This chapter is mostly a selection of letters between Edith and Anthony during the first part of the war.
.
He leaned out of the window watching her until the train rounded a bend, and he was gone, off to war.
.
Edith opened the packet of papers Anthony had given her, once she had been able to stop weeping later that afternoon. She wanted to read something written in his handwriting, just to be near him that way. There was a sheet with all the contact details for Mrs Amelia Chetwood, Anthony's sister. Further sheets were also covered in Anthony's small neat hand detailing his solicitors and bankers both in Yorkshire and in London. She was expecting the last few sheets just to contain instructions on how to write to him via the War Office. What she also found was a letter.
6th August 1914
My dearest, darling Edith,
I hope you find this soon. I wanted to say how much the last few days have meant to me. Even if you do find some other gentleman who can give you more than I ever could in the next two years, as I expect you will, I know that I have been blessed with this time when you have been there on my arm…on my arm for heaven's sake!…and I could truly dream of being married to you. It has been almost paradise for me, and I thank you for it. The memory will fill me with warmth, pride, and courage in the days to come.
It was 'almost' paradise because your smiles have filled me with a need for so much more, longings that I shouldn't even be mentioning to you if I were a true gentleman. Yet, as much as I want you to know that I love you, I also want you to know that I desire you. You have nearly convinced me that I am worthy of you. You have inspired me to want to be worthy of you, and to fight for you.
Until the Allenbys' party, I could not dare to believe that you might care for me, but you convinced me then that you did. Up until your parents' garden party, if you had decided you had wanted to break off our agreement because some young man had replaced me in your affections, I would have bowed out gracefully knowing that that was only natural and right.
But now…now you have filled me with hope, and with that hope has come a need to demonstrate to myself and to you that I can be everything you want in a husband and more; that I can truly deserve you. This is why I must serve my country. This is why I must ask you to put up with me going away. I hope you can understand this and forgive me.
I love you.
Your loving admirer
Anthony
.
7th August 1914
My dearest, darling Anthony,
It was such a wonderful surprise to find your lovely letter this afternoon after I saw you off on the train. I had shed a few tears after you'd gone, and was feeling a little fragile without you so it was a great comfort to find it.
You must not worry about me. Of course I understand why you had to volunteer, and I am so proud of you, my love. Things are settled between us for the moment. You have done a fantastic job of boosting my confidence. Our agreement is in place and we both will have jobs to do now for the war effort.
Papa can't understand why his old regiment will not accept him back for active service, especially now he's heard about you joining the Intelligence Corps. I suspect he will apply to join the IC too and you might meet up with him in due course! Meanwhile, my sister Sybil is adamant that she is going to qualify as a nurse. I am not sure what I shall do yet, but there will certainly be a niche for me somewhere. There seems to be so much to be done.
I can't tell you how happy it made me that you are less troubled by the thought of our liaison (I'm not sure how to describe it, as we are not officially engaged yet). You have made me the happiest of women just by agreeing to wait and see. I know you deserve me; I'm not so sure that I deserve you, my handsome hero.
I love you so much, my darling Anthony. Be well and safe for me.
Edith
.
10th September 1914
My dearest, darling Edith,
I wrote my last letter in the morning the day before I left…before your ravishing parting gift to me, which I carry with me in my heart. I may salute the Union Flag like every British soldier, but it is your caress cherished in my very soul that is my true standard, the colours to which I owe my real allegiance, my beloved lady's favour. I have had to come out to war, but I am unafraid because I have the memory of your kiss upon my lips.
I know that this letter will be passed into your hands; your fingers will touch this paper and I envy it. You will stroke it long before you caress me next, and I cannot help myself. I kiss the letter hoping that you will read these words with your lips. We can kiss by proxy thus. How I long for you! In the dark night hearing the distant guns, when I am about my missions, I think of you asleep in England and long to be beside you. If God is merciful, and this war is short, and you are still agreeable, perhaps I will be granted that yet. I shall dream of it tonight. Shall we agree to meet in our dreams? I'll wait for you sitting on the crescent moon; come find me there and I'll show you round the stars as once I promised you.
I love you.
Your loving Anthony
.
