XML Exercise: Marian Baldwin’s Letters from World War I

This exercise is designed to follow the earlier XML exercise in which you encoded one letter. We want you to practice encoding well-formed XML with attributes on your elements and writing XML comments, but this time you will be challenged to make new decisions based on assembling a small collection of letters in one file. You will probably want to modify the encoding of your first XML assignment as you assemble your small XML corpus (or a unified collection).

Task

Create a small collection of letters inside one XML file. To do this:

1. Open a new XML file in oXygen, and paste in your code for the letter in XML Exercise 1.
2. Come up with an element to wrap around an entire letter. (You are about to add new letters, and we want each new letter to be wrapped in its own element.)
3. Now, choose two more letters from the selection provided below. (Each new letter begins with a date: you may skip through the sequence and select any two that interest you to encode.) Paste them in to your XML file and encode them, following a consistent strategy to mark structure and interesting information in the letters.

July 8th, 1917
Friday night we entered the war zone at seven o'clock but you would never know it. Aside from boat-drills and sleeping on deck people act as usual. The officers on the boat are very particular about the drills; several times the alarm has sounded and we have been taught just what to do in case we are hit. It's very funny to see the people rush below for their valuables, strapping on their life preservers as they go (which we always have near at hand wherever we are -on deck or in the saloon). In about five minutes we are lined up, divided into groups in front of our own particular life-boats which have been swung out over the sea ready to lower. Every one is checked off and each man is told what woman he is to save. (Great excitement at this point as no one of the men wants to save the lady detailed to him, but some one in another boat!) We all stand about looking too absurd and bumping into each other's life preservers on the crowded upper deck. Finally the signal is given which releases us, and we all file down

again to take off the clumsy heavy jackets of safety and regale ourselves with various amusements on the deck.

Rumor has it that two ships have been sunk, one in the course ahead of where we were yesterday and the other about an hour behind us. No one knows how many lives were lost. Perhaps those three submarines were more fact than fiction after all.

It is thought that we should make Bordeaux by Tuesday morning if all goes well and that the convoy which should have met us days ago will be with us to-night.

This being Sunday, the boys on board are very much dressed up, that is to say they are wearing clean shirts and have their hair brushed! It's a perfect day, warm and cloudless, and I've been lying in the sun adding to my coat of tan. We all feel quite sad that the voyage is so nearly over -it has been such loads of fun and I shall hate saying good-by to every one.

La Touraine
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En route from Bordeaux to Paris, July 18th, 1917.


On landing yesterday I went straight to the Hôtel de France and it certainly was good to have room to turn around in: as for a bed with real springs I greeted it with enthusiasm! Towards evening Frank and I took a long walk about the city. A port town always interests me and we saw it all at the loveliest time of day. The harbor was full of fishing smacks and small craft of all kinds and exquisite tones in the sails and rigging. The last rays of the sun cast a rosy hue over everything, making one think at once of Venice and the days before the war. Later we wandered through some of the oldest parts of Bordeaux and I really felt that I was abroad again! The narrow winding streets and cobblestones, with here and there an ancient façade or doorway and everywhere, in the poorest alleys, a bit of a vine or potted plant in the windows. How do they manage to make it all so picturesque and alluring?

The women and the old men are doing everything and it is surprising to see the lady conductors. On this train they use women entirely, even in the dining car. The war hasn't robbed them of vivacity or their beautiful complexions and I believe they are even prettier in their simple black working clothes than before.

We are at present passing through the famous vineyards and I have never seen the country look so beautiful. The crops seem in perfect condition, thanks to the patient labor of these wonderful women, and the grain waves in profusion everywhere. I have longed for you at every turn, how you would enjoy it all. The poppies are in their prime and, as the train whirls by, they look like immense splashes of red -almost like stains of blood against the gold of the wheat.

I have just come in from a very excellent meal in the dining car -the food was served promptly by two French girls of the peasant type and with a speed that was wonderful, the car holding over thirty persons.

