8th March 1918

We had sausages for tea. They tasted wonderful.

13th April 1917

I think everyone knows that in our defence of liberty we’ve all lost our freedom. I’d have done anything to be wrong, but there can be no winners. I wonder how we bear it. It’s the fact that it’s been years now. Will it ever stop? You’ll know the Americans have joined in. Most people are relieved; they believe if we have more men we can finish the job faster. I hope to hell they’re right. I fear that this means we now simply have millions more men to plough through. That it will take longer. It wears one down. Do you know they still call me conchie. Of course they do. Former conchie doesn’t have the same ring to it. I can’t bear the name. I don’t deserve it.

9th May 1918

I dreamt of you last night. You had me in your mouth. I could feel the palm of my hand on the warm, soft crown of your head, hair silky beneath my touch. When I woke up, I wanted to blow my head off.

15th July 1917

My mother sent some blackberry jam. Have you tasted it too? I wonder, was she angry with you when I left? Did she blame you? I hope she didn’t. I bet she did. I hope you are friends still. I hope you have tasted this jam. It’s not as sweet as I remember it. I suppose that’s the sugar rations, isn’t it?

5th September 1918

Mabel must be three now, or thereabouts. I don’t know when her birthday is. Not exactly. I remember it being September but I have no idea of the actual date. If only you had continued to write to me, I could ask you this sort of thing. This and a million other questions that come to mind. There is so much I don’t know about you. So many gaps. You could still write. It’s not too late. January, February, March, April, when it’s your birthday please join in . . .

28th August 1918

Some men try and say they are not scared. They are easy to spot. They are the ones who laugh too loud and too long at their own jokes, their faces flushed and furious. I think you should know how it is with your husband and his men. He is respected. Admired. Does that surprise you? It surprised me, but it is so. I have studied him. Every nerve in his body and brain is stretched to full tension, and yet he does not betray the slightest hint of irritation. Unlike many of the other officers he will not be flurried or depressed by the prevalent pessimism or even elated by false optimism. He was born for this war, and that about him which left you cold and desolate comforts thousands of men here. He does not flinch. If he returns to you, rather than me, try to remember as much, Vivian. It may help.