I like your idea of adding another war column from a male perspective to partner with Evie Elliott’s, though I would caution you not to give it more play than hers. She has worked very hard to be recognised as a proper journalist, and she deserves all the accolades. She writes every few days to keep me abreast of all news from her new appointment at the switchboard in Rouen.
I hope all is well in London. Beware the zeppelins and stay safe.
Sincerely,
Lieutenant Thomas Harding
From Evie to John Hopper
5th May, 1917
Rouen, France
Dear John,
A few lines to let you know that all is well here and to enclose my latest column. I must warn you that it does not make for pretty reading, so I will understand if you and Jack feel inclined to edit it heavily, or indeed if you cannot print it at all, although I believe you are not ones to shy away from the truth.
I am appalled and incensed by what I have seen here. The War Office is doing a remarkable job of portraying this war as nothing more than a jolly foray into the French countryside. The men are desperate. It is like another world entirely, a world of unimaginable suffering and fear and loss. Not one of gallantry and chests bursting with pride as they would have us believe. Not a single man would come here willingly if he knew the truth. No human being should have to live this way. Ever.
I hear the Germans are now bombing England with airplanes rather than zeps. Dear God, what next? Perhaps I am safer here in France after all. Lloyd George will have his work cut out for him. I do not envy the man taking office amid such uncertainty.
I must close but will write again soon.
Yours,
Evelyn
A WOMAN’S WAR
by our special correspondent in France, Genevieve Wren
“The View from the Front”
For so long, I have imagined this war. I have seen it in my dreams, in my nightmares. I have pictured it through the eyes of family and friends close to the action. Mostly, I have read about it through the reports printed in our newspapers.
Now, after years of wishing to do something more useful than knitting, I am here, amongst it all. I hardly recognise it as the same world I have known for twenty-three years.
Nothing I ever imagined could have prepared me for the bleak reality of war, and certainly nothing I have read in the newspapers resembles what I see here with my own eyes.
We have been done a great disservice by those who claim to bring us the news. In bold typeface marching across the newsstands they tell us of “Great Victories” and “Terrific Advances.” They would have us believe this war is nothing but boys playing a game. We read of bravery and fallen heroes and learn of the loss of a loved one, another dignified end to life, described in the neat handwriting of a general, safe in his bunker while he sips the best French brandy available.
They deceive us. Conceal and fabricate.
There is no such thing as a dignified end. Not here. When our men fall, they fall hard. They fall into thick mud where the corpses of hundreds of horses lay rotting beside them. What dignity is there in that? What dignity is there in any of this?
There is no glory to be found here. Only fear and suffering. Grown men weep for their mothers and beg for a swift end. The men live each day as if it were their last, and that is no way to live at all.
So what can we do, apart from ignore the newspapers who shy away from the truth?
We can encourage our men not to spare us the gory details. Of course, the censors will do their best to strike out their words of brutal honesty, but let us read between the lines. Let them tell us, if they can. Let them talk of the bloodiest battles, be it in letters or poetry or face-to-face during their home leave. Let them cry like babes in our arms, knowing that they must return to it.
Those who cannot endure it, we call deserters. Shoot them by firing squad. Call them cowards.
But they are just human beings—you and me—who simply cannot suffer this hell any longer. The real cowards are those back in England, in charge of the printing presses. The real cowards cover up the truth and shy away from the reality of this “war to end all wars” before sinking into their warm beds. They are the ones who deserve our scorn. They are the ones who should bow their heads in shame.
Let us demand the truth. And let us pray for a swift end to this war.
Until next time—courage!
Genevieve
From John Hopper to Evie
16th May, 1917
London, England
My dear Evelyn,
On a personal note, it is wonderful to hear from you. On a professional note, I encouraged Jack Davies to run your article, all of the gory details included. I am so glad I did as it sparked a real fervour among your fans and a complete uproar among the other newspapers.
This morning when I arrived at the office, I met a crowd of conscientious objectors outside the door. They want to submit an anonymous article supporting your claims and denouncing the war. I cannot abet potential prisoners, of course, so I turned them away. Shortly thereafter, the police arrived, questioning me and the other staff. Davies was furious, but I reminded him of our duty to make a profit for the newspaper.
Regardless, I think what you’re doing is important. The more abhorrent aspects of war should be made public. Citizens deserve to know the truth. I know you agree, so I urge you to submit another piece immediately.
In other news, I find myself wondering if the woman whom I admire beyond all others will ever accept my proposal. I do hope you will decide soon, Evelyn. A man in my position cannot wait forever.
Yours,
John
From Charles Abshire to Thomas
18th May, 1917
London, England
Dear Thomas,
I write to inform you of unsettling news. Our war columns have elicited a flood of response. Letters come from supporters and naysayers, and more unsettling, policemen, lawyers, and councilmen. The London Herald has also received this sort of attention, and they employ two female columnists. I’m not entirely sure what to do about it. Your cousin seems to think it is a grand thing. He is further spurring on our columnists and it is putting the paper at risk in the form of serious reprimands with potentially very expensive consequences, or worse—closure.
Thomas, I value my time being a part of this family, and pride myself on having run the financial aspect of your father’s business for so many years, but I cannot abide making a mockery of the paper. I will not stay to see its ruin. I care too deeply for you and your father, as well as my future. Take care to watch John Hopper.
I am glad to hear you are well. I look forward to seeing you walk over the threshold for good.
Best wishes,
Charles
From Evie to John Hopper
25th May, 1917
Rouen, France
Dear John,