Home soon

Dearest of hearts,

Your letter reached me. It took some time as always but it reached me as always.
As always it was slipped under my paliass by an unsung hero. Some of the lads still call the medics and orderlies and stretcher bearers "conchie" and even "coward" but they are here aren't they? Saving some lives. Saving, by some ingenious network, the sanity of many. I don't know how they do it but they do. They get letters in and out of this hell hole and even Doubleday's mother's seed cakes sometimes get here still edible.

I dreamed of you last night. I always dream of you but last night we walked hand-clasped under willows by the river. I woke with tear streamed face: inappropriate to an officer of rank!
I hope you dream of me, my love, but not of me here in this place. Something in my mind nags at me saying I'll be home soon. I don't understand how that could be so. There seems no end to this.

I must go. There is a hubbub outside. The bugle calls and feet run. I must go. I must sound the whistle. If I don't we will be overrun. If I do, probably dozens of my boys won't return.

Come on brave boys, over the top!

Pray for me my Valentina. I'll be home soon.

© WR

Image by Gerda Taro