Embarkations
30 January 1917
Aster House, Kingsport, Nova Scotia
Dear Dad,
Faith has had a letter from Rev. Meredith. He has given his consent for her to go to England at the end of the term to join the Voluntary Aid Detachment as a nurse.
Please, Dad, let me go, too. I know everything you said at Christmas is true. But there is such demand for nurses in England. Most of the V.A.D.s don't have much training, nor nearly as much experience as I have. You know I'm good at this. I could do so much to help there.
I wouldn't be going alone. Faith will be there, and Sylvia is going as well. You know the Atlantic crossing is nowhere near as dangerous as it was a few years ago. And with the spring offenses coming, as we know they will, the need will be greater than ever.
Please, Dad. I can do this work. Please let me.
Your loving daughter,
Di
7 February 1917
Glen St. Mary, PEI
Dear Di,
I know that you are an excellent nurse. I never knew anyone as sure-handed as you are. Of course you could do good work in England. That isn't the issue at all.
Di, your mother is not well. You know that Walter's death has been hard on her, but I cannot tell you the half of it. You must trust me when I say that it is necessary for you to stay.
Shirley will be 18 in a few months. He pores day and night over aviation literature and says nothing, but it is plain enough that he is counting the hours until his birthday.* I will not permit him to enlist unless your mother says that he may, but I think it will be difficult to prevent him if he sets his mind to it.
The same is true of you. I cannot give my consent unless your mother does, but it is not in my power to prevent your going. You are 21 years old and must follow your own conscience.
But I will also observe that the crossing is no longer as safe as it once was. The Germans have started up unrestricted submarine warfare again this week, as you must have heard since you wrote your letter.** It will push the Americans into the war and perhaps we will see an end at last.
I cannot command you to stay, Di, but I can ask it of you. Please, sweetheart, things are very hard already. You can do good work at Kingsport Hospital, especially if many of the other nurses are leaving. I know you do not want to be left behind, but I would ask you to stay nevertheless.
I would also observe that the demand for good nurses is and always will be insatiable. But while I imagine that this war will swell the ranks of nursing throughout the Commonwealth with talented and experienced practitioners, we will also find that it has decimated the ranks of doctors. Between those doctors whose lives are lost at the front and all those countless young men who will never return to become the doctors they should have been, the profession will never be able to tally its losses.
You know our need here on the Island, especially with Dr. Anderson from Mowbray Narrows gone to join the army. Dr. Parker and I are very short-handed. We are neither of us very young and I shudder to think what might happen in an emergency. I expect the situation is similar all over, and unlikely to get better anytime soon. My colleagues inform me that Redmond graduated only nine new doctors in the class of 1916, and most of them already gone to the army.***
You might, I think, consider this an opportunity to make a lifelong difference by staying at Redmond to finish your degree with the aim of enrolling in the medical school with the class of 1921. We may need you even more after the war than we do right now, and that is quite a lot already.
Love,
Dad
10 March 1917
Dear Faith,
Well, you have finally broken your rule and sent me a letter I was sorrier to receive than not.
I certainly do know what it is to feel called to a particular duty. I just wish that yours could be fulfilled on the safe side of the Atlantic. We do get war news here, too, you know, so there is no use hoping I won't have heard about submarine warfare and zeppelins over London and all the rest, never mind all the normal dangers that come with working in a hospital.
If you are determined to join the V.A.D., I know I can't change your mind and I won't really try. But do, for just a moment, consider staying home safe in Kingsport instead. Surely there is good work to be done in a city that is not in much danger of being bombed.
I love you, Faith. I want you happy and I want you safe. I know you were never one to sit at home and spin, and I never wished you otherwise until right now (and even now, if I'm honest, I wouldn't have you any other way). Only take as good care of yourself as you possibly can. And write every single chance you get. Even a line. Don't save up letters, writing a bit at here and a bit there until they're good and long — just send them (even blank pages) so that I know that you're still well enough to send them.
If there is one consolation in this, perhaps it is that letters to and from England take only a few days to arrive. And more than that — the Tommies get to go home on their leave. It will be a while yet before I'm due another round of leave, but perhaps I could run over and see you for a couple of days when I am. If I could, that would go a long way toward reconciling me.
By the time you get this, term will be nearly over and you'll be getting ready to ship out. Know that I'll be thinking of you every minute, and write me the very moment you set foot in England.
You'll be brilliant.
Love,
Jem
XXX
P.S. Wear your life vest the whole time you are on the ship. Every second, even when you're asleep.
P.P.S. Congratulations on your B.A. I should have started with that. I'm so proud of you.
6 April 1917
Aster House, Kingsport, Nova Scotia
Dear Jem,
Everything is set at last. The Dean of Redmond has consented to let those of us who are leaving for England sit our term exams early so that we may receive our degrees in absentia. Sylvia and I are studying day and night, with help from Nan and Di.
