A Letter from a Little Girl to her Father at the Front

This story concerns World War One and has references to the conditions in the trenches. It is inspired by a story which appeared in an annual belonging to my father which was lost or thrown away over 50 years ago. I have made up my own story .

Hernesbury Hall,

September 1916.

Dearest Papa,

I felt so joyful when I received three of your letters at once a few days ago. As I read them, I formed a picture you sitting in a dugout beside a trench full of mud with the rain pouring down. To smell mustard gas in a trench full of mud must be truly dreadful. No wonder you have to wear a mask if it smells like Jack’s mustard spread ham sandwiches. I don’t know how he can eat them. I enjoyed foraging for mushrooms with the gardener last weekand her showed me which ones are poisonous. He also said mustard gas is poisonous and makes men’s lungs foam. That terrified me.

          Sitting in a wet dugout must be hard for someone who likes slippers and pipe before a blazing fire. I guess you cannot wear slippers in Flanders. Do you have a fire of some sort to keep warm in the dugout? Mamma says please remember to wear the flannel combinations she sent in her last parcel. She's kept me busy this summer knitting you socks and gloves. I am learning  to knit with four needles so I can make a muffler in your regimental colours. Mamma will send them all in her next parcel.

We haven't received our winter coal supply yet, despite coal delivery being a reserved occupation. Mamma says so many miners have gone to Flanders as tunnellers that stocks are down.  Arnold Thorne has gone to France and old Mr Thorne says he cannot get to everybody in the village by himself. I suggested using a wheelbarrow but Mamma would not hear if it. She says it’s degrading and dirty work for people of our class. I think no work is degrading if it helps the country with its war efforts. Don't mention it to Mamma but I think she's a snob.  I shall have to wear lots of warm clothes instead, although I am not looking forward to wearing my winter coat indoors. It can’t be as bad as wearing a wet uniform in a trench dugout, so I will wear it in your honour of you, Papa.

I am despondent because Miss Butcher, my governess, has left us. Her mother suddenly died of a heart attack, and she had to go home to look after her father and younger sister. Miss Butcher has a brother but he’s at the front in conditions like yours so he cannot help. She was a such cheerful governess who wore flowered muslin dresses and wide-brimmed hats in summer. I shall miss her nature walks through the fields and woods where she told me the names of birds and plants.  She said larks sing above the poppy fields in France. The sound of their birdsong is so inspiring that it could uplift the men’s morale. She made learning fun, and I loved her.

              Mama interviewed three ladies to replace Miss Butcher and chose Miss Hardman. She has a beaked nose, beady eyes and wears spectacles. Mama said her credentials are excellent and that she speaks fluent French. I live in England so why do I need to learn French? I could be a VAD in France if the war drags on. But I hope it doesn’t last because the casualty figures are so high and you might become a casualty. Everyone in the village knows someone who has lost a family member. Last week, three brothers were killed im some battle in France. Mamma visited their parents who now have two daughters left. She came home looking sad and went straight to bed. I heard her crying and knocked on her door, but she did not answer.  

           Do you remember Ginny, my friend in the village? Her father left for France three months ago. She heard her mother crying when she got a telegram. It said he was missing in action. How can you be in action and missing at the same time? If a soldier is in action, someone must have seen him. Mama says it’s means he was in action, shooting his rifle or walking across no man’s land when he was last seen. I asked her where no man’s land was, but she did not answer. I am confused, and so is Ginny. I wish you could

get leave and come home to explain it because Ginny’s mother says he isn’t missing; the authorities won’t look for him.

          Ginny says her mother may go to France and look for him herself.  If she does, then I shall ask ask Mamma if Ginny can stay with me. I need a schoolroom companion. We could hide together in the oak tree because I suspect Miss Hardman uses the slipper if pupils misbehave and I have such a hard time sitting still.  I hope her arithmetic lessons are not too difficult. You know I don’t enjoy arithmetic because I get my sums muddled. I hope she will let me write stories so I can use my imagination instead.

Jack is looking forward to going to Eton, although I think he fears fags which he learned about from Cousin Arthur. He hopes he won’t be Arthur’s fag, for he is so pompous and unpleasant, calling us horrid names. Were you a fag at Eton too, Papa? I will miss Jack. He taught me to climb the old oak tree but please don’t tell Mamma. I hide in its branches when cook is looking for me because I’m not fond of some of the food we must eat now rationing is in force. Cook makes meatballs from ground-up Sunday roast meat for Monday lunch. Yuck.

             Mamma let her maid go into war work last week. She found a job in a munitions factory, where I hear girls’ skin turns bright yellow. I would not like yellow skin. It wouldn’t go with my favourite lavender dress.  I don’t understand why she wants such an unpleasant job, but Mama says it’s well-paid and helps our boys at the front. Without a maid, I do up Mama’s stays and help brush her hair every night before bed. She goes to bed at nine, for she has no parties or dinners to attend and it saves coal. As you know the London house is shut, with the furniture covered by white sheets, until you come home.  Mama finds the winters dull without parties. However, she is busy arranging bridge afternoons and working in the village packing food parcels. Some times I help her and see the newspaper lists as we pack the boxes. The lists bring a lump to my throat.  

Some Army Officers came to see Mamma last week. I think they want to requisition our house as a hopital for wounded soldiers. They were here a long time and looked in all the rooms and around the grounds. The officers told Mamma we could live in the Dower House. It's been empty since Grandmamma went to live in Yorkshire. Mamma was very upset and refused to give them permission. You know how she hates change, but I think it might be warmer in the Dower House.

I do not think Miss Hardman will approve of knitting as a schoolroom activity so I must knit fast to finish your muffler. I shall ask her if I can paint a picture of the fox terrier dog  Mamma found to keep down vermin. I expect you could use him in the trenches, as the gardener said they are full of rats as well as gas and mud. The thought makes me shudder.

Please take care of yourself, Papa, and don’t get killed by a sniper or shell, or go missing in action. I could not bear that, and neither could Mamma. It could kill her.

Your loving daughter,

 Patricia xx

P.S. I will write with more news next week if Miss Hardman permits.