Frohe Weihnachten

II.

December 24th, 1914

Dear Jakob,

I hope you're doing well. I miss you. And thank you for that wonderful compliment. I'm glad I'm much nicer than a drill sergeant. But winter is getting worse here. With each passing day, I treat more soldiers for frostbite than I do burns or bullet wounds. The nights grow longer, food is short, blankets and supplies are running thin. I can't help but think about what our parents are feeling. I hope they're proud of us as we risk our lives for our country. But I somehow think this isn't what our parents had in mind when they uprooted our family from Krakow, Poland to Inverness, Scotland when I was only six years old. But I can't imagine what the winter's like up there in Prussia. It must be worse than in France! I hope you're staying warm and I hope Mam has sent you some things to keep you warm as well. I hope you think of both Mam and Dad whenever you wrap that blanket around yourself at night. I have a feeling she sent one to you knowing Mam. I'm waiting to get a package myself.

The lice problem we have is getting worse as well. You can see the bite marks all over the soldiers' skin. I feel terrible for them. I see many soldiers itching, drawing blood from scratching so vigorously. Hoping they can get just a moment's relief from the tiny pestilence. I can understand why Hashem sent lice down as one of the plagues. They really are a menace. Food, medical supplies, blankets, and many more are running low. We're not getting what we need. From the soldiers that come to me for a quick fix-up to the ones that need long-term care are struggling. We need supplies and we need it now. I can't imagine what your regiment is going through. I feel bad.

I think about you a lot. I anxiously await for a letter that you send me. I feel guilty because I'm not there to protect you like I always have. I guess part of an older sister's job is worrying for her stinky little brother. But I'm proud of how much you've grown up in the years that I've known you. I'm proud to call you, Jakob Abraham Rosenthal, my baby brother. May Hashem see us both through this terrible time. I anxiously await for the day that all four of us are home. Safe and sound with Mam making Latkes for us and me and dad arguing over the correct topping. (It's applesauce, you and Dad are wrong.)

Love, your annoying older sister,

Naomi.

Naomi folded the letter and addressed it to her brother. She was always terrified that the post wouldn't get through to her little brother. But just a message from her brother was something that would make the twenty-something nurse feel relieved. Knowing he was alive and he was safe at the time of the letter anyway. She would always be able to recognise her little brother's handwriting, for it was just something an older sister knows.

MacGowan came barrelling into her area, she jumped, causing George, who had plopped in her lap to jump up and scurry away. "What is it, MacGowan?" She asked.

"It's Colonel Smith," he said. "He's here and he wants us all out." MacGowan didn't look pleased about the fact they had a Colonel visiting them.

"I'm coming," she yawned. Getting up she draped herself in an extra blanket and came into the freezing cold. She could see her breath every time she breathed. The air nipped at her nose and she shivered to keep warm. The blanket wasn't enough. Boys and men, some in their 40s and married, some barely out of school, and some she suspected were younger than the age of eighteen, were all assembled in the trenches they towered well above her. The ground, once muddy, was now firm from frost and snow. She wasn't treating as many soldiers for footrot as she once was since the winter came. It was now frostbite. She couldn't decide which one was worse. The skin of your foot rotting or your fingers freezing off. Both left you permanently disabled.