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When William Harvey took over the family condo in Kennebunk, Maine, following his father’s death, the family stumbled upon a piece of history. Rummaging in the attic, his wife discovered three bound volumes of letters written by Avery Royce Wolfe ’20 during World War I.
Wolfe was the first husband of Harvey’s stepmother, Florence Braightwaite. A self-described “armchair historian,” Harvey believed the letters would make a good book and enlisted the help of his son, Eric, a freelance writer, to scope out publishers. Letters from Verdun was published by Casemate Publishing in 2009. Father and son edited the book.
“[Wolfe] was only 18 years old when he went into the war, and he exhibits such a physical and emotional maturity for that age,” says Harvey, a physician of nuclear medicine at Texas Health Presbyterian Hospital Dallas. “His writing is almost perfect; we had very little editing to do. He was a magnificent writer, and he was very faithful in writing letters to his family. We actually discovered even more letters after we published the book.”
Wolfe was a volunteer ambulance driver with the French Army in the Verdun sector. Through his letters home, he describes frontline combat, strategy, France, and the Allies’ prospects for success.
Wolfe describes the harrowing effects of battle on the wounded in a letter dated Sept. 17, 1917. He writes to “Aunt Al” from Érize-la-Petite:
I find it very hard to observe some of the orders that we were given in reference to handling the wounded. We are told that our first duty is to get the wounded back to the hospital as quickly as possible, regardless of whether or not they holler for us to go slowly. It seems that it is imperative to get the wounded to the hospital immediately because their only chance to live depends, many times, on surgical treatment and the sooner that is done, the better the men’s chances of living are. So in spite of all their cursing and prayers to go slowly, we plug along through shell-holes and over terrible roads, hoping that the poor souls will survive the trip.
In another passage from the same letter, he describes the conditions for soldiers and volunteers alike, noting how appreciative they are for small comforts from home:
The soldiers are very enthusiastic over their little gifts, which they receive from American women. Writing tablets, cards, tobacco, mufflers, and letters from America are very much in demand, plus a little ready money such as a dollar or two — which is a lot here in France — is very much appreciated. The French soldier gets only five cents a day, and as they are many times not fed very well, there are many little things such as jam, tobacco, etc., which he must buy himself. I have met many soldiers whose rations for four days were a chunk of bread and four small cans of sardines. Nowhere in France, especially in the war zone, is the water fit to drink. This dboutoes not work a hardship on the French, as they are used to it, but it is very hard on us Americans who have been brought up on better. We are issued two liters of pinard, a cheap red wine, a day. We are supposed to quench our thirsts with this and some very poor coffee that is served in the morning.
The Harveys have been corresponding with Steven Spielberg about the prospect of turning Letters from Verdun into a five- or six-part miniseries.