Di has decided to remain in Kingsport. Your father would not give his consent for her to go to England with us, but acknowledged that he could not stop her if she insisted. She nearly did, but has chosen to stay and keep up her studies, with the aim of enrolling in the medical school once she has taken her degree. I am glad to be going to England to serve in the current crisis, but I must admit a pang of envy.
We sit our exams in two weeks and then ship out immediately after. I do not know where I will be assigned, but I will write to you as soon as possible so that you will have my new address. And when you do have leave, even a minute of it, come over and see me. I won't be able to transfer to France until I turn 23 next January, but you can bet I'll be there as soon as I can manage.
All my love,
Faith
8 April 1917
Glen St. Mary, PEI
Dear Carl,
I went into town today and enlisted in the Royal Flying Corps.**** I've been thinking of flying ever since you mentioned those reconnaissance planes that saved your convoy from the U-boat so long ago.
The RFC training is longer than regular infantry training because we have to do much of the same basic training and then also learn to fly the aeroplanes. If I can qualify, I'll be commissioned as a pilot officer, which is a second lieutenant in army terms. If I do qualify, I should be in France by the fall or winter at the latest.
I haven't told Susan yet. She's been spoiling me these past few months and I hate to disappoint her, but the thing's just got to be done.*****
The folks at home say to tell you they miss you very much and think of you every day. You keep your head down a while longer and I'll see if I can't give you a hand.
Yours truly,
Shirley
8 April 1917
Camblain-l'Abbé, France
Dear Nan,
I had a letter from Faith saying she means to come to England at the end of the term — know that I'm praying for her safe crossing. I saw Jem a few days ago and I think he may not sleep until he gets a letter from her with an English postmark.
Is it true that the Yankees have declared war at last? I suppose I'll be able to get an answer before this letter can reach you. But we've heard rumblings of it before that have come to nothing. I tell you, we could use the help out here. Though even if they have declared, I guess it will be a long while before they are in the trenches with us.
Not in time, I fear. There's a big fight coming, Nan, and nothing to do but trust to Providence.
On our way here, we marched through a village. I thought I recognized it, but could not place it in my memory until I saw the church. I don't know whether it is the same church I noticed when we passed by this way two years ago — the places are unrecognizable.****** Whatever this church once was, it is just a pile of rubble now. I wish that I could say that I still found something beautiful there — some saint's carved face or a shard of stained glass, still lovely in the midst of such terrible destruction.
But the truth is that it is such a pointless waste I can't bear to look for beauty there. All these little medieval churches survived Agincourt and Crécy in the days of knights and armor; they stood all through the blood and suffering of the 30 Years' War in Charles I's time. I know those wars were terrible, too. But none of them blasted the little village churches off the face of the earth. They were beautiful, but they aren't any longer.
Last night, some benighted soul decided to serenade us all with "Will Ye Go Tae Flanders." And I thought, now there's a song that's two centuries old. The Duke of Marlborough and all those Hieland laddies dying in this same mud in the War of the Spanish Succession. And who even remembers it now? You do. I know. But in general, who cares who sat the Spanish throne in 17-oh-whenever? Kings and kaisers will go on fighting one another forever and ever and ever. Meanwhile, we've been marching over the same three inches of ground for two years and nothing to show for it but Jack Pringle dead and buried and that lovely little church smashed to rubble.
Send me something beautiful, Nan. I am finding it very hard at the moment.
Love,
Jerry
* Rilla of Ingleside, chapter 22
**In 1915, Germany placed restrictions on targeting civilian and neutral vessels with its U-boats (in part due to pressure by the United States after the sinking of the Lusitania in May 1915). On February 1, 1917, Germany resumed unrestricted submarine warfare, allowing U-boats to target any ship, military or civilian, from any country. This was one of the factors (along with the Zimmerman Telegraph) that finally pushed the United States into the war in April of 1917.
***Jem would have graduated with the class of 1916, if not for the war. Dalhousie Medical School did indeed graduate nine young men in 1916, one of its smallest classes of the 20th century (the class of 1917 had 14 graduates; the class of 1918 had 7; I can't find numbers for the classes of 1919 or 1920).
**** The Canadian Air Force was starting up in fits toward the end of the war, but most Canadian pilots served in the Royal Flying Corps or Royal Naval Air Service. On April 1, 1918, the RFC and RNAS merged to form the Royal Air Force (RAF).
*****They did not tell Susan right away. She did not know it until, a few days later, Shirley presented himself in her kitchen in his aviation uniform. Susan didn't make half the fuss she had made when Jem and Walter had gone. She said stonily, "So they're going to take you, too." "Take me? No. I'm going, Susan—got to." RoI, Chapter 25: Shirley Goes
******It probably is not the same village — Jerry was in Essars, France when he wrote about the little medieval church, and is near Camblain-l'Abbé now. The two towns are only 15 miles apart, though, so it might have seemed like familiar territory.