5th May 1915
My dearest, darling Edith,
You can have no idea how much it means to me to have you to write to. I haven't heard from you recently, and I suspect that the Army are having difficulty keeping up with my unit. We've moved three times in the last fortnight alone. Things are not going too well here. We have a very important mission on and I'm leading and planning a large part of it. Obviously I can't tell you much (and it would be censored if I did), but it makes me doubt…doubt that any of this entire war makes any sense at all. There are good, honest, decent men on both sides. Not just British and German, but French, Belgian, Bulgarian, Russian, Italian, and many more.
I keep thinking of my friends from when I was a student in Heidelberg. Are they out there in the enemy trenches? What are they thinking? If I was confronted with them, would I be able to fire at them, kill them? I don't suppose I would. Do these thoughts make me less of a good soldier? I dare say they do. Am I guilty of treason? Should I be taken out and shot as a traitor? Probably. But if I had to shoot my friends, how could I stand before my god on Judgement Day and explain why I did it? If I had not met you, my answer would be simple: I would not hurt them and instead let them kill me and be done with it. But I want to come home to you, my lovely Edith. I want to come home and be able to look you in the eyes and say truthfully that I fought with honour.
But it seems that neither side is fighting honourably. This is not a straightforward war. The Germans have used gas and I fully expect our boffins to be thinking up something in retaliation. I may become involved. I fear I will not be able to stand the sight of myself in the mirror should I survive. But then I think of you. I try to believe the propaganda: what might I be capable of should a Turk or Bulgarian try to attack you? I would tear him limb from limb rather than see any man harm a hair on your beautiful head.
My darling, oh my darling. I dare not ask it of you, as I cannot do it myself, but I pray you, believe in me. Tell me I am not a monster.
I love you.
Your loving Anthony
.
30th November 1915
My darling Anthony,
Your letters are heavenly balm. They tell me you were alive when they left you. They bear words of love, and assure me that you still love me. Your letters drive me mad, mad with love for you, each one more than the last. Every letter is like having your arms around me, and your kiss on my mouth, and your voice whispering soothing murmurs of love.
Somewhere on the other side of this dark, wide night, you are thinking of me as I dream of you. I close my eyes and imagine the dark hills and muddy fields I would have to cross to reach you, to be with you, to comfort you and love you, even if we were surrounded by war.
I read your letters over and over. I grow faint reading them, and I belong to you more and more. Every page is like a petal fallen from the flower of your soul, sweet and strong and true. You are not a monster to doubt the morality of war, any war let alone this one.
Downton is now a military hospital and I am engaged in looking after the non-medical care of our patients, all of whom are officers. We have had several who were gassed earlier in the year. I have seen horrible things, Anthony, and I am sure that you will have witnessed things a hundred times worse. This war is different from all previous ones, isn't it? It isn't just bloody and awful: it dehumanises people and treats them as bits of a machine, and leaves them just as bits. What I'm trying to say is…you aren't the only one questioning what is going on. It isn't just you and me. The Times has been raising issues and there have been debates in Parliament about the brutality used.
It has been over a year since you left England. Are you not due some leave yet? I long to see you.
I love you,
Yours loving Edith
.
3rd June 1916
My dearest, darling Edith,
I have time for just a few words. I would love to come home on leave, and I have requested two weeks around the time of your birthday. I haven't yet heard whether it has been granted though. If it is I'll try to send you a telegram to warn you.
The work is becoming more and more difficult. The Germans are not stupid and each time we carry out a mission they learn more about our techniques and pre-empt what we might do the next time.
I am sorry that you and everyone else at Downton have been dragged into the war effort, but perhaps it helps to have something practical to do?
Yesterday I received a letter from you dated from last November! It makes me appreciate how efficient the good old GPO was! Still, your words are like the shooting stars I see at night on a mission; they fall to earth as your kisses on my lips blessing me…wishing me luck. I long to hold you in my arms again. I miss your scent, and the way you have of pushing one lock of your hair behind your ear. When Fritz finally puts a bullet in me, that is what I shall hope for…that I might report at the Pearly Gates and be allowed to wait for you until you arrive. Then I will sweep you up in my arms and never, ever let you go again.
I'm sorry this is such a disjointed letter – I've been writing it in between sorties. I'll write again soon.
I love you
Anthony