Since I've only ever written to you on a bad day, I decided today would be different. Today is a good day. One of my men's birthdays was yesterday, and since we were marching, the regiment decided to celebrate today. His name is Henry, and I somehow got in touch with his family, so our gift to him was a photo of his family and half of each of our rations. It's the best we could do. His family wrote to me, thanking me for doing everything I could to celebrate and I didn't have the heart that my men approached me on the subject. He seemed to appreciate it. Birthdays are the one day that makes us feel normal again, almost like we're in university and away from the war, but then we hear a gunshot and we're taken back to where we are. But, in that moment, I could tell he was home, wherever in America he was from, surrounded by people who do care for him, with no care in the world. He smiled as well, which is rare from Henry. He's constantly frowning and at first, we Brits thought he was just hating being away from America, but now we have realized, it is who he is. Almost like I'm constantly sitting back and just letting the men talk. We all have our quirks, even if they're strange.
I've gotten no word from my superiors if we are to be moving to Belgium, but we are moving east, which makes me feel as if we are going to be part of the army that goes to Belgium. The German army seems to be retreating, but maybe they are just going to join their allies, like the American's came to us. It seems I'm moving further from home when all I really want is to be closer. I'll be as safe as a soldier can be in a war like this. Besides, I've got your photo to protect now, don't I? Thank you, by the way. I had no idea if you'd even write back after my last letter. My men saw your photo and kept pestering me to write that they say hello. So, they say hello and Henry says that he hopes you and your family are doing well. Also, it's perfect, thank you. I will be truthful with the fact that I did not even believe that you would actually send a photo with your letter. You hardly know me. I feel as if I'm just the soldier who held your brother's hand while he was dying. You owe me nothing and yet you sent a photo. That means more to me than you know. I've added a photo of my own. I had to write home for it, which was a nightmare in itself. My mother is now asking if I have a nurse that I fancy. I've said nothing, not knowing how to explain our situation since I've never been in a situation such as this.
We received the supplies from America yesterday, that is partly the reason the regiment was so keen on giving Henry half of their meal. We're not close to starving anymore. Besides, half of us saw something so gruesome, something I'll spare the details of, made all of us lose our appetite and it seems that most of us have yet to gain it back. We marched somewhere further east, further from home, and I can't help but feel like they have sent us somewhere that we are needed less. It may be selfish, but I cannot help but feel relieved. Maybe I won't have to shoot another.
Just because you can't make socks, doesn't mean you're useless. I'll tell you, you've done more for me this past month than the military has done since I joined. You've kept me alive when I was at my worst. You're giving me more strength to get home. You are not useless, Mary. Just because you can't send socks, or you can't make scarves for the soldiers, does not mean that you're sitting around doing nothing. It seems that we are switching roles. For once, it is not you comforting me, but it is I, comforting you. You've done more than enough for me, more than you probably will ever know since I do not believe I am even willing to share half the thoughts running through my mind in this war.
Don't discredit anything you've done. As for nursing, I beg of you to not train. You owe me nothing and I know that, but from writing to you, you're safe and that's how I want it to stay. You haven't had your life completely changed because a soldier has come to you, holding your hand and thinking you're his wife because he's lost so much blood. I beg of you to stay in your cherry orchard with your parents and brother. There's too much death here to keep you sane. More nurses have left than soldiers. We soldiers don't see the delirious ones that think they're at home, or they're with their families. We just get the shell shocked soldiers that are just too quiet to share what their minds are like. Except, I do because I am now one of those soldiers. One of my men, Edward, spoke to me last week, saying that I don't need to speak with them, but that they understand that the reason I'm so quiet is because something happened that I can't bear getting closer to someone again just for it to happen again. I didn't realize that's why I push every soldier away until he said it. The truth is always harsher to hear out loud, but it is the truth. I don't think I could get as close to someone as I did with Blake because I don't want to watch their life leave them as I sit by idly and unable to do a thing for them.
I have come to realize that we've been exchanging letters and we barely know anything of each other. So, I believe a real introduction is necessary. My name is William Schofield. I was in university before I was stupid enough to enlist in this war. I'm 22, one of the eldest, in the battalion. I'm from West London where I live with my parents. I used to love walking around Regents Park to escape from the busy streets of London. I also think that we have been speaking enough that you can call me Will. William is my father and far too formal for someone like me.
