What anguish to read your telegram. I will pray for your safety, wherever you are. If this letter reaches you, please know that you are in all our thoughts. I cannot fight these battles for you, but I know you are a strong leader and that your men will look to you for direction and courage. Think only of that. Think of the men you have already saved, and those you will save yet.
You are so very brave and we are all so proud.
Victory will be ours soon and then a lifetime of peace awaits.
Yours,
E
X
From Evie to Jack Davies
2nd April, 1916
Richmond, England
Dear Sir,
Please find enclosed my latest column in which I address the issue of conscription. I hope you and the newspaper’s readers will find it satisfactory. Given the mutinous reaction of groups like the NCF since the Military Service Act came into law, and with recent news concerning the imprisonment of Edith Smith for printing an NCF leaflet without submitting it for censorship, I am rather nervous about this latest piece, and its subject matter. But perhaps now, more than ever, a column written by a woman and dedicated to women is very appropriate.
You mentioned previously that you would send on some of the correspondence “Genevieve” has received. I would very much like to see the letters, if they are not too numerous, or too damning of my opinions.
Yours sincerely,
Evelyn Elliott
A WOMAN’S WAR
by our special correspondent in London, Genevieve Wren
“We Who Are Left”
Conscription has seen the last of our men dispatched to war. Whatever our individual thoughts on the morality of compulsory conscription, fate (and politics) will always have the final say. Men of all ages and standing are gone.
The farmer no longer tends his crops. The bus driver no longer smiles a cheery Hello. The postman no longer cycles along the lane. We are a nation of women, and we that are left must now stand taller than ever before, dust off our pride, roll up our sleeves, and do our bit. We may think that we lack the skills, the strength, the physical ability to do some of the jobs required, but how do we know if we do not try. “Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.” We choose to learn how to fish, don’t we, brave women of Britain?
Just as our courageous soldiers must learn to fight and to kill and to survive, so must we learn to keep this country on its feet. To bring food into the home and maintain law and order on the streets and keep everything running like clockwork, ready for when they return.
I urge you all to find a way to help, however small it may seem. Together we can do extraordinary things and keep the home fires burning.
Until next time—courage!
Genevieve.
From Jack Davies to Evie
12th April, 1916
London, England
Dear Miss Elliott,
As requested, please find enclosed a selection of “fan letters” for your attention. Your Genevieve Wren is causing quite a stir. There is a sackful of letters, so this is just a small selection for your perusal.
Regarding the other matter we discussed recently, I am still making enquiries. If it were up to me, I would be happy to dispatch you and your notepad to France right away. You connect with people in a way most journalists cannot. You speak to them as if you were having a friendly natter over a cup of tea. I have no hesitation in knowing that you would write with passion and honesty and be an enormous success. However, as you know, women and journalism are an unconventional combination. Put a war zone into the frame and we have a very difficult—if not impossible—path to navigate. I’m also meeting with resistance by those involved in the running of the paper—and with Tom Harding away, I can’t make a decision without the consent of someone in a position of authority.
I will keep trying—if you are still certain. I don’t need to spell out the risks to you. If I can’t get you there in any official reporting capacity, my only other suggestion is that you find a way to go over in some other—more acceptable—capacity (nurse, telephonist, etc.) and send your reports to me covertly?
I know you have dismissed the idea before, but if you are determined to go, it may be the only possible way. I’ll wait for your word.
Yours sincerely,
J.D.
Fan letter to Evie
Dear Miss Wren,
I have never written to a newspaper before, and I am nervous to do so. I have been reading your column in the London Daily Times and had to write to tell you how much I look forward to it, and how much your words mean to me. I have lost two sons and a brother in the war. My husband and two other sons are still out there. I have an elderly mother to care for and am lucky to have very kind neighbours, but the house—once filled with noise and laughter, and life—is so empty. I do my best, but it isn’t easy. Your words are a comfort to me. It is almost as if you know me, as if you are speaking to me personally.
I just wanted to let you know that you are helping many women with your honesty.
I don’t know who you are, or what your circumstances might be, but it doesn’t matter. Whoever and wherever you are, when I read your words you are right here with me in my humble little kitchen, and for that I am very grateful.
May God keep you and your loved ones safe.
Marjorie Barrow
From Charles Abshire to Thomas
20th April, 1916
London, England
Dear Thomas,
I urge you to check in with Jack Davies at the LDT. Neither he nor I have heard from you in weeks and I’m concerned both for the paper and for your welfare. Please respond at once.
Sincerely,
Charles Abshire
From Evie to Thomas
26th April, 1916
Richmond, England
Dearest Tom,
A month has passed now without any word from you and I’m terribly worried. It is so unlike you not to write for so long. You were so eager with your previous replies, and now the days drag with the quiet agony of not hearing from you, not knowing where, or how, you are.
Papa assures me you will be on the march and too exhausted to do anything other than slump into an exhausted heap. Mama says the best I can do is keep writing to you. And I will. Always.
I pray for your safety, dear.
Yours in hope,
Evie
X
From Evie to Alice
30th April, 1916
Richmond, England
Dearest Alice,
How are you? What news?