One Hundred Days

The Somme

August 1916.  St. John's, Newfoundland.

Dearest Marjory,

How are things in Canada? It is so strange to write those words. All you have done is take a boat journey and you are already in another country. People discuss their emigration from overseas in such vivid detail, including the long, arduous journey. Imagine, you've got half as far with the same results!

I suppose not much is different, though, as we are both beholden to the British Empire. It is only that Newfoundland is considered a Dominion, rather than a full-fledged country. Why split hairs though? The Empire is engaged in the Great War. It is said it will be a war to end all wars. It stands to reason that King George does not care where the men come from as long as they continue to flock to the aide of the cause. Why should the head care where his hands come from, as long as they continue to be useful?

It seems like a lifetime since you've left our little island. The rocky shores are still the same, but the feel of our town has dramatically changed. Gone is the feeling of community, and the joy I once felt. The lightness of innocence has been prevailed upon by the realities of war. The great city of St. John's has been overtaken by thousands of sailors, soldiers, and foresters in preparation for dispatch to Europe.

Never before have I seen so many unfamiliar faces. I can no longer walk down the winding roads towards the harbour without the chill of the unknown in my bones. It is a sentiment more wicked than the salty wind that cuts right through my clothing in winter.

Many of our friends are enjoying the social aspects of this change. The girls flock down to Quidi Vidi Lake to watch the men train. Patriotism and dreams of romance swirl about their heads, imagining a fine young recruit transporting their photo overseas to warm their hearts on the battle lines. A fine parade of amusing banquets, socials and farewell parties have fallen in line and reinforced the such silly notions.

I know that Charlsie Hawco has said farewell to more than one poor fellow, promising to keep her heart true to each of them as their board their boats. What a rude awakening they shall have upon their return when they discover her ruse. There will be a trail of broken hearts on her stoop. Her father will not be pleased, as he believes she is a most sensible girl. Her mother, however, seems wise to the process and has started to chaperone her on all her outings. Good thing too, as she is such a formidable woman. The newest recruits will be happy to travel if only to escape having her as a mother-in-law. Poor Charlsie, indeed!

Enlistment is still going strong. Little did I ever expect that our meager Dominion would be able to create our very own regiment for land service. When Sir Walter Davidson put out the call, so many of those working the trades or manufacturing volunteered to go. I hear that in Grand Falls, the local pulp and paper mill is offering a subsidy for those who take up arms so they will not lose their income.

The Evening Herald reported that there were almost five hundred and forty men who made up the first regiment of Blue Puttees that boarded the SS Florizel last October. I was on the docks as they marched up the gangplank. Shoulder to shoulder, the soldiers stood looking out over the water. I had never seen such a magnificent sight. I hear that now we have sent another five companies.

Sometimes I wonder if Henry is disappointed that he cannot enlist. There is a strange and distant look in his eye whenever he reads the newspaper that is not otherwise explained. One day I pressed him a little about the topic. The question was asked innocently enough, but it obviously struck a raw nerve. Henry became reserved and began gutting the fish with fastidious efficacy. I have not discussed the topic since.

He must know the ramifications his enlistment would have. The weight of his entire family's fishery and its income is upon his shoulders. Should he turn in the fishing nets for a bayonet, I do not know what would happen to his mother and sisters. They would be left without a man to provide for them, and should Henry not return, they would be permanently bereft. Henry would never want them to be in such a state.

However, I see the yearning of glory in his eyes. The promise of a life that does not hold the smell of dead fish. A life beyond the borders of the fishing lines. A life beyond what I can offer him as his wife. Henry is also in the minority here in the city, and the majority of fishing families live in the outboard villages. Perhaps the gleam of wanting would never had appeared if even his village depending on his income. I shall never know.

I have been wrestling with horrid feelings since last fall. I have been too selfish to admit that I was thankful he could stay at home where I can be near him and love him with the closeness that is afforded by so few these days. So many nights I have tossed and turned about my bed, believing that I am a most wretched individual. A woman who would dare to place my feelings above the those of my future husband. Abominable!

Vindication, however, came with the dreadful headlines after the battle in Somme in July. The entire island has been grieving since that atrocious defeat. The newspaper said we sent almost 800 men to Beaumont Hamel with the 29th Division. They didn't stand a chance. My father said the German army had held that position for over twenty months before the French and British came. Our boys went like lambs to slaughter, and there was no means to pull back like they did at Gallipoli.

Decimation was the word on everyone's tongues. Ninety percent of the men were wiped out immediately. Not one officer was present at roll call the next morning. Among the dead were Steven Hardy and James Dwyer, both boys with whom we went to school. It is hard to believe they are gone. The announcement of July 1st shall forevermore be a day of mourning to Newfoundlanders.

The latest information we have is the Canadian troops are now on the move towards Courcelette, so close to that fateful place. The telegraph station at Signal Hill has not been so busy since it received the first signal from Marconi a decade ago. The newspapermen are practically falling over themselves to get the latest updates from the trenches. I have not steeled myself enough to wait for the outcome with such enthusiasm.

Sister, I send my best wishes and prayers to your men. I truly do. If possible, the level of grief we must now bear should be spared. I will hold firm in my faith that their training will prevail. They are in the hands of Providence now.

With love and prayers,

Diana