I have been admitted into hospital.
{sick } and am going on quite well
{wounded } and hope to be discharged soon
I am being sent down to the base.
I have received your
{ letter dated _25th March ’15_
{ telegram __________
{ parcel __________
Letter follows at first opportunity.
I have received no letter from you
{ lately
{ for a long time
Signature only. _Will Harding________________
Date ______________31st March ’15___________________
[Postage must be prepaid on any letter or postcard addressed to the sender of this card.]
From Thomas to Evie
1st April, 1915
Somewhere in France
Dear Evie,
Pinch, punch, first of the month. (I got you!)
It’s Fools’ Day here at camp, yet I can’t find a thing to be jovial about. One of the privates thought it would be funny to fill my tea—if you can call it that—with dirt. I lost it, shouted at him and the lot of them. You’ve never seen a pack of men run so fast. It’s a trivial thing to be angry about, but war does that to a man.
Now that I’ve complained I see I do have something to be happy about—your letters. I shouldn’t admit this, but since I have no idea what lies ahead, I may as well be honest. I watch the letter carrier drive up from the road, over whatever humped terrain we’re on, and walk swiftly to the mail tent. The minute he jumps back into his truck I amble to the tent, nonchalantly of course, and duck inside, secretly praying there’s a violet-scented envelope with your elegant script. When I see one, I feel like I’ve won a prize. I look for letters from Father as well, but they never come, only the occasional update from Abshire. He is a silent sort of fellow, his letters are more like telegrams written in abbreviated, blocky sentences. It says a few things about him, doesn’t it? Anyway, he doesn’t write prettily, as you do.
As for the newspapers, when I return I’ll see to it that ours prints the truth. I can see this troubles you and I value your opinion. At least the LDT is better off than most in this concern—being a smaller publication we’re not watched as closely as the big boys like the Mail and the Times, although Abshire mentioned the Globe is suspended for two weeks after printing false reports about Kitchener’s resignation. Relations between Kitchener and the Cabinet may be strained, and Asquith might well reduce the man’s responsibilities, but he will never cast him aside completely. So much is censored now, it’s a wonder I get any news to you at all. What good is it to a newspaper if the truth is glossed over? I suspect trouble will continue to brew on this front. We need to keep a close eye on how this sort of censorship develops.
Ho, dinners (plural) with John Hopper! Lucky fellow. He always was, even if he didn’t deserve it. I’ll leave it there for now.
I’ll hold on, Evie. Don’t worry. I have nothing to do but that.
Sincerely yours,
Thomas
P.S. Will enclosed a letter.
P.P.S. I hope you like the photograph. I had to bribe my commanding officer with my ration of rum to get it.
From Will to Evie
Dear Evie,
Don’t worry your pretty head over my wound. It healed within days. Amandine took excellent care of me, cleaning and dressing the wound, and setting my spirits to rights again. She smuggled in sweets and tobacco for me as well and what is a fellow to do when he is helpless in his sick bed other than to let himself fall ever more madly in love. See? Nothing to worry about. Good as new.
I hear we’re moving to or just east of there in two weeks. Could you send another pair of gloves before then? Mine are wearing thin.
Your loving brother,
Will
From Evie to Will
16th April, 1915
Richmond, England
Dearest Will,
What a relief to hear from you and to hear that you are well enough to march on. I have enclosed new gloves and socks for the journey. Will your lovely Amandine be able to go with you, or must she stay behind?
The censors got to your letter, so I don’t know exactly where you are headed. I only hope it isn’t closer to the Front. We’ve heard of awful casualties close to the Belgian towns of Ypres and Armentières. The Germans still hold Menin and are reported as getting the best of the Allies at the moment. I hope you are to march in the opposite direction. Dear God, Will. How did it ever come to this? I pray, with all my heart, that you are somewhere safe, at camp or in billets, and far away from the firing line.
England is all talk of the loss of 2nd Lieut. Gladstone, MP whose name appeared in the casualty lists. He had been in the trenches less than a week. Shot by a sniper’s bullet when he reached up over the parapet to try and locate that very sniper. Papa says it was a senseless death and the result of inexperience as much as bad fortune. I take some comfort in knowing how experienced you are now and that you would never do anything so rash and foolish.
Tom sent a photograph of you both. So handsome, even if you do look a little thin.
Stay safe. We remain terribly proud of you all.
Evie
From Evie to Thomas
18th April, 1915
Richmond, England
Dear Tom Harding (Lieutenant),
I must apologise for the overscenting of my letters. It has become a habit to dab my bottle of violet water onto my fingertips and dot it about the paper before sealing it. I imagine such terrible smells in the trenches and hope that this little fragrance of an English summer garden will be a welcome boost. And you know how I adore the scent of violet—and rose and gardenia. I long for the bushes to bloom in the garden so that I can cut a few sprigs for my bedroom.
Will writes of an impending march. I know you cannot tell me where to—or you can, but the censors will strike it out—and that you and your fellow officers censor the privates’ letters, but who censors yours? In any event, I find myself poring over maps of Europe and newspaper reports in an attempt to follow the battle lines. Papa and I have a miniature War Office in the library here, trying to work out where on earth you might be. It would amuse you, I am sure, to see us puzzling over maps and no doubt reaching the wrong conclusions, but such is the way we occupy ourselves these days. It feels like a game and I only wish I could tip the board over in a temper and bring you all home.
As for propaganda, it is rife here. I can only guess at how little we are really being told. I, too, hope your father hasn’t fallen foul to the pressures yet. Please don’t shy away from telling me the truth and the detail of what is happening out there. I am made of strong stuff and can take whatever you have to tell me. I would rather know the truth of it than live in ignorance. We women are not as sheltered from the world as we once were. War is opening the world up for us. What sad irony is that?
Take care and write whenever you get a moment. Was there any news on your getting a period of leave?
Your friend,
Evelyn Elliott