Paris

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Bordeaux, December 27th, 1917.

Such crowded busy hours as we have put in during the last few days. However, there will be a bit of a breathing spell now, as there are to be fewer men in on leave until New Year's. This afternoon Aunt T. is coming to see my hideous little room. I have built a fire that is much too large for my diminutive fire-place, and we are to have tea and cake! So you see it is to be a regular house warming.

I don't know whether I have written you about my sleeping apartment before. At any rate, it is on the top floor of a tall thin house. It was the only place I could get and so I have thought it wiser to laugh at its disadvantages. There is no coal, and wood costs six francs for eight pieces so one just goes without except on special occasions like to-day. I generally get in from the canteen about 11:30 P. M. and then my four flights seem a bit of a climb, but it is nice to have a little spot of your own and I'm always so glad to get to the top of the stairs. I still have struggles with my hot water bag, for I can always see my breath in the room and I think "old faithful" has gotten a bit discouraged and doesn't think it worth while to keep warm in this damp penetrating clime.

The room is papered in a mud-colored tone of gold, beetle-shaped figures scattered over it at intervals of two inches! I have a black iron bedstead and a fire-place and mantelpiece made of the black and white mottled marble that is used for tombstones! There are two windows, but unfortunately one can't look out as they are made of red and navy blue stained glass. However, I am very fond of my little room and to-day it wears a gay and festive look in anticipation of my party. I have put all my photographs out and we are going to have a fine cozy time I know.

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Aix, May 10th, 1918.

I've been very busy to-day learning a new dance. The weekly vaudeville troop arrived from Paris minus one number and as Mr. Carrell and I have danced on several Stunt Night programs, they asked us to fill in for the missing number. So we are on for a week and we were so thankful that we had something that could be put right on to fill in. This little taste of stage life under such delightful auspices, is great fun. I have a dressing room all my own, No. 5, and Alice has been an angel, acts as maid and helps me change my costume between our two numbers. We are billed with the professionals all over town, "Miss Baldwin & Mr. Carrell." It looked too absurd.

I come on right after the "trained cats" and, while waiting in the wings, dodge the "snake charmer's" serpents! She has two about twelve yards long apiece and they wriggle and glide around behind the stage and appear suddenly in the most unexpected manner! The snake charmer keeps them between times rolled up neatly in a lunch basket with a cloth drawn tightly over the top! One of the acrobats told me she doped them. Sometimes I get so interested behind the scenes that I almost forget to go on when my turn comes. These vaudeville artists are the most kind-hearted of mortals and have been so good to me and encouraged me in the nicest way the first night, telling me to "keep smiling and not be scared." One comedian has been especially good to me. -He white-washes his face and wears a green nose and a suit with huge black and white checks!

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Baccarat, July 15th, 1918.

I am now working in the big new canteen at Headquarters, and believe me, it is one busy place. I'm on duty only eight hours a day but during that time I work like mad and scarcely have time to breathe. There is a line that files in and past our counter and then out through a farther door. That line never stops from the time we are open in the morning until it gets dark at night. I am kept hopping like a grass-hopper and bed looks pretty good to me at the end of the day. It's a fine life though, just work and food and sleep and I am thriving and growing fat on it!

