Father still isn’t well and doesn’t seem to be improving. Abshire said cousin John has been asking about the London Daily Times. We haven’t approached him yet about helping out. Father fears Hopper will attempt to buy us out, and then it’s all over for the family business. He believes Hopper will sell the paper to collect a fat cheque, and leave us to pick up the pieces. I’m not sure what to do. As much as I don’t want to run the paper, I can’t allow my father’s hard work and joy to be sold off, and by a blood relation, no less.
I need to be there, at home. I need to protect what belongs to the Hardings, and decide how to proceed from there. I can’t tell you how frustrating it is to be too far away to be of use. I find myself desperate to spend time with my father. I’m beginning to worry a great deal, our differences be damned.
On a lighter note, I’m glad to hear you’re cycling again now the weather is improving. I can picture you flying along in your scarf and hat, cheeks pink, as the wheels whizz beneath you. And you’re writing again! Good! You always seem happiest when you can put your thoughts on paper. It’s rather funny how you and I fell in love with literature and writing separately, yet alongside each other. We’re kindred spirits, my friend.
Speaking of literature, I will leave you with the words of my oldest friend, Shakespeare, from one of the few books I brought with me. It’s from Henry IV. (Perhaps I should have brought something more upbeat.)
O war! thou son of hell,
Whom angry heavens do make their minister,
Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part
Hot coals of vengeance! Let no soldier fly.
He that is truly dedicate to war
Hath no self-love, nor he that loves himself,
Hath not essentially but by circumstance
The name of valour.
I’m sorry for the dark subject of this letter. It’s been a dark day and Richmond—and you—feels so very, very far away.
Yours,
Tom
P.S. As for Mrs. Pankhurst, though I admire her, I can’t say I agree with her insistence in dishonouring men who choose not to join the war. If given the chance to do this all over, I’m not sure I would enlist as readily.
From Evie to Thomas
25th March, 1915
Richmond, England
Dearest Tom,
Thank you for your letter, although I must tell you it has me awfully worried. To learn of you and Will being in the thick of the action fills me with the deepest dread imaginable. Was it terrible? Did you fear for your life? Gosh, Tom, I cannot imagine it. You are the best friend Will could ever wish for. Thank goodness he had you beside him. Was he hurt badly? I try not to think of it, but I imagine the worst. He never could handle pain. The slightest nettle sting would send him howling to Nanny. You poor things. How helpless I feel.
Today is Lady Day—the start of spring—and the daffodils look so lovely in the sunlight. It certainly helps to feel the warmth in the breeze and to see the brighter evenings. I hope you feel the sun on your face, too. Hopefully the better weather will lift your father’s spirits and see him on the road to recovery. Try not to worry about the newspaper. I’m sure things will settle down when you’re back home and can talk things through with your father face-to-face. You are a pair of stubborn mules.
I mentioned your predicament to Papa (subtly, so he wouldn’t read too much into it). He knows Hopper quite well and believes he has a good head for business. Papa said he would get him on board as soon as possible if it were his business at stake. Certainly, from the conversations I’ve had with Hopper over recent dinners, I can only believe that he would be a sensible choice as a temporary standin to oversee things. What other choice do you have? If relations are terribly frosty, your father needn’t know the full extent of Hopper’s involvement, need he? I could always ask Papa to drop by the offices to take a measure of things if it would help? He visits his club in London on Wednesdays. I could ask him to make up some excuse or other to look in?
If only I could meet you for afternoon tea or for a stroll through Richmond Park, this would all be so much easier to discuss. Any news on a period of leave?
The London Daily Times has become my preferred source of news in recent months. The larger newspapers paint a very different picture of war to the one you describe in your letters. The editors would have us believe everything is perfectly jolly over there and war is nothing but continual victories and divisional concert parties. Your editor at least seems a little more willing to tell some of the truth of what is happening out there.
As for enlisting, I know you would do the very same if this were to happen again, because that is what brave young men like you do. Trust me, you would not wish to be on the receiving end of the White Feather Brigade. They are harsh in their condemnation and as the weeks and months pass, and we learn of more and more losses, I find it hard to have any sympathy for those fit young men I see walking down the street in their civvies. Some claim to have failed the medical examination, but most refuse to fight on moral grounds. Conscription is coming, Tom, I am sure of it. There is a palpable sense that we are in this for the long haul. I only hope and pray that you and Will and all our other friends and cousins will be away from the worst of the danger while it lasts.
Try not to think dark thoughts, Tom. We shall make a bonfire of your last letters when you come home, and we’ll watch the sparks float up into the sky like fireflies and drink good wine. Think of that, and of how thankful we will be when victory comes. Think about Dover’s white cliffs welcoming you home. Think of your boat on the Thames. Think of being in Paris at Christmas. Think of all the things you have never done, all the living you still have left to do. So much, Tom. So very much. You must not let death in. Shut it out where it cannot find you. Put down your Shakespearean tragedies.
Come, on wings of joy we’ll fly
To where my bower hangs on high;
Come, and make thy calm retreat
Among green leaves and blossoms sweet.
(A few lines from Blake.)
Please keep writing. I find myself depending on your words more and more.
Stay safe, dear boy.
Evie
P.S. I believe the War Office has put in place an amnesty program for the little VPK cameras to prevent any images falling into enemy hands. Do you still have your camera? Take a picture of you and Will if you can before it is confiscated. I would so like to see your faces again.
From Evie to Will
25th March, 1915
Richmond, England
Dear Will,
Tom wrote with news of your involvement in some skirmish or other, and of your act of heroism and resulting leg wound. It causes me such anguish to learn of these things. It is just like you to think of others before yourself. To run headlong towards the danger when others would be running away. The British Army is lucky to have you on their side, Will, and we are lucky to have you in our hearts.
Please send word of your recovery as soon as you can. I hope your sweet Amandine is by your side to give you courage and proper treatment.
Please do take the greatest care.
Your loving sister,
Evie
From Will to Evie
FIELD SERVICE POSTCARD
NOTHING to be written on this side except the date and signature of the sender. Sentences not required may be erased. If anything else is added the postcard will be destroyed.
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I am quite well.