I suspect you are still cross with me for being here, but in case you should wish to write again I wanted to let you know that I have arrived in France, and to pass on an address where you can contact me.
The journey was rather arduous (not helped by heavy seas), but I am happy to be here. I am based in the town of Rouen and appointed as a telephonist. This, I am glad about. Some of the women have been assigned to wait on the officers. Others have been given roles as cemetery gardeners. Given these alternatives, I am thankful for my position in the military telephone exchange.
We are staying in a dreadful little hostel in a camp behind the lines. The bathroom arrangements are rather undesirable, but I refuse to complain. This is, after all, what I wanted. To be amongst it all—even if that does mean taking a bath in a makeshift shed accessed through a coal cellar. I hope the image makes you laugh. Who would have thought I would see the day?
I feel quite safe here, although we hear the shelling and gunfire in the distance, which is unsettling to say the least. Those who have been here longer assure me I will get used to it. They say they don’t hear it anymore, although I can’t believe that to be true.
If you are still angry with me, then I suppose I will have to accept it, although I will be bitterly disappointed. If not, please write. Even a few lines to share your state of mind and good health? I also still wish to hear what you remember of Amandine Morel, Will’s French nurse. I can’t explain why at the moment, but anything you remember about the circumstances in which she left her post as nurse would be gratefully received.
I will write more when I have the chance. What news from the Front? Can you tell me where you are? Good news that America has declared war on Germany. I wonder when the first American troops will arrive.
Your friend,
Evie
From Alice to Evie
8th April, 1917
Somewhere in France
Dear Evie,
You’re in France! I’m torn between being afraid for your safety and thrilled that you made it here at last. I know it was what you dearly hoped for and that you will be pleased to play your part now. So much is happening here, so much drudgery and despair, that I need a reason to be glad. You’ve done it!
I’m in the town of Clouette at the moment, and will likely be here another couple of weeks. I’ll ask the head nurse, see how I might secure a transfer to be near you. It was clever of you to join up now. It will give you proper time to consider Hopper’s proposal.
Doctor Peter has been moved to another location, but he writes to me almost every day. I never knew a man who had so much to say, but our letters go on for pages sometimes. Unabashedly, I wait for the post, hold my letters tightly against my chest, and squirrel them away until I can pore over his elegant hand in private. He is the only man I’ve ever met who thrills me; I’m in awe of his brilliant mind and his passion. He’s so noble, so determined. Plus he’s handsome as a prince. Who knew one man possessed so many qualities? Oh, there I go, gushing about him. I think I am in love. Love, I say! And not the foolish infatuations I have felt before. Now I quite understand the difference.
I am sorry you and Tom are falling out. Are you certain he wasn’t simply being protective of an old friend? Surely he doesn’t think you can’t handle things in France just because you’re a woman. It doesn’t sound like Tom. But listen, dearest. Can you feel the way this war is changing you, even in your short time here? Imagine what Tom has seen and done, all he has lost in the last two years. Can you blame him for wanting you safely at home? I want you safe, too! I understand why you need to be here as I do, but I can’t help but want you far from harm, as selfish as that is. It’s out of love, you see? Perhaps you misread Tom’s feelings. It sounds like he doesn’t know his own. Some men need proper encouragement, (which is why I left a little note in Doctor Peter’s notebook).
Just a little advice before I close—you mustn’t become too serious while here. One can’t survive the rigours of war if one doesn’t catch some air from time to time, if you know what I mean. Find a way to bring yourself some cheer. And make friends with any soldiers you might meet. They need encouragement so desperately now. They don’t care what circles we come from these days. That’s the only beauty in all of this bloodshed. The ranks and classes of yesterday are falling away like dead leaves. Now, we’re all in this together.
I am so proud of you.
Affection, kisses, love.
Alice
From Thomas to Evie
15th April, 1917
Somewhere in France
Dear Evie,
Please accept my apology for yelling at you. A gentleman shouldn’t send an angry telegram to a lady, and certainly not from the battlefields of war.
Of course I don’t believe your womanhood makes you incapable of handling this, nor of proper reporting or writing excellent articles. Somehow you assumed I thought you aren’t strong enough to be here. You’re one of the strongest people I know. Have I ever treated you as an inferior? You know how cracking smart my mother was, how much I admired her gumption. I see the same qualities in you. Selfishly, I fear for your safety and want you protected at home, even if it means you might suffocate from boredom and regret. At least then, I won’t lose you. I have lost too much to the Germans already.
To answer your questions about Amandine Morel, yes, of course I remember her. She’s the only girl I have ever seen Will fall hard for in all our years as friends. She was beautiful, but also had a great sense of humour. She kept your brother on his toes. I don’t know anything about the circumstances of her leaving, however. Our battalion had marched on and the two wrote a few weeks of feverish letters before Will was killed. I sent word of his death to her at the field hospital where she was based but was told she had fallen ill and returned to her home in Paris. Has she been in touch? Is she looking for him now?
I hope you find what you are seeking here in France. If it is inspiration you’re after, and malaise you’d like to banish, there’s plenty here to help you with both. I look forward to hearing how you are getting on. I hope you will continue to write to this ridiculous cad, despite his unintended insults to you.
Ever yours,
Tom
From Thomas to John Hopper
28th April, 1917
Somewhere in France
Dear John,
I have reviewed the latest documents from Abshire and I am impressed by the paper’s numbers. Abshire has been copying the most important information for me and forwarding it on since Father’s death. Well done. I will admit I am miserly with praise, but perhaps we can put the past behind us. The world is at war so family should stick together, shouldn’t we?