18 July.
1916
Sainte-Menehould, France

Tommy,

Just a few lines to let you know I'm alright. The summer has arrived here, clear skies and hot weather. Normally I would be upset with this, it makes work tiresome and sticky, but this week it has been very enjoyable. I have had another week of break (the reason for which I'll explain at the end of the letter) so I have been able to relax in the heat, instead of work in it.

On Tuesday evening, we had a surprise. A cavalry regiment arrived. The Royal Horse Guards stopped here at St. Mene on their way to the front, though quite unexpectedly. They hadn't realised any station was nearby, so no word had been sent. I'm sure you can imagine the surprise of everyone when one hundred horses come riding up to a little village in the middle of the French countryside. I would be lying if I said we weren't worried at first, thought perhaps the Jerries' had come, but once we saw the flags and realised it was the wrong direction, nerves were settled.

There wasn't any room in houses for the men, but fresh meat and vegetables made up for it. They didn't seem to mind tents, if it meant they could leave the bully beef and army biscuits alone. I was grateful for the reminder that I rarely have to eat food like that, it looks like my father fished something out the Cut and then attempted to cook. Is that insensitive? I'm sorry, I forget you have to eat that food Tommy, maybe I can try and send some things from here in a parcel? No promises, but I'll look into it.
The men were only settled here a few days, but on the first night I played a game of Poker with Sgt. Wood and we got along well.

(I lost the game, of course, but luckily we weren't playing for anything)

Wood lives in a small town called Llanmerewig, just outside Newton, which means he's lived two hours from us for all our lives. We talked about his wife and children, I talked about you boys up North. Conversation reached horses in time, and he took me to meet his stallion. When I tell you how my breath left me. Walking up to him, I thought for a minute that it was Blue Dancer. He had the same coat, black as night with white socks, and a part of me had the wild hope that he'd made it all the way here. It wasn't, of course. Blue Dancer was taken to work in Belgium, and up close I noticed this boy was much bigger and had white spots behind his ears. Sgt. Wood's horse is called War Breaker, an appropriate name I suppose, and was very gorgeous. He isn't my Blue, but it was lovely to meet him.

I spent the next day with the horse, I couldn't ride him, of course, but I had a good enough time anyway. Sgt. Wood is a good man, devoted to War Breaker, and it was sad to see the regiment leave Wednesday night, but I think the women were glad to not have to feed all those mouths another day!

These last few days have been spent around the area, exploring. It's much like the British countryside here, so it was nice to imagine I was home. I go back to work tomorrow, and we have a week of it before we will be moving further South. I'm not sure where yet, but I'll be sad to see St. Mene go, we have been here almost four months, which is the longest stay since we started moving down the Front.

Anyway, onto the topic of why I had another week off. There is no need to worry about what I say, I'm only writing because I told Polly and I don't want you to receive a dramatic re-telling from her, when I can just tell you the truth.

Two weeks ago, I was at the end of a very long shift, at the end of a very long fortnight of work. I was tired, and careless, and there was a man in my ward whose bandages I needed to change. He had been bought in on the shift before me, and hadn't woken up whilst I had been working, so I didn't know him at all. All I knew was that I needed to change the dressing on his face before I could leave. It was careless of me, and looking back I feel ashamed, but at the time I just wasn't thinking. Instead of waking him up gently, so he knew what I was doing, I leant right down next to him to take a look at the wound. The minute I touched him, though, he sprung awake and jumped from his bed.

One of the first things we are taught, before going to France, is never to do what I did. The things you men see, it stays with you in your dreams, and waking a soldier up suddenly gives him no time to realise he's safe. In his haze, he must have thought I was a German, or just someone there to hurt him, and he grabbed hold of a scalpel on a nearby tray. He was slashing wildly, shouting, and I put my arms up in front of my face to protect me. He caught me right down my forearm.

The soldiers on my ward were yelling for help, so people came running right away, and they calmed him down whilst Dr. Auclair got me out of the room.
I'm sure, despite what I said, you're worrying, but just as I told Polly, and just as you'll tell your brothers when she writes, I'm fine. In fact, I was very lucky. The scalpel was unused and the wound was shallow, so there's no risk of infection at all. It's been bandaged up and I've had two weeks off work to let it heal, and all is fine. Dr. Auclair says it will scar, and it will be an obvious one, but all it will be is a reminder for myself to never do that again, no matter how tired I am.

I hope you are well, I hope you are safe. Send my love to Arthur and Freddie, if you ever talk to them about these letters, but keep a bit of that love for yourself.

Ever yours,

Liza

another letter! i'm really enjoying writing this story because i'm a huge history nerd, and it gives me the chance to do a lot of research! i read some ww1 letters of soldiers when writing this chapter, there are hundreds of them in the national archives. they were letters of soldiers, not nurses, but i tried to capture a similar format. i struggle with writing accurately, though, i often feel i make it all too formal or too modern, i can't get an in between! anyway, i hope you enjoyed!

e x

(25/06/2020)