When I read your letter, I was furious. I tried to be levelheaded, but I wound up throwing a private’s helmet clear into no man’s land. It was shot up immediately, of course, and he had to get a new one. I don’t want you here amid the gloom and gore. It isn’t the place for someone like you and won’t be good for you. It isn’t good for anyone. For some reason, I feel I need to protect you and I can’t abide you destroying that pure goodness inside you, or seeing something horrible to test your spirit. What if something were to happen to you? I don’t think I could stand it, Evie. We talked about this at length in Edinburgh, yet you insist on putting yourself in harm’s way.
Please say you’ll make it a short stay and for God’s sake, be wary of the men. They haven’t been around a real woman in months, and even years, some of them. Keep your wits about you. If you came to any harm at the hand of one of our own I can assure you I would see red, and couldn’t be held accountable for my actions.
Tom
From Evie to Tom
25th March, 1917
Richmond, England
Dear Thomas,
Your letter disappoints me. That you believe a woman has no place in this war, that you believe I cannot handle the gloom and the gore leaves me furious. I had expected more, from you of all people.
This is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for. I imagined—hoped—you would be happy to see me stretch my wings and broaden my view of a war I have seen only through your eyes these past two years. Do all men believe that women are incapable? Must I return to the knitting of comforts and bide my time like a good girl?
You say you would protect me. Keep me safe. Would you rather I were confined to a safe dull existence where I grow old knowing nothing but tea at four and dinner at eight, or would you rather I live a little dangerously and thrive? If you wish to protect me from something, then protect me from the monotony of life as a privileged young woman awaiting the confines of married life. I cannot think of anything more certain to drive me to an early grave.
In any event, it’s decided. I am going to France and that is all. Perhaps my words are best kept for others from now on. I would hate to think of you tossing another helmet into no man’s land on my behalf.
We have written often of birds, you and me. How strange then, to rediscover—just yesterday—these words from Miss Bront?’s Jane Eyre: “I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will.”
I will leave it at that.
Evelyn
From Evie to Alice
30th March, 1917
Richmond, England
My dear Alice,
I ship out tomorrow. I am all butterflies and nervous excitement. I hope I am doing the right thing. I’m sure I am, although I could hardly bear to look Mama and Papa in the eye over dinner this evening.
Tom, meanwhile, wrote to express his frustration with me. He seems to think France unsuitable. He says it isn’t the place for “someone like me,” by which I presume he means a woman of my position. Honestly, Alice, I believe he would truss me up and place me in a cage for safekeeping. I wish I’d never mentioned the WAAC to him because his words of caution nag at me like a fretful parent and I only want to feel confident and assured.
In any event, I will sail tomorrow whether Thomas Harding supports me, or not.
Stay safe, darling.
Much love,
Evie
X
P.S. You can write to me at the address given on the inside flap of the envelope.
From Evie to her mother
30th March, 1917
Dearest Mama,
This war has changed all of us in many ways, and I hope you will—one day—be able to forgive me for what I am about to do.
I have left for France. I enrolled with the WAAC and passed the various tests and examinations. I will be based at the Western Front, close to Rouen, under the supervision of Helen Gwynne-Vaughan. I expect to be assigned as a clerk or telephone operator. More men are desperately needed at the Front. My taking one of the auxiliary roles will free up one more man to take up arms. When you multiply that by the thousands of women volunteering, we can make a real difference.
I had to do my duty. That is all.
I have informed John, and promised to give him my answer when I return.
Mama, I know you think often about Will and I must ask you to consider what he would have said about this if he were alive. He would have supported me in this decision, I know he would, even if he did worry for my safety. I must ask you and Papa to support me in the same way. Will was incredibly honourable and brave. I’m going to France in his memory as much as for my own desire.
When he was alive, Will always said if there was anything he could do for me, I had only to ask. I never extended the same invitation to him, and now I can only regret that. If there had been anything he had asked of me before his death—or after, in a letter perhaps—I would have done it, no matter how difficult or unexpected. I hope I would have found the courage to honour his request. Wouldn’t we owe him that, Mama, to honour any last request Will made of us, and not hide it away along with his medals and cricket things and childhood toys? We all have our secrets, but some are not ours to keep in the first place.
I hope you will give me your blessing now, and pray for me.
I will write when I arrive in France and will send word as often as I can.
Ever your loving daughter,
Evelyn
X
From Evie to John Hopper
30th March, 1917
Richmond, England
Dear John,
Please try not to be angry when you read this, but I have left for France.
I am enrolled with the WAAC and will be based at the Western Front, close to Rouen, under the supervision of Helen Gwynne-Vaughan. I expect to be assigned as a clerk or telephone operator. Finally, I have the chance to do my bit and for that I am immensely grateful and proud.
I know you will be disappointed by the sudden nature of my departure, especially since you haven’t yet had an answer from me, and for that I am sorry. I do not wish to play games with you, but I also feel certain that assisting in the war effort is something I must do. More than anything, I believe that if I am to find the right answer to your question of marriage, I will find it in France. For that alone, I hope I have your support and understanding.
Jack Davies is already aware of this. I will know more when I arrive in France and am assigned my new duties there. I will continue to send my column to you in the first instance, as has become our arrangement of late.
I will send word as often as I can.
Yours,
Evelyn
From Evie to her mother
4th April, 1917
Rouen, France
Dearest Mama,
A few lines to let you know that I am safely arrived in France. We hear the shelling and gunfire in the distance, but I am in no danger, I assure you.
We are all in good spirits, happy to do our bit at last (even if some of the men were rather scathing about our ability to do any of their jobs at all).
Send my regards to Papa and to all at the house.
I will write again soon,
Your loving daughter,
Evelyn
X
From Evie to Thomas
7th April, 1917
Rouen, France
Dear Thomas,