We are at present attached to the 77th Division which is, as you know, the New York drafted bunch. It is, I believe, a unique division and to me a most interesting one. It looks as though they had taken a cross section of New York City and divided it into Battalions, Regiments, Companies and all the different units and branches of the service which go to make up a division. The officers are almost entirely from the "four hundred" so called, and the enlisted men from the lower East Side, Italians, Polish Jews, Greeks, Serbs, in fact, representatives from most every country in the world. Many of them can't even speak English intelligibly and I have been thankful for my scraps of Italian, French and even German to make them understand me. They are a ferocious looking lot for the most part and always sure that I am trying to skin them. It's rather pathetic and I try to be patient and make them understand that the Y may have made mistakes unintentionally but that we are not in France to profiteer. It's a bit discouraging at the end of a long hot day to have some boy throw the change you have given him down on the counter and announce in a loud voice that the "Y girl" is trying to cheat him. They haven't learned the value of French money, not having been over here long and are tremendously suspicious of what they call "that tin Chinese money" (the French have punctured their smaller coins in the center in order to save metal) and are always sure that you are trying to put something over on them. However, there are many who make up for the disagreeable ones. Two or three Irish lads with merry blue eyes and the most alluring of brogues are generally hanging over the end of the counter and are very much my friends. They are always right on the spot when there is a case of tobacco to be opened or heavy things to lift and have even helped me squeeze lemons! The work is a never ceasing joy to me on account of these bright spots and many others that turn up constantly to make me happier than I have ever been in my life. No one who hasn't tried it, knows what a satisfaction a long day's work can bring. Thank God for the opportunity.

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Baccarat, July 24th, 1918.

A wonderful moon to-night and the countryside transformed under its silvery radiance. We have had terrible nights for a week now and we are all more or less worn out with little sleep and long hot days. The German planes have been coming over as regularly as clock work and as this sector is unimportant compared to others farther up the line, we aren't really protected at all. An English aëroplane field lies some miles in the country behind us and they do what they can to help drive off the enemy planes but they aren't able to accomplish much as they have a huge area to cover and very little equipment.

I thought I knew what an air raid was like after being in Paris for six months, but in comparison, those raids seem like mere child's play. Ever since the moon was two days old, the Germans haven't missed a single night and as soon as it gets dark, we hear the ominous whirr. At once the peace and quiet evaporate as if by magic and the whole atmosphere becomes alive with expectation and silent fears. The church bell is set ringing furiously and the doleful sirens begin their wailing from several parts of the town at once. Windows are thrown open and people begin to call back and forth to each other. This lasts only a few moments and then complete and utter silence. Every one has gone below ground and the town lies waiting in the moonlight.

At first I refused to take refuge "dans la cave" (the cellar) partly because I didn't want to be smothered to death beneath the plaster and brick walls of the house. A direct hit seemed infinitely preferable to that, also, strange as it may seem, I had no desire to get out of bed. I had lost so much sleep and had been working so hard, that night generally found me thankful for a bed. Even if the noise of guns kept me awake I could rest, and the moist, chilly cellar held no charms! However, I found that staying "au lit" in the midst of an air raid was unheard of in these parts and Madame M. rushed into my room and with tears in her eyes implored me to accompany her below. The poor little old lady fears the avions above all else and the sound of their motors drives her into a frenzy of fear. In order to calm her I threw on a few clothes and we stumbled down the narrow stairs and spent the dark hours huddled in a little group around a candle that sputtered and flickered in the draughty, damp air. Our party consists always of Madame, Joséphine, a French officer, who is likewise billeted in the house, and myself. The first night that we spent in the cellar, he was already below when we ladies arrived. I have never seen a more droll figure and I wonder now how I ever kept my face straight. He was attired in pink and white pajamas and on his head at a jaunty angle sat his most dressy uniform cap covered with gold braid and pale blue broadcloth! Undoubtedly he felt it added dignity and a certain modesty to his appearance. As we came down he was pacing up and down the mud floor in his bare feet! He told me that he had been through four years of war, had seen comrades blown to atoms right beside him. "I know what these bombs can do, I have seen with my two eyes, it is folly not to seek shelter in a raid, so when I hear the Boches coming, I leap from my bed et je me sauve, Mademoiselle." I felt that he was right and that the French must be thinking some of us very children who are still taking war as a game, and looking upon our folly and daring as bravery. Surely no one has any business to waste his life. For the first and perhaps the last time our lives are infinitely important and useful.

