I am glad to hear that you have rediscovered the joys of writing—you’ve had plenty of practice, after all. The bundle of letters from you is now so thick I can no longer keep them beneath my pillow. (Perhaps I didn’t tell you that I ever did.) I, on the other hand, cannot seem to write a decent word. My columns drip out of me agonisingly slowly. It is like walking through wet sand. My words trudge across the page thud thud thud. I seem to have lost all sense of joy in the process, which is why I am writing this letter to you rather than finishing the dreaded half-written piece I am due to send off to Hopper tomorrow morning. Procrastination is a terrible companion. Truly. He gives me a headache.
Thank you for the beautiful daisies. They made me smile—as did the thought of you picking them by the lake. To know that you saw them and thought of me—well. It is in the simplest things we find the greatest treasures sometimes, is it not. You will be pleased to hear that I have added their pretty little sunshine faces to my flower press. In return, I have enclosed a violet, picked and pressed in the spring. It was the first of the season. It brought me such cheer and hope to see it while I awaited word from you. I do hope it will bring you the same cheer and hope now.
I have also enclosed another sketch. A chiffchaff. Isn’t he a darling little thing? We have them in the garden and they sing such a sweet song. I sketched this handsome fellow while he warbled away to his sweetheart on the fence post. I do hope his amours were rewarded.
Do take care, Thomas. I joke to try and cheer you, but you know I worry so very much.
Evie
XX
P.S. Do let me know about visiting. If you can get permission I can be on the train tomorrow.
From Evie to Alice
10th September, 1916
Richmond, England
Dearest Alice,
How are you? No word for a while now and, of course, I think the worst. Can you tell me where you are? Will you get any leave? I find myself in urgent need of an Alice hug and the sound of your laughter. I used the last of the soap today that you gave me as a gift last Christmas. I wept as the last of it dissolved into suds in my hands. Everything reduces me to tears these days.
What do you know of the condition of emotional weakness? Thomas is recovering from it in a hospital for officers in Edinburgh. He seems terribly glum. Says he is stick-thin and undergoes treatments of hypnosis. I am rather alarmed by it all. Perhaps you can reassure me. I’m hoping to arrange for one of my Scottish cousins to look in on him. Actually, Alice, I rather hope I might find some excuse to visit them so that I can look in on him myself.
I mentioned it to Hopper (who is rather unsympathetic to Tom’s condition). He says Thomas needs only the care and treatment the doctors can provide and strongly believes that my visiting will cause him distress and remind him too much of home and make it much harder for him to focus on his recovery and returning to the Front. Do you agree?
I hardly think Hopper is in much of a position to offer an opinion on the effects of war, since he fights only from a desk and can have no idea what Tom is going through. I find myself becoming rather tired of Hopper’s company. He drinks too much brandy and becomes loose tongued and speaks unkindly of the staff at the LDT. I cannot even repeat the things he says about Jack Davies.
Please write soon. Make me laugh. Cheer me up. Make me smile. Remind me of happier times. I recently saw the film The Battle of the Somme and find myself unable to stop seeing the images in my mind.
I miss you terribly.
Evie
X
From Alice to Evie
17th September, 1916
Somewhere in France
Dearest Evie,
Never fear, mon amie, I am alive and well! I’ve been working at a field hospital at the Front in . It’s been nonstop. Absolutely bone wearing. It’s a real slaughter here; more so than any of the other battles I’ve tended, but I go in every day with a bright, rouged smile, whispering comforting words, making light of something when I can. It’s difficult, but there’s enough of a grim attitude to go around and frankly, someone needs to cheer us on to a victory.
Also, I think I’ve found my new calling. It started with singing lullabies and songs from home to sweeten the boys, until one afternoon, a nurse from New Orleans heard me singing. She taught me a few tunes; jazz she calls them. Apparently they’re all the rage in the dance halls in her hometown. It’s a new kind of music, not yet popular, she said, but lucky for me, I’m at the forefront of invention. We’ve managed to enlist a bugle player to join the foray as well. Our merry-making is brief and infrequent, unfortunately, but as welcome as rain in the desert.
As for your Tom, go to him! From all that I have seen here, what the men need most when they are suffering is to feel a woman’s love, feel cared for, to know that their sacrifice means something. Hypnosis and the like is all very well, but he needs tenderness and a reason to hope for the future. You’ll show him that in volume, won’t you, dear?
I miss you, too!
Alice
P.S. Yes, those are my lips on the paper. Sending you kisses!
P.P.S. I don’t think I’ll be able to take leave until after this mess at the ends. They need every spare set of hands. I’ll let you know as soon as I’m able.
From Thomas to Evie
19th September, 1916
Edinburgh, Scotland
Dear Evie,
Thank you for your kind words, and as for visiting, I can’t think of a single thing in this world that would make me happier, dear girl. I’m as alone as one can be, except for the good doctor. I’ve lost too many friends, my family. I feel adrift sometimes, more alone than I ever imagined possible. Your face might anchor me back to this world. I’ll speak to the staff at once about the protocol—if you’re able, and it pleases you to come all this way.
I’ve done as you’ve instructed and accepted the treatments. Can’t say that I believe in them all that much, but I’ve noticed the nightmares seem to be abating some. Whether or not they’re related, I have no idea. Either way, it helps talking to people who understand what I’ve seen. The doctor says I have a reasonably mild case of war neuroses. Something to be grateful for, I suppose. Some have it so bad they’ve been sent off to the lunatic asylum.
I’ve posted your chiffchaff over my bed. I’ll think about that bird with its little song, wooing a paramour. That’s a happy thought and I could use more of them.
Send word when you can visit. I’ll do my best to keep my hopes up that it will be soon.
Ever yours,
Tom
Telegram from Evie to Tom
21 SEPTEMBER 1916
TO: LT. THOMAS HARDING 0 CRAIGLOCKHART WAR HOSPITAL, EDINBURGH
SENT: 11:23 / RECEIVED: 12:14
WILL BE WITH YOU FRIDAY. TRAIN DEPARTS TOMORROW MORNING. WILL STAY WITH COUSINS IN LEITH. TERRIBLY ANXIOUS TO SEE YOU. P.S. MR. CHIFFCHAFF IS UNITED WITH HIS LADY LOVE. E.
From Evie to Alice
28th September, 1916
Leith, Scotland
My dearest Alice,
I was so very glad to hear from you. You make me smile with your endless positivity. You are perhaps the only person I know who could possibly find reason to smile during such awfulness. You are a tonic. A pure tonic. What is this “jazz” music? It sounds awful! I’m afraid I’ll hardly know you when you come home. Do you think life will ever be the same again? I don’t know how we will ever forget these years.
So, to news from England, or rather Scotland.