1910s: Life in Glimmerbrook

 

Dearest Alice, 

 I am amazed at the photo you sent, and the transformation you are undergoing. Gone is the image I remember of my sister, to be replaced by a fully fledged movie star! I do dare to say that Miss Ward knows what she is doing. As for mother's gossip, well I had heard. It should be no surprise to you that mother writes to me too about these things. How many times have I not heard about George and Betty's twins and how adorable they are? Or how that 'could have been me'. I am so happy that she does not know how right she is about that last part. 

To be fair, however, and let it be known that I never thought I'd be the one to take our mother into my defence, but she does not know how those news will hurt you. Perhaps it would be an idea to let her know you and Lizzie had a falling out? Without details of course. But I find that while our mother can push her own views, she is not entirely unsensitive. 

 Here a cold winter has been replaced by a wet spring, meaning I spend as much time cleaning as I do tending soldiers. The amount of mud that can fit on one floor would astound you. We are early at rising and late in bed, but all of us sleep easily in spite of the sound of bombardment at the front. It was hard at first, but now we are so used to it we tend to wake up if there is none. But what has really happened here? How to sum up so many things in one letter? There was a fire, but no one got hurt. We got a cow - yes you read that right, a cow - when a farmer and his entire family were killed. It will likely be commandeered by the army any day, but until then the milk it provides is a great supplement to our rather meagre food. Easter was rather pleasant. Obviously, things here are far from the easter dinners at home, but we were given a ham by one of the farmers as a donation and borrowed and scrambled together a few extra tables to be able to sit inside and stay dry from the rain. It was simple, but nice, and most of the patients were well enough to join us that day. 

That is otherwise one of the hardest things, to let go of those who are now well and need to return to the front. We all know it has to happen, but for those who have stayed a long time it's sometimes hard to say good buy. Most of our patients do not stay here long, however. The more severe cases are sent on to better equipped hospitals and they are at most patched up enough to survive the journey. The most severe cases usually die before they can be transported. 

There is one soldier here though, Mr Beufoy, or Maurice as I have now started to call him, who has now been with us for a long while. He arrived, I am sure you remember, with a friend who died within hours of arrival. He survived, but was in such bad state he was supposed to be transported on, but there was no room. Somehow he still managed to survive. Without his friends, without his family who has left Glimmerbrook for an unknown location, who might even be dead, he still has an enormous amount of hope and joy in life. 

As he is local, he has told me things about this place that I never would have found out living here a hundred years. As he is starting to be strong enough to walk, I often accompany him on shorter strolls through the town, and it's quite amazing to see the town from his perspective. I find myself more attached to this place daily - in spite of the heavy rains. He even persuaded all of us, me, Racheal and Georgette, to join him and some of the other soldiers at the local bar. I know, I know, I said I would never again... but you cannot live in France and not drink Nectar. I think there is a law. I am being careful, however, and keeping it to a glass or possibly two at most. Rachael played the piano for us all, it was quite a fun evening. 

 Finally, I need to let you know that you are not the only one who has gotten a recent make over. Georgette told us that nurses all up and down the front has started cutting their hairs because it is more practical. At first it sounded ridiculous, but the more we spoke about it, and the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. So, last night, me and Racheal asked Georgette to cut ours. She's a magician with a pair of scissors really, and I actually find that I like it. Most importantly, it's dead easy and simple. No more time spent fixing the hair up each and every morning, only to have it fall down by midday anyway. Whenever you feel ready to tell mother about wearing make-up, you can always drop the news that I now have short hair, she'll forget all about your colored lips, I swear. 

Your loving sister, 

Anna 

Everyday life:

Easter dinner: 

Talking to the soldiers:

Night out: 

Cutting her hair (nurses in WW1 were among the first to actually get the bob, before it became popular for everyone else as well)