The necklace is so beautiful and I’m afraid you brought a tear to my eye with the lovely sentiment you had engraved on it. May you soar. Gosh, I will treasure it, Tom, with all my heart. Thank you. I am touched to know it was your mother’s as I know how very close you were to her and how terribly you miss her.
I often wish I could look back over all the letters you have written to me, but of course they are in my writing desk at home, tied up with a red ribbon, and I am here, far away from them. I remember the very first letter you sent, full of such hope and naivety, and so terribly formal. It was always Lieutenant Thomas Harding this and that and the other. Now, it is simply Tom. Better, I think.
I hope you have tossed all my letters to you into a fire, or that they’ve became lost in the mud somewhere. I’d be rather embarrassed to read them again. I do, however, hope that you kept some of my little sketches. They started as something to pass the time, but now I feel there is far more to those little birds.
It cheered me greatly to read your wonderfully descriptive account of Mama’s Christmas party. We will make a writer of you yet, dear boy! I could almost taste the wine and the currant pudding. I read your words several times, as if by reading I could satisfy my longing for such delicacies. But they only made my stomach growl in despair and, I hate to admit it, I went to bed that night in a terrific sulk. You would have laughed to see the scowl on my face.
We did our best here to make merry, but the odd nip of vin rouge, no mistletoe, and very little in the way of music made it all rather tedious. Christmas Day feels much like any other here, doesn’t it. One day becomes another, and another, and still we are at war. And yet I still find my dreams wandering the streets of Paris. Sometimes, our foolish little plan to go there is the only thing that keeps me believing in better times to come. When I close my eyes I can smell the coffee and the freshly baked croissants. I can hear the melody of an accordion player beside the river. I can see the top of the Eiffel Tower piercing the clouds above our heads. This is very silly of me, I know, when Paris isn’t the city it once was. War raids, influenza, and rationing have swept across our lovely city just as they have across the rest of northern France. Perhaps Paris will not be the city of my dreams after all.
I’m very sorry to learn of trouble at the newspaper. I know it cannot help to have all that to worry about when you are still in recovery. I think you should be proud of your little paper, hammering it out with the big hitters, causing headlines all of its own. I’m sure John will have things in hand and no doubt things are not quite as bad as they seem from your dugout. I suspect it is the distance that troubles you as much as anything—not being there to take matters into your own hands. Never fear, your time will come.
Everything will seem brighter when the war ends. We will step out of these pages of words and worries and act as normal civilians, living normal lives again, looking to the future and all that it holds.
Write soon.
Evie
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Letter from Evie to Alice
5th February, 1918
Rouen, France
Dear Alice,
How are you? All goes well here. I have been promoted to a senior rank. I’m immensely fond of the girls and very proud of the work we do here.
With the promotion, I feel unable to abandon my post so I have relinquished my home leave and let someone else take their turn in my place. It’s odd, but I feel uneasy when I think of returning home. I would far rather be here, even with all the discomfort and dangers. I can only dread the things waiting for me when I go back: Mama will sulk with me for leaving the way I did, and Hopper will march me down the aisle without so much as a “How do you do.”
I don’t have much else to tell you, so I will close for now. It is bitterly cold today and my hands long to be back inside my mittens. I hope you and your doctor are still corresponding. Tom sent me the most beautiful necklace as a Christmas gift. The man is infuriating.
Kisses to you,
Evie
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Letter from Evie to her mother
20th May, 1918
Rouen, France
Dear Mama,
My apologies for not writing in a long while. Things have been very hectic here and I often find myself too tired to write.
I heard about the dreadful bombing raid in London overnight and pray that nobody we know was killed or injured. Please send word as soon as possible.
My heart is heavy when I think of the war at home; it’s unimaginable, even after seeing the zeppelins creep through our skies.
We suffered a heavy bombardment and many losses at the British camps and hospitals in Etaples. I am very worried for Alice who was stationed there recently. I haven’t heard from her in a while so I’m not sure if she has moved elsewhere.
I long for the day this will all be over, when we might sleep soundly again without such worries.
Your ever-loving daughter,
Evelyn
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From Alice to Evie
22nd May, 1918
Somewhere in France
Dear Evie,
I have been injured in the bombardment at Etaples—nothing too awful, but enough to be sent back to a hospital near the coast to recover fully. I leave in the morning.
More soon, but there’s no need to worry, darling. I’m well enough and all is intact. Be safe.
Alice
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From Alice to Evie
30th May, 1918
Brighton, England
Dear Evie,
I’m in Brighton, safe and sound. They’re forcing me to take a few weeks’ leave of absence, but really, it isn’t anything to fuss over. I was hit with shrapnel in the cheek and my torso in several places, all fairly minor wounds. I’m recovering well. Mother insists I retire from my volunteering, of course. She didn’t want me in France in the first place. I don’t know how to explain to her just how desperately I want the war to end, yet that I must be there somehow. Here, I feel like a ghost, like I’m living some paler existence. What a strange reality to be faced with.
Doctor Peter has sent me letter after letter, and lots of little gifts. Oh, Evie, he says he has a question he would like to ask, but he insists things must be done in the proper order. What other question could it be! I adore him. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but perhaps I am the marrying kind after all!
We’ve had more bombings in London. Mother is terrified. She has heard the distant rumble of destruction and seen the sky light up with what could only be explosions. Over one hundred buildings damaged in one night.
Before I left Etaples, typhoid and influenza were ripping through camp. Please take care and be vigilant. It’s very serious, this round.
Bisous,
Alice
P.S. Any news of your Tom? And what of Hopper? Did he reply to your note?
From Evie to Alice
15th June, 1918
Rouen, France
Darling Alice,