In his diary, Wilborne describes enlisting for
service in “the World’s War,” and his first weeks of training in New Orleans,
Louisiana. After a lengthier introduction, the diary consists of daily entries,
mostly one sentence, describing daily training and identifying new locations as
the company traveled. Also included are
four poems written by Wilborne during his service, their titles are, “Illinois
Waiting Till Her Prairie Boys Come Home,” “The U.S. Rough Necks,” “Your Answer,”
and “The Dying Yank.”
Below I have included transcriptions of the four poems. The collection is available for browsing at the Champaign County Historical Archives of the Urbana Free Library. No copyright infringement is intended as I am posting these for educational purposes and for the purpose of showing the value of diaries as a family history resource.
Illinois Waiting Till Her Prairie Boys Come Home
Do not languish, Boys, for fear
we forget you over here
we are waiting, waiting, waiting,
till our prairie Boy come home.
All your gallant deeds are known
& our pride and welcome grow
they may surge & then engulf you
as a tidal wave comes in
till we claim that whole division,
as our Blessed Kith & Kin.
As your hearts are Brave & true
so our hearts are warm for you
with a greeting & a welcome
you have never known before
so let courage lead you still
tho you miss the Battles thrill
till the good ships bring you homeward
to your own united shore
to the minds with Rules & reason
when the good ships cut the foam
with our gallant thirty-third
Intrepid thirty-third.
Beloved thirty-third.
Our thirty-third.
The U.S. Rough Necks
I
Only rough necks for soldiers
you say can’t stand the army
you say the life is too rough
for him. Do you think he is
any better than some other
mother’s Tom or Jim.
II
You raised him up like a
girl. He don’t smoke or drink
as you brag. But if all the
boys were like him. What
would become of our flag.
III
You say rough necks do the
fighting. They are used to the
beans and the stew. But I am
glad I am classed with the
rough necks. Who would
fight for the red
white & blue.
IV
You say his girl couldn’t stand
it to send him off with the
rest. But do you think she
would be glad to feel the Huns
breathe on her breast.
V
Just think of the women of Bel-
gium of the cruelties they had
to bear, do you want the same
thing to happen to your innocent
daughters so fair. But you can
Thank God the stars in old
Glory are not blessed with
that kind of a stain, because
there are ten million rough
necks who have red
blood in their veins.
VI
They go to drill in bad weather
and come in with a grin on
their face. While your darling
boy rests in the parlor and
lets some other man fight
in his place.
VII
Maybe we do smoke & gamble
but we fight as our fore fathers
did. So go warm the milk
for his bottle. Thank God we
didn’t need your kid.
End
Your Answer
I
What will you say sonny
What will you say
when the troopship brings you home
kneeling at last by mother’s chair
you & your mother alone
what will you say sonny
what will you say sonny
as she searches your face to see
if the Boy she gave to the Company’s call
is still her Sonny -- Free.
II
Free of the Taint of lust & drink
Free of all Hidden shame
Free of the Bonds that slave the soul
HER SON -- In heart and name
III
What will you say sonny
what will you say,
Will your heart be filled with mirth,
Holding her close on your
young strong arms
The Mother who gave you Birth
what will you say sonny
what will you say
as her dear eyes turn to you
The Mother who guarded your Boyhood years?
Say, was SHE ever untrue.
IV
And now what answer have you for HER,
Her fair regard to Him --
That for the faith she placed in you,
you fought your fight with Sin.
V
What will you say sonny,
what will you say.
What will you -- answer Mother of mine
look in my eyes -- look in my Heart.
Yea, read them line on line?
Days of fighting on field or trench
nights mid the Citys lore,
Battle by day, or Battle by night,
I kept your son’s heart pure!
Finis
The Dying Yank
Beside a muddy shell hole on the Verdun front one day a
dying Yankee lay.
And his old pals that lay close to his side was listening to
what he had to say.
Boys I am going to a better land where everything is bright
where they never do no bayonet fighting or hike at night.
Yes: Boys I’ll never fight any more Boys or eat the army
stew. I’ve done my bit. And stand to quit. You tell the world I’m through.
I’ve seen all there is Boys of Huns and fighting men. I’ve
had my share of those big worldly cares.
And I guess God is calling me there.
So to my sweetheart and friends back home, Boys I leave for
you to tell. How I met my death at Verdun by a dirty German shell.
His face grew white and
cold as the last words he said. And that night friends we buried him for the
Yankee soldier was dead.
