Wonderful, stupendous, jolly news! I have found your dear Tom. He is alive and well! A doctor I’ve recently befriended sent word to a colleague at the location of some of the heaviest battles. Just as we feared, Tom was there, in the thick of it . By some miracle, he wasn’t badly hurt, just a wound in his arm requiring a few stitches. You must be asking yourself why he hasn’t written, but he is alive! Now for the more difficult news.
I’ve been told Tom is afflicted with a severe melancholy, the sort that makes one go numb, become listless. He’s having difficulties facing the day, doing his duties, poor fellow. I’ve seen this a lot among the soldiers who have been here for long stints, and given how he was at Christmas, I’m not surprised. At the they say the dead and wounded were in the tens of thousands. But he is alive! I say this again, because it is a marvel in this war. And his spirit will recover, in time. I’ve forwarded a note to a nurse stationed near him to prompt him to write. I told him all at home are worried sick and so forth. I’ve also enclosed an address on the inside flap of the envelope (must conserve as much paper as possible).
In rather sad news, my friend Private Rollins was killed. He was struck blind by an explosion, then wandered aimlessly through a minefield. Isn’t it the most pointless death you’ve ever heard? I’ve cried for weeks, but it’s a waste. It won’t bring him back. He was lovely, but I’ve moved on because I must.
More sad news. I’m no longer on ambulance duty. I rather preferred being behind the wheel to being based at a field hospital, but it seemed the many dents caught up with me.
Are you joining us here as a war correspondent? I would warn you of the dangers and urge you to stay at home, but I know it would be futile. Stubborn Evie Elliott will see it through. I know she will.
Keep me abreast of any news from Tom.
Alice
X
From Evie to Alice
19th July, 1916
Richmond, England
My dear Alice,
What incredible joy! What tremendous relief to know that Tom is safe! My hand trembles just writing these words. I have thought the worst for so long and to hear that he is alive answers all my prayers. Even when I hear that he is afflicted with a melancholy, I cannot be too sad. His melancholy will pass, I am sure of it. He is here, and that is all that matters.
I must write to him immediately, but I don’t wish to be insensitive. I have heard people talk of the men who are affected by their nerves and how they seem incapable of thought or speech. Do you think Tom will be considered bad enough to be sent home to recover? Please excuse all my questions. How frustrating it is to not know if the answers will ever come.
I was dreadfully sorry to hear about your private. Must we lose everyone? I will admit, however, that I’m relieved to hear you’re out of the ambulance. Far better to be in the field hospital. You must see the most ghastly sights. I just cannot imagine how you’re managing. You didn’t even like to see a grazed knee.
Although it seems of small significance now I know that Tom is safe, I must, of course, tell you that all is as well as can be expected here at home. I am still enjoying my job as a postwoman, although the weather has been horrid and Mama insists that I’ll catch influenza being out in it all. I haven’t, of course. Never have. Never will. She forgets that I have the constitution of an ox.
My column has become something of a sensation and—you won’t believe this—I get fan mail! Honestly, Alice. I know you will be laughing as you read this, but dozens of women write to the newspaper every week to tell me how much they enjoy reading my words and how helpful they find them. It is really quite extraordinary and very touching. Some of the letters would break your heart. Of course, I can’t reply. I don’t have the time for one thing. But I suppose it is rather nice to know that I am helping in a small way.
My editor is still trying to find a way to get me out to France so I can write from there with firsthand accounts. He thinks the only way I can get over is by joining up as a nurse, or some such. I feel that I can’t do anything until I hear word directly from Thomas. For now I must put thoughts of my own prospects out of my mind and get on with day-to-day things here.
Stay safe, and thank you, my dearest friend. You have bandaged a broken heart and I do believe it might, with the right care, make a full recovery.
Evie
XXX
From Evie to Thomas
19th July, 1916
Richmond, England
My dearest, dearest Thomas,
I had word from Alice that you are alive and safe and I am not ashamed to tell you how many tears of relief I have shed.
It has been torture not hearing from you, but I understand that you have been deeply affected by so many months at war and find it difficult to put words on paper. I would so very much love to hear from you but just to know you are not captured, or worse, gladdens my heart beyond expression. It is enough for me to know my letters are not disappearing into thin air. Have you been receiving them? I sent several these past months and I would love to know whether you received them.
Knowing you are alive gives me the courage to write on. Even though you might not find the strength to reply, please know that I think of you.
I will not burden you with too much news.
When you are ready, send me yours. I will be waiting.
Yours in hope,
Evie
XX
From Jack Davies to Thomas
22nd July, 1916
London, England
Dear Tom,
I believe you’re not in the best of shape at present, but I felt compelled to write again. Things continue to dissolve here at the paper between Hopper and me. I shudder to think where the London Daily Times will be by year’s end.
The bright side? The paper is generating serious revenue now. We have two columns about the war that are wildly popular. One hundred and fifty fan letters or more per week flood into the office. Many women are finding comfort and inspiration from our new columnists, including your friend Evelyn Elliott. I am glad for it, of course, but I am not thrilled Hopper now aims to push our columnists into dangerous territory in terms of the subjects they are writing about. The government wants the opposite, mind, and calls for more propaganda. We quarrelled about it heatedly and I nearly got myself sacked. I must admit, I fear Hopper’s position here may be the end of my time at the paper. I mentioned this before, but the truth becomes more obvious daily.
I hope you’re safe, my boy.
Sincerely,
Jack Davies
From Captain James Edwards to Evie
30th July, 1916
Somewhere in France
Dear Miss Elliott,
I write to you on behalf of Lieut. Thomas Harding, 10th Battalion. Harding is suffering from nervous exhaustion and is resting, at present, in a field hospital. He sends his regards and wishes to send assurances that he is being well cared for and hopes to be back in action very soon.
I wish to add that he is a highly valued and much respected member of our company, and we all wish him a speedy recovery so that he can rejoin our continued quest for victory.
Sincerely yours,
Captain James Edwards, 10th Rifles Battalion
From Evie to Thomas
5th August, 1916
Richmond, England
Dear Tom,