They lost your letter apparently, that is why it's taken me so long to write back to you. I also have to admit, I've started this letter about four times. I have no idea what it's like over there, I have no idea what war does to men's minds, but I can tell you, I'll be here if you ever want to get the horrible days off your shoulders. I don't believe you've gone insane, I think you're shell shocked, overtired, and overworked, but not insane. I've asked my brother about it, he's been home now for a while, and he says that sometimes, when we speak, all he hears is German, and yes, I've learned German, but I've not spoken it since war was in the talks. I barely remember it, if I'm being honest. You really must sleep, William, your body won't take care of itself if you don't rest. Fuck the rest of the soldiers, pardon my French, but you have to sleep. If not for yourself, rest for me. Keep yourself sane enough to write me, William Schofield, or so help me, I will come to France to put you to bed myself. I'm so sorry for the rashness, but it seemed that it was something that you needed at the moment. When you get this letter, I hope you have slept. I also hope that you're men are listening to you more.
We read that America has joined our side and that it was a good thing too since they have more resources. We're getting food again, more food than we usually do actually. I hope it's the same for you. I've added in socks for you. My mother has been making socks for the rest of the soldiers and when I told her about the mud and the rain you spoke of, she made sure that I was sending you a pair. I know it's not much, but there's not much I can offer. Joseph said that the best thing we can send is letters, photographs, and socks. So, letters and socks are included. A photograph of a dead friend's sister is something you probably don't want nor need and I don't think your girl back home would be pleased that you have a random girl's photograph.
Try to just get a few soldiers to listen to you, once you have a few, you'll have the rest follow. I hope by the time this gets to you, your men are at least listening to you a bit. Though, I never was a natural-born leader myself. I'm very content in just following whatever somebody tells me to do. It seems like American's are the opposite sometimes. It sounds like your mission has more than two people this time, maybe they've realized sending just two men into enemy territory isn't the smartest idea. However, if Tom was meant to be where you are, they definitely chose the right soldier to be a leader. Tom loved being in charge and Joseph and I were happy to just trail along. I'm glad that you went in his stead, even though you're not a leader. You're honoring him in more ways that one, William, I hope you know that.
London sounds beautiful. I always wanted to go, but I never was able to go with my father when he went, and then the war happened. My father said that he would take me to London after the war, some way of acting as if we would be normal again after this war, but I know he probably will never step foot in London again. Joseph told me he would take me tomorrow if I really wanted to go, though, but he has no sense of direction at all and he also never went to London. We'd be lost within the first few minutes of stepping off the train platform.
As for your family, I hope they're all doing alright, and I hope your sister heard from her husband. I know the feeling of just patiently waiting for your family member to send you a letter, knowing it should have already arrived. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.
When you come back home, and yes, I mean when I want you to look into something you're interested in. You seem like you do most things to please other people. Be selfish for once in your life. If you truly loved the bakery, go back there. If they're willing to accept you back, then you may be able to speak with whoever owns the bakery with your concerns. They must understand that you may not be the same man as you once were. It's completely understandable, especially if they have family members in the war.
If you require some quiet, come to my small town. After a week here, you'll want to go home to London. My father never much liked London, but my mother wanted to be close enough to London that, if she wished, she would be able to go to the city she once called home. Yet, here I am, having never left my small town of Alfristead. But it is quite good to clear your head from the city air.
I meant that in a way that was not as bold as I wrote, just that some small village outside of London, with less noise and fewer crowds would do you much better than a bustling city, the moment you get back. Joseph said he never was so happy to get back to our small town. I do apologize. I seem to be rather bold every time I write to you. My mother would have my head if she read any of what I had just written.
Stay alive, William, if not for yourself, for the people back home who love you more than they've ever expressed to you. Stay alive for your mother, your sister and her family, and your brothers. Stay alive, William Schofield, you have much to live for.
