William Penn “Billy” Fulton
By Beverly Belcher Woody
I recently came across a letter published in The Enterprise, dated January 23, 1919, written by Nettle Ridge resident William Penn “Billy” Fulton. It offers a poignant snapshot of life for some of the young soldiers serving during World War I.
Billy Fulton was born on November 27, 1899, to John William Fulton and Barbara Anne Hylton of Nettle Ridge. John William Fulton was the son of John Kelly Fulton of Pittsylvania County, Virginia, and his wife, Maria Louise Harrison of Caswell County, North Carolina. Barbara Anne Hylton was the daughter of George W. Hylton and Sarah Catherine Penn of Patrick County.
Billy was the youngest child born to the couple. His siblings were:
George Hylton Fulton (1886–1955)
John Kelly Fulton (1887–1922)
Catherine Penn Fulton (1889–1908)
Hylton Harrison Fulton (1891–1910)
Louise Barbara Fulton (1895–1972)
Annie S. Fulton Clark (1895–1977)
Billy Fulton married Miss Virginia Oneil Clark on December 22, 1940. At the time of their marriage, Billy was 41 and Virginia was 37. It was the first marriage for both. Virginia was the daughter of Edward Lybrook Clark and Anna Massey.
Interestingly, Virginia’s brother, Joseph Myron Clark, married Billy’s sister, Annie S. Fulton.
Billy Fulton worked as a dairy farmer and manager until his passing on August 21, 1968.
Somewhere in France
November 24, 1918
Dear Papa,
This is the date named by the E. F. for all soldiers to write “Dad’s Xmas Letter,” and I believe the fathers who have sons over here are supposed to write to them. You see, I’m keeping my part of the contract and hope you will do the same. Perhaps you are writing to me now. It is one o’clock here and about nine o’clock at home.
I received Mama’s letter written on October 15th and also a letter from Louise written on the same date, and of course was delighted to hear from both of them. They were the first letters I’d received in about six weeks. I hope my mail goes more promptly to you than yours comes to me.
Mama seems anxious to know where I have been and how long it took me to come over. I’ve tried several times to tell her, but either my letters were sent back or were cut out by the censor. But since hostilities have ceased, censorship has been changed. Now we can tell where we are and where we have been, so I’ll try to give you a summary of my travels since I left New York, as perhaps this will be of more interest than any other thing I could write. Here goes!
On July 31st, we loaded on the British transport Mandingo (the old “Appon”) at Brooklyn. We pulled out of the harbor early the next morning. Our transport carried only fifteen hundred men and officers, most of them of Air Service Squadron, though there were about two hundred Red Cross nurses and medical officers on board also. We thought at first that we were going directly to France, but soon found out from the sailors that we were going to England instead.
I think it was the third of August that we arrived in the Halifax harbor. We stayed there about twenty-four hours, picking up our convoy while there. The following days until we reached England were rather tiresome, as we saw no sign of a sub.
I thought I would be sick all the way across, but much to my surprise I wasn’t. The first day out I had an awful headache, but I was not bothered after that—only I was almost starved when I arrived.
On August 15th we arrived at Liverpool and from there were sent to a rest camp just outside the city. The next day we loaded on a train and went to Winchester. On our way we went through several of England’s largest cities. We stayed in Winchester about ten days, and then our squadron was split into four “flights” or divisions, each sent to a different camp in England. The medical officers and we four “medicos” went with the headquarters flight to Margate, a big summer resort.
I was nearer the firing line there than I’ve ever been since. I could hear the big guns from there. Three air raids were made on the town while I was there, but no damage was done.
While there, I met lots of English girls who were down from London on their vacation. From then on, I didn’t have such a dull time. It is an exception to meet a girl in England or France who will compare with the average American girl.
We stayed in Margate almost a month and from there went to Narborough near King’s Lynn. There is a very large airdrome there, and ’twas no trouble to get a ride. My first trip made me a little sick, but after that I could stand the “loop,” “spin,” or any other stunt the pilot might try—and believe me, they try them all.
I drove the ambulance on the flying field, and I’ve seen some awful crashes—men getting burned and horribly mangled when a plane falls, and they fell on an average of two per day. But of all the rides we took, not a plane with a Yank crashed except two, and one of our fellows got a leg broken and another got intense wounds. It was my job to drive as fast as I could to a plane as soon as it was seen to fall, and believe me, I’ve had to “step on her” sometimes.
I stayed there until the latter part of last month and was transferred out of 33F and sent to Codford as a casual, much to the surprise of especially myself. I took a couple of days in London (though I’d been there twice before) to see a girlfriend of mine whom I met in Margate. I met her mother and was treated as nicely as if I’d been their son. One thing I can say about the English—they certainly treat the Yanks nicely after they know them well.
On my arrival at Codford, I was attached to the 159th Aero Squadron, and we went to Southampton a few days later and crossed the Channel the night of November 1st, arriving in Havre early the next morning.
We had to leave our barrack bags in Codford, and ever since we have been carrying our possessions on our backs—including three blankets, underclothes, tent, helmet, gas mask, trench shoes, and toilet articles. You see, we haven’t a very light pack.
We stayed at a rest camp near Havre for three days, then went to Le Mans, and after being there a few days we started on a tour of France in boxcars and living on canned beef. After riding around the country for three days, we landed here near Chaumont. How long we will stay here and where we will go from here, I have no idea.
Now that the war is over, I’d like to be going home, but I suppose I’ll be lucky if I get home by spring.
I’m sorry that I did not get over here sooner, as I would have liked to have driven an ambulance up near the front—but such has been my luck. I suppose I did not join in time. I haven’t met anyone over here that I’ve ever known before. The nearest I’ve come is to meet a guy from Roanoke who knew some girls there that I know.
I don’t suppose any fellows from Patrick have been killed in action. I haven’t seen any names on the casualty lists that I know. It seems that Virginia has lost very few of her sons.
If I can get a pass while I’m in France, I’m going to Paris and Monte Carlo for a few days.
Well, I’ve written more than I’ve ever written in my life, I believe, and I won’t attempt to write much more. I hope you’ll get this by Christmas, and I hope I’ll receive one from you at the same time.
Tell Mama that I don’t need anything, and if I did it would be impossible for her to send it. I can get along on what Uncle Sam gives me until I get home.
Remember me to all my old friends. I’m wishing them a joyous Christmas and a happy New Year. I wish I could send each one of you something this year, but can’t have the pleasure, as it has been over two months since I have been paid. But I’m sending all of you my best wishes and hoping that this Christmas will be a very, very happy one—and I’m sure it will be.
Your devoted son,
BILLY
Pvt. Wm. P. Fulton
159th Aero Squadron
A.E.F., France
Today, more than a century later, Billy Fulton’s letter stands as a lasting testament to a generation who answered the call to serve while never forgetting where they came from. His story, preserved in print and memory, reminds us that the history of World War I is not only written in global events but also in the lives of Patrick County families whose sons carried their hometowns with them—wherever duty took them.
For questions, comments, or story ideas, please contact Woody at rockcastlecreek1@fmail.com or 276-692-9626.
