The Whitewright Sun
Friday, December 6, 1918
pg. 1

CLIFFORD THOMPSON IS REPORTED MISSING IN ACTION
Mr. and Mrs. Horace Thompson received a message Saturday night, advising them that their son, Clifford R. Thompson, Co., K 4th Infantry, A.E.F., is officially missing in action.  The telegram, of course, bore a message of grief to the aged patents, and of sincere regret to Clifford's many friends in this town. There is, however, a ray of hope in the missing in action reports, as there are so many ways that a soldier might become missing in action, that one is justified in clinging to the hope that Clifford will later be found among the prisoners of German or only wounded in a hospital somewhere.
Clifford enlisted in the regular army of the United States in August 1914, and soon there after was sent to China, where he was stationed for nearly 3 years.  He was made a corporal and was given special recognition for his proficiency in marksmanship and as a sharpshooter. In January of this year he returned with his company to the United States and was later assigned to overseas duty, and has participated more or less in the fighting on the western front in France.
A letter dated September 24th was received by his parents Sunday morning, following the receipt of the War Department's message Saturday night.  He was safe and well at that time, closing his letter to his parents with these words: "This war is hard on all of us.  Mamma, please try not to worry if you fail to hear from me.  If anything happens, you will be notified at once. Give my best regards to my friends."



The Whitewright Sun
Thursday, June 9, 1932
pg.3

12 Years Ago
(From The Sun, June 11,  1920)

Mr. and Mrs. Horace Thompson are going to have the body of their son, Clifford, brought home as soon as the government begins moving the soldier dead from the sector where Clifford is buried.   The following lines were written by Mrs. Thompson:

Slain on the bloody field,
But you must not slumber there;
Your own proud land's heroic soil
Will be a better lyre.
Then 'neath your parent turf thy rest
Far from the battlefield;
Sleep on, dear sainted dead,
Dear as the blood you gave - - -
No enemy footsteps here shall tread
The herbage of your grave.
Nor shall your story be forgot
While Fame her records keep,
And honor points the sacred spot
Where Valor proudly sleeps.