Work Text:
October 3rd, 1940
Dear Noelle,
It’s been a few weeks since I was summoned to serve our country. Since then, there hasn’t been a moment that I don’t miss you, and home. Although the last days we spent together as a family were completely scary (hiding in air-raid shelters every night), I can’t stop thinking about you. So I decided to write some letters just for you. When you read them, try to think in those afternoons when you didn’t kick me out of our room and we spent hours listening to the radio and talking.
The nights are still terrifying. We’re not allowed to leave the barracks, and most of the time we don’t sleep at all. The sound of explosions are constantly through most of the night. We have to stay alert and keep our boots right beside the bed. I’ll try to keep you and Mum informed whenever I can. You know that a soldier has very little free time and I can prove it!
06h Wake up, wash and make the bed
06h30 Breakfast
07h Receive orders, clean and polish weapons, marches, combat drills and rifle training (you know how much I hate taking orders. the only fun part is learning to shoot)
09h Physical training
12h30 Lunch
13h30 First-aid classes
15h00 Digging trenches and building defences, anything that defend us. (apparently a German invasion could happen any day, but I don’t think they’d dare)
17h Sometimes we patrol near the base (so far I haven’t been put on night patrol. I spend most nights in the air-raid shelters) or do other internal tasks that I found boring.
18h30 Dinner
19h Write to Mum, to you, and to Paul
From 20h to 05h30 Air-raid sirens whenever the Germans soldiers want. We run to the shelters and stay there the rest of the night. Most of the lads stay awake. I feel so exhausted that sometimes I fall asleep in the moment I lie down (at least for a few hours).
See how my days and nights are always full with very fun activities?
I hope you’re having as much “fun” as I am, despite all the recent bombing. Most of us thought the war would be over quickly, but in the last few weeks everyone’s starting to get really scared. I like being a soldier, but not nearly as much as I like my own bed. Only God knows how much I miss being able to sleep through an entire night undisturbed. I’d love if you could tell me how things are back home and how your life has been lately.
Kisses and hugs
Your brother, William.
November 14th, 1940
Dear Noelle,
I’m still waiting for a reply to my last letter. Mum has written several times and told me you’ve got a job as a nurse. Maybe that’s why you haven’t had time to answer. It’s impressive that for the first time in our lives we are both so busy that we even can’t talk to each other. but I’ll keep writing whenever I can.
Every day is exhausting, but I’m turning into a proper soldier. I can stand still, keep my trap shut,shout “shit” in a loud voice, behave like a good boy, and run as fast as I can through the field. They taught me not to steal and not to rape women because this is a behavior unworthy of a soldier.
The barracks are never really full even though the place is tiny. I’m one of the youngest recruits. It’s funny seeing men of every age sent off like sacrificial lambs. I’ve already met a chemist, an engineer, a middle-school principal, a musician, a blacksmith, farmers, a craftsmen… At night when we’re sitting around the table the middle-school principal tells a story, blacksmith lets off a loud fart, purely out of excitement. The chemist swears there was sulphur involved, the musician awards a B-major or C-major, according to the tone of the fart and I just say, “Smells exactly like it came from a horse.” We get along very well because we’re all fighting for the same thing.
The blacksmith is called Paul, just like our brother, and he thinks I’m far too self-indulgent for my own good. I’m not entirely sure what that means, but he might be right. He likes music like me. Sometimes we turn on the radio while I’m writing letters, and every song reminds me of you— even the ones you always complained that are played too much on the radio. Like every of the Andrews Sisters.
I hope you and mum are dealing well with the circumstances and that soon peace will come to all of us.
Hug and a big kiss
Your brother, William.
December 28th, 1940
Dear Noelle,
This winter has been merciful this time . Frost every single day makes training unbearable, but I hope you’re managing to keep warm. Nights in the shelters are bitterly cold, -13 degrees most of the time but I’ve got used to it. What else can I do? I have to be content with the fact that I'm relatively safe where I am now
Christmas is over. Some of the lads thought nothing, not even war, could ruin christmas joy. I don’t buy that nonsense. No lights, no presents, no proper feast—nothing like the Christmases we used to know. I don’t see the point of celebrating when we’re all so far from home.
Christmas Eve was just another dark, quiet night. The only reminder us that christmas had arrived were the songs on the radio. Mum sent me some chocolate and cigarettes; I’m trying to make them last. I kept thinking about our childhood Christmases when although you think it was stupid, you’d still help mum in the middle of the night to putting our gifts under the tree.
Christmas came quickly to put an end to this year. I hope next year we can spend it together and pretend, just for a moment, that we believe in the christmas magic again. Maybe if we pretend hard enough to believe in Father Christmas, Mum will give us a car — who knows.
