Just a quick note to say, what a lucky girl you are to have choices in love. I am happy no matter whom you choose—I adore you and that’s what matters (even if you know my preference. Wink wink). I won’t be the one lying next to the fellow every day, devoting myself to him for all eternity, etc., and you would. Imagine such a thing! I’ve never thought myself the marrying type, in spite of my boy-crazed mind, but who knows? My private has made a full recovery and has become a bit friendlier than usual of late. I quite like it. More soon.
Alice
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From Evie to Tom
25th November, 1915
Richmond, England
My dear Tom,
What an absolute fool I am. I just found a letter I had written to you a fortnight ago in reply to your latest—but I never sent it. I was wondering why there was no reply. Now I know. Things move and change so quickly in this damned war that when I reread my letter, my words hardly make sense anymore, so I have thrown it into the fire and started again.
What I wish to say is that I think you terribly brave to be in the midst of such awfulness. You say you ran—made a mad dash for it. That we always must. I agree with Will on this. We must make a mad dash for everything in life, mustn’t we? Why sit back and let it all pass us by? More than ever, I simply do not know what the world will look like when I wake up each morning. It all feels so fragile. Like silk beginning to fray, and once that thread begins to unravel, it is so difficult to stop it. War makes me question everything. It makes me feel brave and then foolish and then reckless with my emotions so that I don’t quite know who I am anymore.
I’m afraid I must tell you, that in the two weeks between my intended letter and this new attempt, your poor father has gone downhill rather rapidly. I’m sure Abshire has been in touch to tell you the same. I think he is giving up the fight, Tom. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I believe you must prepare yourself.
Wishing you some moments of peace among all that is so difficult.
Yours,
Evie
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Telegram from Charles Abshire to Thomas
1ST DECEMBER 1915
TO: LT. THOMAS HARDING, RANSART, NORD-PAS-DE-CALAIS, FRANCE
SENT: 18:10 / RECEIVED: 18:45
DEEPLY REGRET TO INFORM YOU OF YOUR FATHER’S PASSING. DIED PEACEFULLY. DID NOT SUFFER. WILL SEND ON A LAST LETTER FROM HIM. WILL STAY ON AT LDT UNDER DIRECTION OF JOHN HOPPER UNTIL YOU RETURN. GODSPEED. YOUR FATHER WAS ETERNALLY PROUD OF YOU. ABSHIRE.
From Charles Abshire to Thomas
2nd December, 1915
London, England
My dear Thomas,
My sincere condolences for the loss of your father. He was a great man and a wonderful friend to me. He will be greatly missed by many. As promised, I’ve enclosed the letter from him, which he dictated to me just hours before he died.
Best wishes,
Charles
Letter from Thomas’s father to Thomas
My dear son,
If I could muster the strength to laugh at the irony which has put me on death’s door, I would. My confounded illness crippled me, but God sent in the Germans to finish me off. I’d had too much luck in battle those years in the South African War, I suppose. Now my time has run its course, but I am at peace. Cherish the good as it comes, Thomas. It slips away when you least expect it.
I know our disputes in the past led you to believe I lost faith in you, but I never doubted your character for a minute, or your intelligence. You make the world a better place by being in it. Have courage, dear boy. You will survive this ghastly war because you are strong—all heart as your mother was—and you will live a rich life. War has a way of making everything on the other side of it all the sweeter. Do not think of our quarrels or your inheritance when you make your decisions about the future. No matter what, you must walk your own path, just as I have. Nothing could make me prouder. Please know I will be with you always, looking after you.
With all my heart besides,
Father
From Evie to Thomas
5th December, 1915
Richmond, England
My dearest Tom,
I am so dreadfully sorry. I heard the news of your father’s death from Hopper. He told me that Abshire sent word to you immediately. I believe he slipped away quietly in the end which, I suppose, is all that we can hope for when it comes. I hope you can draw some comfort from that, Tom, although I know you will be desperately sad to be over there and not here.
I will admit that I have been avoiding writing to you since I heard. There simply didn’t seem to be any words to express my feelings adequately. We have been here before, haven’t we? I seem to have used up any ability to write eloquently about death and grief. But each day since I learned of your father’s passing I felt ever more awful for leaving you with no word. So this is my best attempt.
The funeral was a very dignified affair. You would have been very proud. I know you and your father had your difficulties (what child and their parents don’t?), but when all’s said and done, you would have been—and should be—a very proud son. If nothing else, war must make us value life, with all its frustrations and disagreements. I find myself more forgiving of Mama’s “ways.” Sometimes I even feel quite fond of her.
And for all that I dearly love to receive your letters, I hate to learn of your skirmishes and the dreadful injuries that fall on your troops. I would ask you to be a little less descriptive, but that would be cowardly. I must know the truth of it from you because we hear very little of it in the newspapers. Everything is still bolstered by talk of bravery and victorious battles against the enemy. The government would have us believe you are all enjoying a jolly holiday over there. The headlines are nothing more sinister than “Making Steady Progress” and “A Day of Promise.” Cavell’s execution was, of course, used to stir up patriotic sentiment among those who haven’t signed up yet. Leaflets and posters are everywhere. “REMEMBER CAVELL.” “GO NOW!” Women are shamed into encouraging their sons and husbands to go. There is talk of conscription coming in the very near future. Hopper believes the act will be passed early in the New Year and then everyone will have to go. We will be a nation of women, alone.