Letters From The Western Front

September 9, 1914

My dearest Gwendoline,

I just arrived yesterday to the Garrison. There are so many men here, that the army has been forced to erect tents to keep them in! While this bodes well for the war effort, (I shall certainly be home for Christmas at this rate!), I am certainly glad not to be sleeping in mud! As I was something of an early recruit, my paperwork was put on the top of the pile, so I was given a hut. For this I am grateful, it is cold at night, and these socks you have sent me away with are only warm when they are dry. We began drills today, the old men who are in charge of my regiment are not at all skilled, (One says he is confused by the drills!) and they strut about, as though they think they are superior. Pah! I will be the one on the front lines, ending this tiny war, and bringing glory home to our beloved country whilst they sit around on their overly generous bums!

I miss you much Gwennie, but I know my duty, and I cannot bring myself to wish I were home with you unless I bring victory along with me. Though I am not worried, Christmas shall be all the more fine with my being a war hero! Oh, the look on my brother's face when I shall arrive home! I cannot wait! Edwin shall be so upset that he missed out on all the glory. Not that this is a place for him.

The men here are numerous, and courageous, but they are a course variety, and the words I have heard them say are too foul to write here. These are not gentlemen, but as long as they can handle a gun, I don't suppose the colonels will mind.

How are things back home? How are Kittie and Liza? Have they followed through on their plan? I hope so, Liza would be an excellent nurse, she could definitely handle this crowd here. This is no place for a meek nurse. Kittie too would be excellent, though she would certainly need to be able to hold her own.

And what of you? I pray you will never go anywhere near a battlefield, even one that will only be occupied for a few months. You wouldn't like it here, it is loud, and cold, and wet, and there is not a moment of privacy, even to bathe.

You asked me before I left what I want you to send me while I am away, I thought only of pasties and biscuits at the time, now I can only dream of socks and sweaters! I couldn't care less about the color, just something to keep me warm, and remind me of home.

I am afraid I cannot write any longer. Someone is calling me for another round of drills.

Yours sincerely forever,

Bernard C. Scott

P.S. I wouldn't mind some biscuits as well though if you can send them.