I’ll be busy the next few days, same old routine. If nothing special happens, I’ll write again in a few weeks. I hope to hear from you soon, especially about the air raids.
For today, warm greetings
Your brother, William
February 9th, 1941
Dear Noelle,
Time is passing too fast. Mum has sent me lots of letters these past months. I haven’t written to you for a while, but I promise I’ll keep sending some signs of life. I’ve been thinking about you lately. I talked to some lads who were in France in ’39, and I think when this is all over we should go there together. I really want to see Paris. They say French women are incredibly elegant (no doubt, this explains why the main fashion center is Paris and not London). Every day a different group went to the theatre, a show, or the cinema every night. Cigarettes are much cheap and the coffees were unbeatable. Of course France wasn’t occupied yet—life was richer, they went to beautiful places and there was also no food rationing, so they could enjoy real French cooking. It’s sad that most French people have now lost everything, even their lives.
I hope when this ends things go back to how they were. We could see Paris in autumn if you like. We could stand under the Eiffel Tower, smoke as much as we want, go to the movies together (I promise you that I won’t be talking during the movie), and listen to jazz all day. Nobody knows us there—we could do whatever we wanted. Maybe rent a fancy hotel room just for the two of us and pretend we’re a pair of rich, arrogant old British people who can’t miss tea-time.
Send mum kisses from me.
See you soon,
With love, William.
March 10th, 1941
Dear Noelle,
How’s Mum? Did she heal from the cold? These past days I’ve had a slight cool too, definitely from all the rain. I’m feeling fitter than ever now. I heard our Paul has been sent to Greece. I hope he’s lucky; the enemy has proved much stronger than expected. So far I still haven’t been assigned to any mission—just guard duty. The worst part is not being allowed to smoke or chat. Lately I’ve ended up arguing with half the lads; it feels like fighting the whole world maybe it’s a war thing. My sleep got worse than my diet, but at least I’m better than Paul; apparently he’s on special rations. A few days ago I was caught dozing against my rifle and when they woke me I nearly fired into the air. Needless to say I got punished.
In my free time there’s nothing to do but smoke, listen to the radio, and play cards. I’ve been wondering how I’ll spend my birthday this year—whether it’ll be as miserable as the last one. Maybe by then I’ll get 48 hours leave to see you and Mum, but I think it’s better not. I have nothing to offer except sad stories and a few funny ones of everything that has happening so far. I wish I could help you financially—I know things are hard. Mum says you’ve been exhausted. Since I can’t help with money, I’ll just keep doing what I do best.
I know you’re getting my letters, otherwise the post would send them back. I don’t know why you’re not answering, but please give me some sign you’re alive.
With love,
William.
May 29th, 1941
Dear Noelle,
Today you turn 23!
We never made big birthdays parties at home, but this time I feel we would have done something special if i were there. I hope you’re all right despite everything. I’d like to know exactly where you are—London suffered the worst bombing yet a few days ago. I wish I could protect you, wish we were together at least today. It feels like decades since I last saw you! I fell asleep thinking of you and woke up thinking of you. Maybe I’m going mad, but if I try hard enough I can still feel your lips on mine. Do you ever miss me? People say the end is near. I want to run home, where there were no voices shouting “You should do more!”, back to the afternoons when you hummed in the kitchen while I read the lyrics you’d written. I knew they were about me. I have more faith in you than I’ve ever had in anyone, even God. To you I can admit I might be too sensitive for all this. You know how I am. No one loves me like you do. I don’t know if I’ll have to wait a lifetime alone, but if you want me to, I will. I will always choose us—religiously.
With love,
William.
November 25th, 1941
Dear Noelle,
The war has been longer than we all thought. I don’t have much news. I’ve been doing a lot of guard duty. I’m supposed to stay alert, but sometimes I get lost in my thoughts while humming Sinatra songs softly. The work is tough but quieter than the last few months—maybe I’ve just got used to it. There are still air-raid warnings that wake us at night, I just hope they don’t get as bad as they were a few months ago. Winter is coming and I hope it’s kinder than last year—I could feel the cold in my bones. For a moment I wished I were a big furry dog lying by the fire in some rich, American’s mansion.
Honestly, I have a lot of regrets about this year and many things I wish had been different. I think new year’s day is more about accepting your mistakes and seeing that regardless of everything life goes on than about fancy parties. Maybe next year my mates and I will be transferred, who knows what they’ll do with us, but don’t worry about me, I can take care of myself! The boys and i are getting along surprisingly well most days, even if I don’t feel much like talking. On my birthday they gave me some cigarettes as a gift.
How’s Paul? I hear his leg is healing well. I remember the letter he sent after he got home and everything he went through sounded terrifying. Now he must be resting a lot—a hell of a lazy! You should make him work all day so you and Mum can finally have a break.
