October 1918

October, 1918.


Dearest Christopher,


My darling….It was so wonderful to receive your letter this morning.

To read your words it was as if you were sitting here talking to me. I wish you were. I found myself tracing your handwriting, imagining your hand following the same pathway as mine, imagining what it would be like to feel your touch once more…


I must confess that I was worried to read that the weather has already started to turn menacingly wintery where you are. I only wish I was there to keep you warm or that I could, at least, send you some knitted gloves and thick socks. I will ensure that I include some cocoa in your next parcel in an attempt to warm you from the inside.

Of course, you are right my dear, I know I shouldn’t worry…but I can’t help it. You are so far away and we hear such terrifying stories back here.

But whatever I am hearing and feeling, I know that it is nothing compared to what you must be living through.

I am so proud of you, proud to say that my darling man is fighting for us and our country.


I wonder what you’re doing now??

I do hope that you are not too exhausted and that “that pesky cough”, you mentioned previously, has left you now.


Do you think they will finally grant you your leave soon?

I know it is ridiculous, but I keep dreaming that we will be able to spend Christmas together; imagining that I will be able to wake up in your arms after falling asleep by the fire with our stomachs full of your mother’s delicious Christmas pudding.

Forgive me for dreaming, it just helps me to keep smiling. I hope that by sharing this with you I might have brought a smile to your face too. I am determined that I will only allow tears to well up in my eyes out of happiness when I finally see you standing in the doorway, knowing that you have come back home to me.


Stay strong, my darling, I know you will. I will be here waiting for you when you return.


Sending all my love to you “somewhere in France”.


Yours forever,



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