A March 16, 1944, Lowell Tribune article (page 1, column 2) listed Warren W. Metz of Lowell as among the recent volunteers and inductees from Lake County Board No. 1, Crown Point, being sworn in at Ft. Benjamin Harrison.
The following June 29, 1944, Lowell Tribune article was found on page 2, column 3:
Transferred to Massachusetts
Pvt. Warren W. Metz has been transferred to Camp Miles Standish, Mass. Recently Warren and his brother, O/C Merritt D. Metz, stationed at Aberdeen, MI., spent a week-end together in New York City.
This July 20, 1944, Lowell Tribune article was found on page 4, column 1:
Returns to Camp
Pvt. Warren W. Metz has returned to Camp Miles Standish, Taunton, Mass., after spending a few days here with his parents, Merritt D. Metz, and family.
This May 17, 1945, Lowell Tribune article was found on page 5, columns 3-6:
The following letter was received recently by Mr. and Mrs. Merritt Metz from their son, Pfc. Warren Metz, stationed with the U.S. forces in England:
Since last I wrote I have been on a little tour of the English countryside. Altho I can't tell too much, I will tell all I can. I was in Stoke-on-Trent, Burton-on-Trent, Birmingham, Evesham, Gloucester, Cheltenham, Worchester, Bristol and Shrewsbury.
As I passed thru Stoke-on-Trent I was reminded of "How Green Was My Valley" and other pictures I have seen of England's mining districts. It is hilly and not unlike Pennsylvania there. On steep hills you can see three or four different streets separated by a hundred yards or so of meadow. Row on row of close packed houses all alike and with many chimneys. Picturesque in its own dirty way. All around the city and in it are huge piles of cast-off coal. I mean that stuff which is practically all dirt and in powdery form. "Screenings" I guess you'd call it.
Birmingham was to my mind the most modern and progressive town I have yet seen. More trams and busses than usual and new cars. Of course Birmingham is the industrial center of England. But the people here walked like they had a definite purpose in mind as they went down the street. All the fellows that have been here so far said it was a dirty city but the parts I saw had many beautiful and modern homes with even what you would call a lawn in front of them. We passed many factories all busy as bees and saw steel mills in the distance with smoke stacks pouring smoke. Shades of the Calumet region.
Evesham, to my "brick bound eyes" was really something. The main street of the town is a narrow affair having a steep hill at either end and a nice slope from there on both sides to the river which runs directly through town.
A pretty place, I thought, and wondered why. Suddenly it dawned on me the buildings were white and not brick. White stone buildings. If not they are faced. What a sight for sore eyes. I have seen so many brick buildings I can't look one in the face.
Cheltingham is much the same, only bigger. The Red Cross there lies at the end of a boulevard on a hill. We ate a supper there. From the center of town you look up and see the Red Crosses. It isn't much higher than the rest of the town. It is just that you can see it across a park on the boulevard. The trees were almost in full bloom there as elsewhere in southern England. I saw England at her best. It certainly was beautiful. For two days I looked on hills, valleys and flat plains. Twenty miles makes all the difference in the world.
Around Evesham it looks like the Michigan fruit belt with vineyards and orchards all over. Farther south you might think you were in central Ohio with rolling plains.
Then Bristol, famous old port of England where once sailed the mighty English fleet. Home of the pirates and all that sort of thing. Bristol is very hilly like Quebec in Canada. Here again all white buildings and a good many of the streets with trees. The river is all over the place. Everywhere you go, you seem to run into a dock. I was only in Bristol over night and I would like to go back and see more. Bath isn't very far from here and I'd like to go back and see it also.
My companion and I got into Shrewsbury about 4 o'clock one afternoon and were there until noon the next day. First thing we did was hit for the Red Cross and get beds for the night. After a shower I went out to look the town over. I wandered into a saddle shop there to buy a strap for my camera case. I priced saddles, English ones, and found that one not much better than mine cost $65. I got the strap but it was just plain so I asked him to put on a buckle. About this time a nice young lad came in for a dog collar. He priced several and eventually bought a 50 cent one for ten shillings or $2.00.
It then developed that he had been down looking at a motorbike the saddle maker owned. When he found the price of the dog collar and was told it "would hold the dog," he said, "I should think it would at that price."
The saddle maker started. "It is a fine machine, chain drive and many other desirable features," and so on. "Ride two easily." Well, the young fellow was getting married. He worked in a plant and her people were moving so they would too. If he kept his job it would be "too far to bike it." Also his wife was working. Her parents might not let her ride it. He then explained that he "had a car and like a young fool sold it. I could do with it now." Finally he left but for 15 minutes I listened to the most interesting converstaion I have heard in England yet.
Then the church bells rang. "That six?" asked the saddle maker. "Must be," I said. He started taking in all his whips and horse collars, so I helped him. Everything had a nail inside and it was a ten-minute task hanging all that stuff up. Then he invited me upstairs to watch him make the camera strap I had been buying for nearly an hour.
We walked up the very old stairs and came to a little loft. Here I saw the most assorted collection of leather trunks, buckles, leather, tools and other gear to be found in a harness maker's shop. A place half the size of our kitchen and a work bench with as much clear space as the table beside Dad's easy chair. We have all read of shops like this. Now I have been in one.
The leather craftsman was a man about 50 I would say, gray hair and light complexion. He was as pleasant a fellow as you could want to meet. He started working on my strap and then asked what I was before I came into the army. I told him and he was surprised that they took any farmers. Then we talked about everything. He had been in the last war and went thru hell. "I'm lucky to be here I am." Naturally we talked of Roosevelt's death. "He was a good he was." All his talk was like that. "I am, I am -- he was, he was."
Then we got around to the Revolutionary war. He had never heard of it. "Now I didn't know that. Never heard of it before." So I explained the whole works and how Canada is still a British dominion. "The English won did they?" Naturally I was taken back and said it depended on the point of view. The English have Canada and we, our freedom.
Finally he finished the strap. "How much," I asked. "Three shillings." I paid him 60 cents in American money. Kind of steep for two feet of strap but I figured I got six bucks worth of experience and sight-seeing in that little harness shop. It was one of the most interesting experiences in England so far. I asked him how far he had gone in school and found he went thru the grades. I intend to find out from the Carroll girls how much American history is taught in their schools. It was seven when I left his place and went to the Red Cross to eat. On the way I met John and the other two lads who were with us. They had eaten so I was to meet them in a pub. As things happened I didn't meet them until morning.
After supper I started walking and eventually came to the river which swings in a huge horseshoe taking in the center of the town. It is eventually an island. I watched people feeding the swans for quite a while, then I started on a wide path along the river on the inside of the horseshoe. There is a park a hundred yards wide running the mile and a half or so along the river. The trees were green and the river was full of lightweight boats and of course the swans. It was a picture such as you see in such old books as our "Boys Book of Knowledge."
The English certainly enjoy their rivers. They have made them all a beauty spot and a constant source of pleasure. Why the American can't do this I don't know. It was a beautiful evening and with double British summer time it didn't get dark until 10 p.m. Young folks were out en masse. Boat loads of girls went by waving at British and Yank soldiers. Waap, Wrens and ATS abounded, too.
Well, this took two nights to tell. Last night I wrote for over an hour and I guess about almost that much tonight. After the walk I went to a dance with a Boston lad I met. Quite a Joe, and he is a story in himself.
You can readily see when I have material to write about, I write a book. I had a most pleasant time on this trip.
This Lowell Tribune article was found in the May 30, 1946, issue (page 5, column 3):
Sgt. Warren Metz arrived home last Wednesday following his discharge from the army. He had been stationed in Belgium for some time.