I used to have about a half-dozen of these postcards labeled "Guerre 1914-1918." I no longer remember how I acquired them. And this might be the only one I still have, unless the others are elsewhere. Over the years, I've thought often about posting one of them, but there never ended up being a match between the motivation and the moment.
Now seems like a grimly appropriate global moment.
The photograph for this Great War postcard was taken by Marcel Delboy and was #48 in a series. According to the website undivided-back postcards, Jacques Marcel Delboy (1882-1941) was based in Bordeaux, France: "Delboy published his work as black & white collotype postcards and souvenir booklets. Some of his cards were hand-coloured. He later used Delboy and Yobled (Delboy in reverse) logos."
This postcard features the Great War devastation in Fismes, a commune in northern France. The caption is in both French and English, with the English version stating "Esplanade street after the bombardment of the Germans."
This photo is likely associated with the monthlong Battle of Fismes and Fismette (Fismette being a hamlet linked to Fismes by bridge), which took up most of August 1918. More than 2,000 Americans were killed and nearly 14,000 wounded during the month of fighting. There are no historical figures for French or German casualties. The horror created a lasting bond between Fisme and Pennsylvania (particularly Meadville), where many of the soldiers had been from.
Hervey Allen (1889-1949), a National Guard soldier from Pittsburgh who survived the gassing, fires, shrapnel and shell shock of the Battle of Fismes and Fismette, wrote this in his memoir, Toward the Flame:
"It took me about half an hour to crawl to the river. I had to put my mask on at the last, as the mustard gas was strong in the little hollow in which I lay. My hands were smarting. Some of the shells brought my heart into my mouth; lying there waiting for them was intolerable. I was sure I was going to be blown to pieces. The river was very nearly in flood and so there was no bank, the field gradually getting soggy and swampy till it sloped out into the water. There was a lot of submerged barbed wire that made going ahead very painful and slow. I had, of course, to throw away my mask as it got full of water. My pistol went also. It was too heavy to risk.
"Once in the water, I worked under the single board of the footbridge, shifting along hand over hand, which took me halfway across. There I struck out, plunging in a few strokes to the other side and working through the wire. Swimming with shoes was not so difficult as I had thought, but the cold water seemed to take all my courage, which was what I needed more than ever. Our own machine guns were playing along the railroad track on our side of the river. After getting across, it seemed for a while that I would be caught between the two fires.
"I lay there in the river for a minute and gave up. When you do that something dies inside."