Living in Paris reminds us the joys of an Arctic expedition. The coldest winter in twenty-seven years. It's terribly cold, and raw and damp. And there is such a scarcity of coal that even after the government has carefully divided it among the inhabitants, there is just enough for a few hours comfort and then it’s freezing all the rest of the day. It’s so bad in the quarters here that the ink has actually frozen in my suitcase. Every night there is a mad rush to undress as soon as we hit the bedroom and we make pretty good speed in dressing in the morning, too. Whenever we can't stand it any longer, we pay out 15 centimes, for a ride in the Metro; the only warm place in Paris. The poor, of course, suffer the most. They can't afford to buy much coal so, daily, it is given out by a special card system at booths all over the city. Every morning crowds of poor women patiently wait their turn, and then go away one by one lugging a fifty-pound sack of the precious stuff.
February 1917 - American ambulance driver’s diary - Ambulance 464 - Photo: February 1917, early morning in Paris, women waiting in line at a coal booth. Gallica
