Happy New Year, darling! I have only a few quick minutes to write. We’ve been working flat out the last week, and short staffed. I keep hoping the Americans will join us. We’re lacking supplies, ammunition, men . . . and we desperately need more nurses. It’s a mess here. Sanitary conditions in the huts are truly awful, and even the duckboards we walk on are now covered with mud. I’ve taken more than my fair share of spills. You wouldn’t believe the state of me. I am well, though, and missing you!
Tom is thin as a twig, poor fellow. I got the feeling he doesn’t eat much, even when there’s enough rations to be had. Melancholy seems to press on him, Evie, and in truth, I fear he may be suffering from some sort of emotional or nervous distress. I encouraged him to apply for leave. And his reply? “Why should I go home when my demons will follow me there? I would think only of my men that I leave behind to face their doom.” Goodness, I encouraged him to drink a large glass of wine after such a speech. I mentioned that you would help restore his spirits. He looked at me then, from hollow eyes, and said, “I wish she could save me, Alice. I feel myself slipping away.”
I told him you cared for him a great deal and would help him find his way, that he should lean on those who love him. I’m not certain he took my meaning, sadly. He is in a desperate way at the moment.
I must go, but sending lots of love. Oh, and the ambulance driving is still a great challenge, but I think I’ve finally mastered that devil of a machine. Just don’t tell anyone I’ve put a few dents in the bumper. I keep hoping no one will notice.
Alice
X
From Evie to Thomas
30th January, 1916
Richmond, England
My dear Thomas,
We are to have Shakespeare again, are we? Please try to find something happier. A comedy, maybe. Wasn’t A Midsummer Night’s Dream always a favourite of yours? Spend some time with Puck and Bottom and the fairies rather than stuffy old kings and raging storms. I don’t like to hear you dwell on death so much.
Alice wrote. She said you are finding it all rather difficult at the moment. I wish there was something I could do to help, other than send brandy and letters. I’ve enclosed a little volume of sonnets to help keep your mind occupied in the bleaker moments. Look to it when you find the going tough, when you feel you can’t bear it any longer. You can, Tom. I know you can—and you will. Even in the blackest hours remember that a new dawn is racing towards you. We must be victorious soon. Surely, we must.
As to the situation at the LDT, I try my best to keep out of the continual tussle for power. Honestly, you would think grown men would act with a little more dignity. Are you quite sure Hopper is the cause of the disruption? He speaks with nothing but passion and good intent whenever we discuss the LDT—or you. He only wants what is best for the paper, although I know he is ambitious and isn’t afraid to challenge the staff to go further in their reporting. I do know he finds Jack Davies rather impossible to deal with. Are you sure Davies isn’t spinning you a yarn? Playing on old rivalries between cousins? I shouldn’t give it another thought if I were you, Tom. Leave the boys to play in the schoolyard while you and all the real men fight it out on the battlefield.
All remains relatively peaceful here. The occasional hasty marriage and a baby born out of wedlock keep the gossips’ tongues wagging. The world keeps turning. Life goes on. We must take courage from that.
Never be alone, Tom. Know that I am thinking of you.
Yours,
Evie.
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From Thomas to Evie
22nd February, 1916
Somewhere in France
Dear Evie,
Just a quick note as we’re packing up and heading out towards the river. We’ve got quite a march ahead of us. You may not hear from me as often for a few weeks, but I do intend to write when I can. Send up some prayers, friend. We’re headed into the belly of the beast and I’ll need all of your courage and strength behind me as I lead the battalion. I’ll be thinking of you.
With affection,
Tom
From Evie to Thomas
28th February, 1916
Richmond, England
Dear Thomas,
Godspeed, my friend. I so hate to hear of you heading out on a long march, but I know you will lead your men well, and bravely.
We hear the French are in a tense battle with the Germans at Verdun. Terrible losses. I pray you aren’t there, friend. I had a dream last night that you’d happened upon a comfortable French pension somewhere in the countryside far away from the sound of shelling and sniper fire. A wonderful old lady (Madame de Carteret was her name) fussed over you and made you a local peasant stew to warm your bones. She was terribly kind and you grew stronger every day on the settle bed beside the fire. You took to whittling wooden animals for her from firewood and Madame de Carteret was delighted with the little treasures you made for her. Her husband and son had been killed in Belgium, so she was glad of your company.
I hope it might come true, Tom, and that you might find such comfort and kindness. Do you remember how you were always scraping at a piece of willow with your pocket knife, insisting you’d carved an elephant or some such when all Will and I could see was a lumpy piece of wood? We were cruel to tease you but all those memories are my richest treasures now. Such carefree happy times. Perhaps you will whittle me a bird someday?
So many men are gone now. Only those who are married, or in reserved occupations remain—and the “conchies,” of course. How they can bring themselves to walk the streets while everyone else faces conscription bravely is beyond my comprehension. How can they be so selfish? Why should they be spared when millions will not be? There are lads as young as fourteen and fifteen who have forged their date of birth and gone out like brave men. We read reports of tribunals in the papers every day, some poor chap or other stating his case for refusing to take up arms. Some are sent out to do noncombatant work like stretcher bearing. Others are imprisoned for their morals. It truly breaks my heart when I see the shadows their mothers and sisters have become. They hunch over like hags when they walk, always looking at the ground, ashamed to look anyone in the eye.
Stay safe, my friend. I comfort myself with reading the many letters you have sent to me since the war started. Do you remember how naive we were? How this was a grand adventure and you would be home in weeks, if you ever got to see any action. Who would ever have thought so many months and years lay ahead, or that we would ever have so much we needed to say to each other. And there is so much more to be said, Tom.
I live in hope that another letter from you will be on its way to me soon.
Evie
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Telegram from Thomas to Evie
15TH MARCH 1916
TO: EVELYN ELLIOTT, POPLARS, RICHMOND, LONDON SW
SENT: 17:22 / RECEIVED: 18:34
BATTALION DECIMATED. SURVIVING FEW JOINING ANOTHER. NOT LOOKING GOOD. WILL SEND WORD SOONEST. ACHING FOR HOME. TOM.
From Evie to Thomas
17th March, 1916
Richmond, England
Dearest Tom,