You don’t sound yourself at all, no mention of music, or men. It must be awful for you out there, but think of all those you have nursed back to health with your pretty smile and that sparkle in your peepers. You are a marvel and I have nothing but the greatest admiration for you.
I’ve tried, several times, to talk to Tom about my Christmas letter, but I can never find the right words, or moment. He seems so fragile still. I just can’t bear to burden him with expectations of love, on top of everything else. You, more than anyone, know it isn’t in my nature to be patient, but with this I must be. Perhaps he will remember better when he recovers. He is a little muddled at times, and reacts to the slightest of bangs or loud noises. War has turned my brave-hearted lion into a kitten. It wouldn’t be fair to smother him with my own selfish needs. Not now, at least.
Come home soon. I miss you terribly.
Evie
XX
P.S. Have you heard anything about the Women’s Army Auxiliary Corps? I am making plans for adventures overseas. I’ll be on the first train to Dover if I get a whiff of a chance.
From Thomas to Charles Abshire
22nd November, 1916
Edinburgh, Scotland
Dear Charles,
I’m sending a quick note to thank you for the cigs and scotch, and also your concern. I fear I’ll never be free of the heavy load I now carry, but I am on solid ground again. That has to be enough for the time being. I wish I were returning to London, victory behind me, but I’ve been told I’m to return to the Front in a few weeks.
Keep me abreast of news about Davies and Hopper. I’m grateful for your constructive influence on them.
Wishing you well,
Thomas
From Alice to Evie
1st December, 1916
Somewhere in France
Dear Evie,
I’ll be home on leave in three days! It will be a short visit, but long enough to go for a drive and eat some Christmas goodies. Something to revive my waning spirits. Yes, even I am succumbing to the melancholy coating everything. It’s desperate here and no one can endure this at such length without being affected. I’m desperately sad you won’t be home while I am, but I wouldn’t dream of asking you to part from Tom. I daresay he needs you far more than I do.
Kisses,
Alice
From Thomas to Evie
18th December, 1916
Edinburgh, Scotland
Dear Evie,
How wonderful to celebrate Christmas with you, even a quiet one, a week early. That little tavern in town was perfectly cosy. Roast chicken and potatoes, a tot of brandy by the fire. For just a few hours it felt like we were living in another time. The time before it all.
I’ll remember it always; the first real laugh I’ve had in ages, the way the firelight lit your face. If only I could bottle you up and take you with me when I return to the Front.
Ever yours,
Tom
From Evie to Thomas
20th December, 1916
Leith, Scotland
My dearest Thomas,
How unbearable to endure another goodbye. We seem to dance around each other like autumn leaves, forever twisting and twirling about until a gust of wind sends us skittering in different directions. How I wish we could be still for a while, that the winds of war would end and let us settle.
It will be bittersweet to wave you off tomorrow: so glad to see you well again and so sad to watch you leave. How typical of you to show such fortitude when others would have gladly run back to their mothers’ apron strings. You’ll be on the train when you read this, hurtling south again towards the camps on the South Downs and on, across the Channel towards France. Your men will be so encouraged to see you again. Don’t think of it as returning to war. Think of it as returning to good friends.
I’m writing this in one of the lovely little harbour cafés where I’ve spent many hours these past weeks. The vastness of the sea reminds me how big the world is, and how little of it I have seen. When the war is over, I want to travel as far as I can so that I know what you were all fighting for—what we are trying to save. Do you remember me mentioning Lillias Campbell Davidson’s little travel book? I found it in Papa’s library and shared a few lines with you on appropriate dress for cycling tours: “. . . have your gown made neatly and plainly of flannel without loose ends or drapery to catch in your [bicycle]; dark woollen stockings in winter, and cotton in summer; shoes, never boots . . .” I have the book with me now. I was so full of enthusiasm when I first read those lines, but it seems to have all been knocked out of me since. I mustn’t let war do that to me, must I? One must always have adventure in life, or the promise of it, at least.
Was there something you wished to tell me when we parted yesterday? There was a moment when you hesitated and I felt sure you had something terribly important to say. Perhaps I am imagining things? If not, and there were things left unsaid, perhaps they could be more easily expressed in a letter. “I’ll call for pen and ink and write my mind.”
And now the proprietor is closing up, so I must end and seal this. Tomorrow I’ll leave the rugged landscape of Scotland and return to the starched perfection of Poplars. I can’t say I’m relishing the prospect. I rather feel as though a piece of the Highlands has settled in my heart. I hope to return in the spring, circumstances permitting.
For you, a goodbye gift. An oystercatcher. I drew him during one of my long walks along the mudflats when I was waiting to visit you. He was so patient, breaking open his oysters against the rocks. I imagined him finding a pearl to treasure. With a little patience we might all find something to cherish. Do you think?
Happy Christmas, Thomas.
With much affection,
Evie
XX
From Thomas to Evie
24th December, 1916
Somewhere in France
Dear Evie,
I’m settled in again, as much as one can be settled here. It’s odd how, with only a few days back, it feels as if I never left. This war is seared onto the very fabric of my being.
A few of the men looked at me funny when I returned, but only one made a comment about my time in “that” hospital. If I weren’t a Lieut., I would have pounded Private Johnson’s face for his snide remarks. But the last thing we need is to fight amongst ourselves. Instead, I cut him sharply with a few choice remarks. He was too stupid to understand my rebuttal but plenty of the others got it. That was satisfying enough.