Til Roses Do Us Part || ✔

September 9th 1914

My Love,

Greetings from the trenches (kisses too). This is the first letter since we've settled down so I'll inform you on certain things I'm sure you're troubling your mind about. Firstly - yes, I am in one piece and in good health. Secondly - I am currently in Belgium, stationed near Ypres. It's far North so I suppose the post shouldn't take too long to get here.

I'm writing to you during breakfast (which is a piece of rye bread with some marmelade and a cup of coffee), it is 6:38 to be precise. I don't think I'll finish this immediately, I'm trying to be smart with my writings. I don't want to waste any paper, you know?

It's 3:17 in the afternoon, lunch, but I won't bore you with that. Yesterday, when we were unloading packages that arrived, an Irish bloke lend me a smoke. Kelly. We chat often, he's a bit older than me, 26 maybe, but he's sure decent. I guess he's my trench buddy now. I'm trying to keep this letter in a lighter tone because things might be alright here, for now, but our troops in France have already seen Hell, on the Marne river. It has been going for some days, some see an end, but others say it'll come right up North, up here. I do not mean to scare you, darling, but this is a bloody war after all. I'll come back in one piece, and soon, I promise. No body really believes this will last for more than hlaf a year.

Another thought I wanted to share: currently it is awfully faul, the smell here.

Tell my sister I'll write to her soon enough, I just had to get to you first, and I know she'll get jealous.

Your dear figure still stands before my eyes, almost as if you are here, but you're not.
I hope you send back some words of encouragement, as my morale is falling already.

Sincerely,
With love.

P. S. - Say Hello to your mother!