Kisses and hugs,
William.
March 1st, 1942
Dear Noelle,
Mum hasn’t given me much news of you lately, and you still haven’t answered any of my letters. I won’t keep forcing myself into your life if you don’t want me there. I thought nothing could separate us, but apparently war can. I hope you’ve found someone who makes you feel safe. I try to believe you’re just too busy, but maybe you simply want to forget me and everything about us. I know you always thought it was all a mistake, but I have never regretted a thing. When we get over all this we could still go to Paris like I wrote about so long ago. Unfortunately there’s no point keeping on writing letters that will never be answered.
With love,
Your brother, William.
September 19th, 1943
Dear Noelle,
Do you believe in God? I’ve been remembering the days when Mum dragged us to church when we were little. I see the other soldiers praying for their families, for their own safety, but for me that all lost meaning long ago. If God existed we wouldn’t be going through this. So many of my friends are shipped overseas and most never come back. If God is as merciful as they say, why do thousands of people have to die every day? I don’t need to believe some bigger will help us win. I believe in myself and in every man here—we can bring pride to our country. God isn’t on our side, but death is. I feel useless staying in Britain while thousands die around the world. Death is right in front of my eyes, yet it sleeps beside my comrades. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve been secretly considered unfit for combat. God has no faith in me, just as I have none in Him, and I know He won’t give me another chance. If everything turns out all right for me one way or another, I’ll know the only thing that saved me was the hope of seeing you again.
With love,
Your brother, William
February 26th, 1944
Dear Noelle,
I can’t leave the barracks and I can’t say much. It feels like it’s one’s of the first years of the war again. Training has been brutal, but I can’t share details. Things are getting better for everyone. Some of the lads say this might really be the end. I feel like people are finally seeing things as they are. I just hope I get back home soon. My thoughts are always with you. Paul sent me a photograph of you a few weeks ago. Your hair is shoulder-length now, shorter than the last time I saw you. You’re in profile, head lowered, looking at something in your hands which looks a lot like a crumbled paper. Your brows are furrowed, so distracted and probably had no idea Paul took the picture and sent it to me. You’re breathtaking. I think you should teach Paul a lesson for sending me a photo of you without your knowledge. He hasn’t let you keep hiding from me the way you want. Don’t forget to tell him I’m grateful he’s invading your privacy. Lately I haven’t had the patience to write or answer letters. I hope soon I won’t need to write to you, Mum, and Paul anymore.
With love,
William.
June 4th, 1944
Dear William,
I’ve kept every single one of your letters since you started sending them. I’m sorry I never replied, but I’m going to tell you everything that really happened while you were away. I asked Mum not to tell you, but a few weeks after you were recruited I discovered I was pregnant—and you know what that means. Mum and everyone we knew kept asking who the father was. I had to say it was Robert, who had died in combat months before the baby was born. It was a stupid lie; everyone knew Robert and I were never close, and if he really had been the father we should have assumed our relationship before he left. People probably think I’m some kind of whore. I know they look at me with contempt, but I don’t care.
Robert’s family tried to contact me to offer help, but I never accepted it and stopped reading their letters until they finally stopped coming. I became a nurse, but throughout the pregnancy my days became more harder and harder. I was completely terrified to have my brother's baby growing inside me and even more so in the face of this horrible scenario, but there was nothing else i could do. At eight months I was so exhausted I had to quit the hospital. Mum helped me a lot during this time and still does. I now work at the bakery near home, but the money isn’t enough, so sometimes I take extra jobs to stay afloat. The first year was very hard because Mum couldn’t take care of the baby alone, but now that he’s almost three the routine is getting easier every day.
John is just like you—blond hair, blue eyes, and sometimes he can be extremely insistent as you were. But he’s turning into the smartest little boy I’ve ever seen; that part he definitely got from me.
It’s a relief to watch him grow up as a normal child despite being born into war. At first I was terrified he might have some deformity that would make life even harder, but he’s incredibly sweet. There are so many things that I would like to say to you, but I don’t know how. Soon you’ll be home and you’ll see the living proof of our love with your own eyes. Mum and Paul can’t wait to see you. I can’t begin to describe how much I miss you.
I never stopped reading your letters. I honestly thought you already had enough problems to have to deal with the idea that you’d fathered an incestuous child who is waiting for you at home. I really do love you, William. It might be very scary, but I hope you can love John as much as I do. When the war ends maybe we can buy a house just for the three of us and you will be finally able to rest. Paul told me you might be sent to somewhere in Europe. From everything you’ve told me, you’ve become a brilliant soldier. I absolutely believe you’ll come home safe, and soon we’ll all be together and at peace again. I can’t wait for you to come back and I think John doesn’t either.
With love,
Noelle.