Thank you for your letter. I am astonished to hear of such a furore caused by my words. I am sorry it led to you being in rather hot water with the constabulary. This is, however, what we wanted, is it not? You and Davies have certainly encouraged my honesty, and to not shy away from the truth.
Already, I have seen so many things here that I wish to write about—things I believe readers need to know. I find it difficult to limit my observations to the number of words permitted by the space allocated to my column, so I am only too happy to write as often as I can. Far too much has been concealed from the British public. The truth must be known before thousands more men lose their lives in such senseless battles as those we saw last year at the Somme and Verdun.
I find myself particularly moved by the soldiers’ cemeteries, many of which are in Rouen, which is close to a number of hospitals. Some of the women in the WAAC have been given the task of maintaining the cemetery gardens. Do people back home even know that such a job is carried out here—by women—and no doubt replicated across France and Belgium? To see such well-tended gardens—and the peace they bring—amid such atrocities is really very sobering. Perhaps I will write a short piece about it. Something a little gentler might appease some of the diehards who are causing a bit of a stink for you.
I will send another piece on as soon as possible.
As for my answer, I hope you can wait on it a little longer? You have been a great help in my journalistic endeavours, and I’ve enjoyed our luncheons and dinners and many conversations. The thing is, I am too distracted here to think about marriage. The future seems so intangible when every day may be the last. If you do not feel able to wait for an answer, then of course I understand.
Yours in truth,
Evelyn
From Evie to her mother
15th June, 1917
Rouen, France
Dearest Mama,
A few lines to thank you for your letter and to assure you that I am safe and well in France and quite settled in my work here. I understand that you were angry with me for leaving as I did, but I am encouraged to hear that you support—and admire—my decision now. Your concern for my welfare is entirely understandable, especially since you have already lost one child. I do not intend to deprive you of another. Who would cause you all this anxiety then?
We await the arrival of US troops. Many believe the war is nearly at an end, yet I hardly dare let myself believe it. I see so much suffering, Mama, and it humbles me. We led such comfortable privileged lives before all this. Nothing will ever be the same, will it? I hope not. We must be changed by this, or what on earth is it all for.
John Hopper writes and urges me to give him an answer. He tells me he admires me but I wonder, is admiration enough? Am I naive to wish for fervent declarations of love? One can admire a painting or a dress—not the woman you love with all your heart. I sometimes wonder whether Hopper sees me as something else to add to his prized collection of Egyptian artifacts. You and Papa have always been so madly in love. I want that passion too. Would you deprive me of the chance of it by pushing me into a marriage I cannot be sure of?
Thomas writes as often as he can. He has become such a good friend to me these past years, just as he was to Will in the many years before. Mama, I know this will make you cross but I cannot shake thoughts of Will nor the matter I referred to in my previous letter. In your reply, you said you have done nothing but protect the interests of the family and that you urge me to do the same and leave well enough alone, but I cannot. I know that Will asked for your help, and I beg you to honour his request.
Please send my love to Papa. I will write again soon.
Your ever-loving daughter,
Evelyn
X
From Evie to Thomas
25th June, 1917
Rouen, France
Dear Thomas,
Did you forget about your old friend, Evie? A month has passed without word from you and I can only imagine you find yourself smothered beneath the care and attentions of Nurse Rose and incapable of reaching for your pencil. It is strange, but now that I am in France—closer to you—I have never felt further away. When I was in Richmond, I felt a connection to you across all the miles. Now, I feel that I have become a chore; a niggle at your conscience. Something you must do, rather than something you cannot do soon enough.
It would ease my mind to know that you are, at the very least, in good health. If your heart is no longer in mind of our exchanges, please let me know and I will bother Alice with my musings and ponderings, and not you. Perhaps the young Irish soldier I met recently would appreciate my bird sketches instead. I must say, the Irish have an unusual charm. Really, I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find myself travelling to Tipperary, despite it being such a long way.
In other news, I am now operating the telephone lines. My rusty schoolgirl French is much improved and all those tedious lessons with Madame Hélène have, at last, been put to some practical use.
Perhaps you will write to me again. If not, then I cannot be sorry for the exchanges we have had these past years. You have kept my mind from dissolving entirely into a deep well of grief and despair. You, Thomas Harding, have kept me alive with your words and the promise of your return. It would break my heart to think you had given up on me now.
And thank you for the few lines regarding Amandine Morel. To hear—again—how devoted Will was to her (and she to him) makes me more determined than ever to find her. I will explain all another time.
Yours in hope and friendship.
Evie
From Evie to John Hopper
30th June, 1917
Rouen, France
Dear John,
No word from you for a while, so I hope all is well in London and at the paper. I have enclosed my latest piece.
Perhaps you could write to let me know if it runs and, if so, what the reaction is. I don’t wish to cause difficulty for the LDT. You know how friendly I am with Tom Harding. The last thing I want is for my ambitions as a journalist to affect his ambitions to succeed his father and see his legacy flourish.
I am sure between yourself and Jack Davies you will do the best for all involved.
With fondness,
Evelyn
A WOMAN’S WAR
by our special correspondent in France, Genevieve Wren
“No Job Too Small”
I sit beside a young soldier whose life slips further away with each word I write. To see row upon row of beds in this makeshift field hospital is like looking at the end of the world. Not two minutes ago a young boy—just turned fifteen—lost his fight to survive. He had lied about his age, so desperate to be a man, so desperate to enlist and join the fight. He was a boy with so much to live for, yet he said he wanted to make his mam proud. What a waste, what dreadful futility.
When you see, up close, the brutal reality of war, it is hard to believe that anything you do—one small person—will ever make a bit of difference.