Slice of Life
October 27th, 1916
Dear Charlotte,
I am sorry it took me so much time to write you this letter. A lot has happened
since we last wrote to each other; I have o cially been accepted as a war godmother and
it has changed my life. Everyday, I sit at a desk along with many other women who have
given up their time for this tedious task. I write letters upon letters upon letters to soldiers
I don’t know, encouraging them, telling them they are heroes, promising them a warm
welcome back when the war is over. You’d think this would bring my morale up, and I am
happy; I really am grateful to be able to do this job. But everyday, I sit down and I write
lies. I say that they’re going to be all right. I say that everybody will remember them. I say
that it’s only a matter of time before the war stops and they come back home. But I know
the truth; the chances of survival are extremely slim, and all the letters in the world aren’t
going to change that.
I hope you have adapted to life as a nurse and that you’ve found some friends to
give you company. In your last letter, you talked about the blood on your hands and the
trauma haunting you and the wounded; I can’t even imagine how that must feel, the
endless ow of soldiers, 'each with injuries more untreatable than the next’, you said. I
feel so utterly useless, unable to reassure you that everything will be alright. I’m not sure
that would make much di erence anyways.
I know that the news you must get at the hospital are likely outdated and
inaccurate, and that must frustrate you, so here are some real news, however unfortunate:
the war will not end soon. The Triple Entente are not winning, and Russia has too many
inside struggles to concentrate on the war; France and England won’t succeed by
themselves, but they will have to; Germany can’t win. You’ve probably heard this, but Italy
switched sides just last year, but change in the war hasn’t happened yet; it doesn’t seem
that Italy has changed the tide so much.
I have heard of great battles. The battle of Verdun, which still hasn’t ended, and the
battle of Somme, speci cally. I hope they have not overloaded your hospital with the
wounded, but I’m afraid this might be the case; I heard the death toll was unspeakable.
The horrors you experience must be traumatizing.
Now, enough on this melancholy war. Simply thinking about this is depressing me;
it’s a good thing I’m so occupied all day I barely have any time to think at all. Instead, I
want to tell you of all the light that has surfaced within the darkness of con ict; civilians
united, doing all they can to help with the war e ort. Little children are donating their
money, farmers and factory workers are gone all day, busy making supplies for soldiers
out on the front. And you wouldn’t even believe the amount of women who have taken
over the jobs left by soldiers; it’s not only impressive, but those women are now happier
then ever before. Of course, there is the bombings that scare us all. The ever-looming
threat that the Germans might invade us, just like they did with Belgium and Luxembourg
at the beginning of this cursed war; can you believe it’s already been two years of ghting
and death and destruction!
To me, the line that so clearly separated us safe civilians and those soldiers out
there ghting has blurred. It doesn’t matter wether we are stabbing Germans or donating
money; all are making an impact that won’t be forgotten.
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I need to go now; mother and father are calling me down. They are constantly
worried about you, and mother now has a permanent crease in between her eyebrows
from all the concern she has for you. I tell them you’re okay, but even I don’t really know.
She wanted me to tell you though, that if you get afraid, come home.
Stay safe,
Your sister, Adeline
