Vera; her name is Vera Schofield. Vera Williams, now I suppose. Her child's name is Elizabeth Williams. I believe they are staying with my mother, so if they're going by households they should be together. My mother's name is Darcy. My father is in Ireland right now, so it would just be my sister and my mother. I haven't spoken to either my sister or my mother for weeks, so I have no idea if they were even in London that night. I pray that they were away from the city. The men were talking about a major hit to London, but I barely listened. I've not eaten for three days and before you tell me to take care of myself, I've tried, I just can't keep anything down. I think my body is finally shutting down.
The doctor that looked at me after I arrived to the 2nd Devons said that my body shouldn't even be holding me up. Maybe this is a late reaction to the hell the war has put me through. My sergeant told me to go to the medical tent behind the line, but I'm afraid that if I try to walk, I may just collapse. Henry said that he would go get a medical stretcher, but honestly, I think my body just needs rest, real rest. None of the resting against a tree waiting for our next meal, or waiting for our orders. I need to lay down and sleep with no limit. It's something I want so badly and yet, I won't receive it until this war is over.
Tell Joseph to stay home. Get him to stay home. The war does terrible things to men. If Joseph was told he was allowed home, make him stay there. Make him stay safe. Not everyone is as lucky as he is, with all four limbs on his body and at home with his family. Do whatever you have to do to make him stay, Mary, it's not worth losing another brother. Nothing is worth that. We don't need men, if he really needs to help, have him send over food and supplies. That's all we need at the moment. It seems the Germans are waiting us out, starving us until we barely can stand and then they'll hit us with everything. It's a smart way to make sure the war is over quickly. Maybe I'll be one of the lucky ones and die even before the German's get to us.
Not much has happened. A few stray Germans battalions have passed by, but because we're not on the front line, we just sit and wait until they need us upfront. The men pass their times by singing or reading letters from home. It's the waiting that really kills men. When we're in a war and there's an actual battle, it's quick and it takes our mind off our empty stomachs and aches of home. This waiting will be the death of every soldier. The silent nights where we're all just waiting to hear a bomb drop or the first shots fired. Reading out letters and waiting for our sergeant to yell that we are to go to the front and fight our asses off.
Blake talked little of you. He spoke of his big brother that was the reason that Blake joined the army in the first place. He spoke of him and his family, but never specifics. I didn't push him on it either. I never pushed, he was the pusher, I was the one that would always be there if you wanted to talk, but never push them. That's what I always learned from my mother. Never pry unless you want to take on more than you ever can handle. Blake and I had an understanding, I wouldn't pry and he wouldn't ask insanely stupid questions. He wasn't that great at keeping his side of the deal, but I did. He had a photo of you, though, he asked me to get it from his uniform. There was a photo of your brothers and your mother then one of Joseph, Blake, and you. He kept you close, all of you., he loved you and I could tell he was doing it for you. He was doing it all for you and your family.
Maybe I should've asked him more about his home. I may have known of you sooner. Maybe I'd write to you and I wouldn't be so fucked in the head and wouldn't feel like you're just writing to me because you feel burdened to respond. Whatever he told you about me was probably exaggerated. He glorified the idea of battle. He pushed me about the Somme, but I knew what it was actually. I hope you know what it's actually like. I'm cruel, like the soldiers you speak of in your letters. I've killed men, Mary, without hesitation, I've killed people. I deserve no kindness that you have shown me, but I am forever thankful for it. It's the only thing that is going to keep me going through the war.
