case, the name of every girl he’s kissed.
It was impossible to refuse either the engraving or the kiss, after he told me how he stares at those names in the trenches and remembers one sweet moment after another. I scribbled my name between a Betty and an Annie, and then . . . well, you should know that the little pot of lip-stick Fleurette sent along was put to use! I’m not ashamed to say that more
than a few of the men boarded the train with red kisses on their cheeks. C’est la guerre!
Tendrement—
Aggie
Norma to General Murray
August 23, 1918
Dear General Murray,
I’ve had some early results from my pigeon deployment. What I’ve received so far is of little use to the program, but I will report it to you nonetheless.
Of the pigeons dispatched at the train station, two have returned with sentimental notes addressed to the nurse who distributed them. Neither included the date and time of release, nor the location, in spite of my instructions and the typewritten form with blanks provided.
Pigeons issued: 25
Pigeons returned: 2
U.S.A. 19079 Unnamed, Blue Check Hen
Dispatched: Unknown, not recorded
Arrived: August 22, 1918, 10:27
Origin: Unknown, not recorded
Time flown: Unknown
Distance flown: Unknown
Message:
This pigeon is longing for home, and so am I. Don’t forget about your boy at the front.
U.S.A. 18 16757 “Cuisy Bill,” Black Check Grizzle
Dispatched: Unknown, not recorded
Arrived: August 23, 1918, 18:14
Origin: Unknown, not recorded
Time flown: Unknown
Distance flown: Unknown
Message:
A hundred kisses is all I ask
I’ve only collected two
And so I wish for a gash or a scratch
So I can return to you
As you can see, twenty-three birds remain in the field. It is to be hoped that the soldiers will, in the future, consider their mission when completing the form.
Yours in service,
Norma C. Kopp
(Note delivered to Hôtel de la Poste) Captain Buscall to Norma
August 25, 1918
Dear Miss Kopp,
It has come to my attention that twenty-five pigeons have been removed from the premises. I’ve dispatched Private Kearns with this note to collect you at home or church, wherever you may be found on a Sunday morning, and deliver you immediately to the fort. I’ll be waiting. There is no need to bring your log-book.
Yours truly,
Captain Buscall
Norma to General Murray
August 25, 1918
Dear General Murray,
The new pigeon distribution program has been temporarily suspended owing to new restrictions on who may have access to the pigeons housed at the fort. I will write with more information when I have it.
Yours in service,
Norma C. Kopp
Aggie to Constance (unsent)
August 27, 1918
Dear Constance,
I’m writing this letter because if I don’t tell someone what’s happened to your sister, I might burst. We’re always told not to write home about our troubles, because the letters take so long to get there and arrive all out of order. More than likely, whatever was bothering us will have been smoothed over by the time a letter travels to the States, and it will only cause you unnecessary worry.
But I’ve tried for two days not to put these words down. I simply can’t hold back any longer.
Constance, your sister has been banished from the fort and removed from her post. She’s been placed on disciplinary leave for a week, and told that when she returns, she’s to be put on secretarial duty, where she might be “better supervised.” Even worse, she’s not to have anything to do with her pigeons—only paperwork.
To explain how this came about would take pages and pages, and I just don’t have it in me tonight. But you know your sister. You can probably imagine it. She’s had disagreements with her superiors from the day she arrived. It’s been impossible for her to get the program working to her satisfaction. She has no friends that I know of at the fort, and therefore no one to speak up on her behalf. It’s been a battle for her every day.
I’m sure she knows the best way to carry out the pigeon unit’s mission—how could she not, after a lifetime devoted to the subject? But her superiors don’t see it that way. They expect to give their orders, and to have those orders followed. That’s how it is in the Army.
But Norma won’t allow anyone to have authority over her. She knows how things ought to be done and considers it a waste of her time to entertain someone else’s ideas.
She’s more certain of herself than any woman I’ve ever met. I admire her for that. I only wish I could be more like her! I doubt myself every minute of the day. But I’m afraid she’s paying a terrible price for—well, for the way she is, and it breaks my heart.
