How are you? I was worried sick about you and much relieved to know that you are back in England to recover. I sensed it, you know. My heart told me you were in difficulty and here I am, entirely helpless to do anything other than put pen to paper as usual. I understand completely about your wanting to be back here, but rest up, please. Promise me? You have to get better or your Doctor Peter will never be able to ask you his question! I could not be happier for you. Marriage will suit you very well, I am certain of it. The doctor’s wife! Mrs. Peter Lancaster. How wonderful. I will be your bridesmaid and you will wear Chantilly lace and have a posy of orange blossom.
I wish I had news to cheer you up and make you laugh (although perhaps laughter causes you pain with your injuries?). Anyway, I have none. Life is uncommonly bleak here. More heavy losses every day.
In a rather curious turn of events, the latest rotation of nurses brings a friend of Tom’s my way. Do you remember he was placed under the care of a Rose Blythe when he returned from Craiglockhart? I often thought he was sweet on her. She is now stationed at a field hospital close to our little dormitory here. I could hardly believe it when I saw her name badge. She tells me Tom never stopped talking about me. That it was Evie this and Evie that. She presumed I was his wife until he set her straight! Actually, she is very nice. Older than I’d imagined and (dare I say) not quite as pretty as I’d imagined either. I hate to admit it, but I’m terribly relieved.
I long to walk with you along Richmond Hill and gaze over the meadows towards London. I can hear skylarks singing and a warm breeze tugs at the curls about your cheeks. You are telling me some silly story or other about your time in finishing school in Switzerland and how you never could master the art of graceful skiing. I link my arm through yours and rest my head on your shoulder and we reminisce and laugh and I admire the wedding band on your finger.
Not long now. I can feel it.
Take care my darling girl.
Evie
X
Letter from John Hopper to Tom
17th June, 1918
London, England
Dear Thomas,
I received your advice on the columns. Not to worry, I have everything in hand here. Don’t worry about the reports you have received about silly interfering women getting themselves a stint at Holloway for trying to promote their pacifist agenda. Violet Tillard and her NCF busybodies have no business meddling in current affairs, and they aren’t bothering us here at the LDT at all. They should stick to knitting and leave the important things to us men. Honestly, they should have given that Tillard woman longer than a sixty-day sentence, in my opinion.
As for Charles Abshire, he is an interminable bore and a worrying Mother Hen. In your shoes, I would show him to the door in a hurry.
Remember, cousin, I built a fortune using my own talents. There is no need to ceaselessly doubt me. I am lucky in business. It appears I am lucky in love as well, for I am planning a spring wedding with Miss Evelyn Elliott. Her mother is beside herself with joy, though I’m sure you knew all, given how often the two of you exchange letters. I hope you join us in our happiness.
I will forward on any news from the paper.
Sincerely,
John Hopper
From Evie to John
19th June, 1918
Rouen, France
Dear John,
I have enclosed a new column. I hear worrying news about publications being raided and closed down, and journalists being placed on trial and imprisoned, yet I feel I must continue to write the truth. I do not, however, want to put Tom Harding’s newspaper at risk so I trust you will deal with this accordingly.
I leave it in your hands, John, and hope you find my words suitable to print, without being too seditious or liable to cause any further dissent.
Evelyn
A WOMAN’S WAR
by our special correspondent in France, Genevieve Wren
“A Light in the Dark”
If you lie awake at night, know that you are not alone. Hundreds—thousands—of restless minds fill those dark hours. It is the worst time. The silence. The space to think.
I wake often at night, my bed rocked by the pounding of distant shells and I wonder: Whose lives did that one take? What agony did they know in their final moments? What agony will their loved ones know for the rest of their days when the telegram boy knocks at the door and delivers that fateful news? It is an unimaginable grief, worsened somehow by knowing their bodies will not be returned to us and must ever be lost to the scarred French countryside, worsened by the fact that we are so far away and unable to imagine the place where our loved ones fell. Not in their homes, nor their beds, nor the fields they played in as children. Not in a place we have ever known.
Bravo then, to those who have tried to tell us and show us with brush and pen and camera lens so that we might know better where our loved ones fought. Bravo to the men and women doing what they felt was their moral duty, putting their lives in danger every day so that they could bring truth to us at home. Their truths give us some answers to the questions that plague us: How? Where? Why? What do our loved ones face?
And what became of those brave front line reporters? They too, like our fallen men, have been silenced. They too have become prisoners of war; prisoners of truth. Hunted down. Locked up. Their words hushed by those who have the power to determine what we know and what we do not; what we might believe and what we might not.
This is a war of choices, made by the powerful few in control. On the battlefield, in the bunkers, in the offices of those who wield a weapon as great as any howitzer—they decide, and we must bear the consequences, but we do not have to bear them in silent rage.
It makes one wonder what our men—our brave heroes—are fighting for at all. What freedoms do we really have? Freedom of thought? Freedom of principles? Freedom of speech?
I urge you, then, to keep talking. Keep demanding the truth. If we owe our men anything, it is to seek the truth of the war in which they fought, and to remember them.
Above all, we must always remember them.
Until next time—courage!
Genevieve
Telegram from Thomas to Evie
1ST JULY 1918
TO: EVELYN ELLIOTT, ROUEN, FRANCE
SENT: 10:23 / RECEIVED: 11:46
ENGAGED TO HOPPER? YOU HID THAT WELL. THE PAPER IN DIRE TROUBLE AFTER YOUR COLUMNS. DID YOU TWO PLAN THAT ALSO? DISGUST AND FURY DO NOT COVER IT. TOM.
Telegram from Evie to John
1ST JULY 1918
TO: JOHN HOPPER, LDT, 18 FLEET STREET, LONDON EC
SENT: 12:39 / RECEIVED: 14:01
COLUMN MUST CEASE IMMEDIATELY. DO NOT PRINT LATEST. WHAT HAVE YOU TOLD TOM? A WEDDING? FURIOUS. EVELYN
Telegram from Evie to Tom
1ST JULY 1918
TO: LT. THOMAS HARDING, AMIENS, FRANCE, 10TH RIFLES.
SENT: 12:50 / RECEIVED: 14:22
DID NOT ACCEPT JOHN’S PROPOSAL. LETTER TO FOLLOW TO EXPLAIN. EVIE
Telegram from John to Evie
5TH JULY 1918