This officer is really a very good sort and entertains us during the long hours with tales of all sorts. We discuss the war at great length and try and keep our minds occupied and off of the terrible sounds overhead. It's great for my French and I am improving. Sometimes the noise is deafening, the anti-air-craft guns keep up a continuous fire and yet the Germans don't seem to be the least bit daunted and fly just above the tops of the trees, placing their bombs with the most pitiless accuracy. Last night three houses in this neighborhood were hit and in the old mill, half a block away, a young woman and her little girl were killed. It was a ghastly few hours. Madame had one fit of hysterics right after another and threw herself about the cellar in a spasm of fear, trembling violently and moaning and crying. It was one of the most pathetic and terrible sights I have ever seen. We tried to quiet her but as the bombs were literally falling all about us, there wasn't much one could say to cheer her. When one plane had dropped its supply of horror it would dash back and in ten minutes another would be swooping and sailing above us and the crash and uproar would begin again. In order that they may see better to do their hideous work, they drop a flare which illuminates the town as though it were day. By the time the strong light has burned itself out several bombs can be neatly placed.

The raid generally begins about nine o'clock and the planes come over in rapid succession until dawn. It is extraordinary what an effect the sound of the German motor has upon one. The noise even at a great distance will wake me out of a sound sleep whereas our own planes can fly right past my window and I never know it.

This morning the town is really upset. Last night's raid was the worst yet. Two of our soldiers in the Evacuation Hospital were killed and a great number of French. A bomb lit across the street from the Y and this morning I found all my canteen windows smashed into a thousand pieces. The Boches dropped several notes all over the streets written in French which said "If you think last night's raid a bad one, wait for to-night. We will break all records." The consequence is that the morale is not very good, every one worn out with no sleep, horror piled on horror, and the anticipation of worse things to-night.

Later -Same day.

To-day is a sizzler, quite the worse we've had. The dust pours in at the windows and the canteen is black with flies. We've been making lemonade for hundreds of hot, tired soldiers. They come in white with dust and the perspiration running down their cheeks. No cotton uniforms to be issued this summer; the boys have to wear their woolly winter ones, poor darlings, and can't even take their blouses off. The result is that if this weather continues the entire A. E. F. will be reduced to a grease spot!

We have made a hundred and sixty liters of lemonade to-day; the canteen has been jammed to the doors since early morning with men, tongues hanging out and clammering for something "cold and wet." The boys stand around in a huge ring while we make the lemonade, offering all kinds of advice and suggestions; I have quite a time keeping them on the other side of the counter; they all want to help but we can't use more than three stalwart and professional lemon squeezers! When the huge tank is finally filled, there are loud cheers from all present and it is worth anything to see the gusto with which they dispatch the lemonade down their dusty throats.

How I love this place, -it's perfectly great being attached to a division.

Westy, Alice, Squibby, who have canteens in little villages nearby, are in here quite frequently and we compare notes and discuss methods, and our various problems at length. I imagine some of us will shortly be sent back to Aix as our month of change is nearing its end. I can't tell you how I hate the thought of leaving, although of course I want to be where I am most needed. The simplicity of this place is a great contrast to Aix and does appeal to me so much more than the gay whirl down there with the Casino and all its marble halls and broad terraces. There the boys come and go and you do all you can to cheer them, but here they aren't on leave and are up against the real thing, and, if possible, need a bit of feminine companionship more than anywhere else. Also one belongs to a unit and after a while you come to feel a very distinct sense of proprietorship, your hopes and fears and special prayers are centered about the men of your outfit and their failures and successes are very much your own. O! I do hope that the Y will let me stay right where I am. I have made up my mind of course to be a good soldier whatever comes, but I am hoping, hoping hard every minute that I shall be allowed to stay.
            

When, where, and how to submit the assignment

Check and make sure you saved your file following our homework file naming rules, including giving it a .xml file extension. Submit your XML file on Canvas on Assignments (for XML Exercise 1) before our next class.