She’s been off-duty for two days now and it’s driving her absolutely mad. She’s cleaned our tiny room from top to bottom, re-organized the bathroom we share with four other ladies (much to their disapproval), and was banished from the hotel pantry before she could turn that into a military commissary.
In the evening she has nothing to do—no reports to write, no plans to make, and no letters to send home, because what could she possibly say to you at a time like this?
It will absolutely crush her to go on secretarial duty, I know it will. And there’s no way to keep her away from the pigeons. She’s already talking about sneaking back to the fort tomorrow to gather up her equipment, so that she can recruit some of the French pigeons around town and start up a new breeding operation behind the hotel. I’ve begged her not to, but I’m at the hospital all day. What can I do to stop her?
I only wish you were here, because surely you would know what to say to make the situation right. This can’t be the first time Norma’s run up against opposition like this. She needs her family. She’s more family to me than she knows—that’s what happens to us in war-time, we become sisters overnight—but I’m not enough right now. I’m useless, in fact.
Norma’s watching me write this. Any minute now she’ll demand to know what I’m writing, or, worse, she’ll snatch it away and read it. I’m going to put this away and hope that I come to my senses in the morning and decide not to mail it.
Avec grand chagrin—
Aggie
Norma to General Murray
August 28, 1918
Dear General Murray,
One of our birds has done its job. I only hope it isn’t too late. My report is as follows.
The pigeon Mon Chou was issued to Private Forrest Pike on August 6 and arrived at Fort de la Bonnelle today in critical condition, having been shot through the chest, one eye blind, and one leg dangling by only a tendon.
Pigeons issued: 25
Pigeons returned: 3
U.S.A. 18 19657 “Mon Chou,” Black Checker Cock
Dispatched: time not given, date believed to be August 28
Arrived: August 28, 1918, 16:18
Origin: Vaulx-Vraucourt
Time flown: unknown
Distance flown: 250 miles
Message:
WE ARE ALONG THE ROAD TO NOREUIL OUR ARTILLERY IS DROPPING A BARRAGE DIRECTLY ON US FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE STOP IT
Owing to the urgency of the message, the following was not transcribed verbatim, but I am recording it now, from memory, to complete the record.
kopp: This needs to go to headquarters immediately. Telephone it in.
buscall: Miss Kopp, I gave you an order to stay at home for one week. I also said that you’re not to touch a single pigeon in the possession of the Signal Corps. Either I need glasses or that’s a bird under your arm.
kopp: Read the message. It looks like friendly fire. If you telephone to headquarters they can put it through.
buscall: I’m not telephoning anything to headquarters, and I want you out or I’ll have you escorted out.
kopp: It comes from a private named Forrest Pike. He probably sent it over three hours ago. We might already be too late.
buscall: I don’t see Pike’s name on this. I don’t see anyone’s name on it. Where in God’s name did you—
ko
pp: It arrived just now. The bird’s been shot and won’t live the night. The men won’t either, if you don’t put the message through.
buscall: That pigeon was shot and it kept flying?
kopp: It’s Mon Chou. One of my best. I gave it to Private Pike—
buscall: I don’t know which is worse, that you gave the pigeons names or that you handed them out without permission. Now, I warned you—
kopp: Are you going to put the message through?
buscall (studying it again): How do I know the Germans didn’t send this? It’s not in our code. I can’t tell our boys to stop firing because a lady brought in a note.
kopp: We’re the pigeon messaging service. What do you expect us to do with messages?
buscall: We put the messaging service in mothballs, don’t you recall?
As you can imagine, I’d heard quite enough from Captain Buscall. I retrieved the message, commandeered an Army draft horse, and rode it to town. Upon my arrival I persuaded the hospital operator, a fine Signal Corps girl by the name of Betty Sanger, to transmit the message.
We await further news.
Yours in service,
Norma C. Kopp