An End of Poppies
It is wonderful to know that you are alive and safe. I was beginning to harbour the suspicion that I may have to come to terms with your loss as well. I am not sure I could bear such a loss. Not again.
I was overjoyed when I was passed your letter and had the network explained to me. For obvious reasons I won't go into detail of how the system works or who passed me your letter but it is suffice to say that she had to almost restrain me from jumping for joy in a public place when she whispered your name.
The first thing that I did was to engineer some time alone with Aunt M. I took her to a quiet tea shop and showed her your letter. I was slightly taken aback when she did not seem in the slightest bit surprised, but insisted that we didn't speak of it there, in public. That afternoon she took me to the park where the allotments are. She had a key for a certain shed and we sat inside and discussed all sorts of things that I had no inkling of. M has been closely involved with the women's resistance for some time. It is why she knows your mother so well. She told me about their plans and how they are responsible for many acts which can only be described as sabotage. Of course it was me who was the shocked one, just when I thought that nothing could shock me anymore and that I was no longer such a naive little girl. Oh how the wool can be so easily pulled over the eyes of the young. We are sheep blindly following; blinded by the wool in our eyes; the wool of secrecy and censorship. But this knowledge has sheared me; cleared my vision. Now, finally, my eyes are truly open J.
Your letter and the things that M has told me have made me realise how foolish I had been, especially in my last letter to you, where I was virtually openly denouncing the war; for all the censors to see. I might as well have stood on Hyde Park Corner and called for the head of the King! I am so sorry, my dearest J, if I have put you at so much risk. I feel that it is my fault that you had to suffer so, with that cruel Colonel and the brute he ordered to beat you, and for having to shovel that hideous concrete. So much danger you have had to face, perhaps on my account! You could have been killed. I hope you can forgive me. I did not know what I was doing. Truly. I do so hope you are not in too much pain and remain safe from now on. Please try your best to stay safe.
M has told me such astonishing things, though of course we do not discuss them with mother, and I have not told her about your secret letter. M says it would be too much for her, especially to know that we put ourselves at such risk. Not after poor D. But I have to tell you that what happened to D has made me more determined to do what little I can to stop this war.
So now part of my life must remain secret, clandestine, even to mother. For I know it would break her heart to know that I was at risk. The other morning she asked about you and your letters over the breakfast table. Unusual nowadays for her to take an interest, ask questions or even talk much. It felt bad having to lie, when I knew that she was simply grasping for some kind of normality; some sense that she can care for me and my well-being now that D is gone. A sense that she has purpose.
I have, for now, simply told her that I haven't received a letter from you for a while. I did not know what else to tell her, though eventually I will have to tell her something because I don't want her to think that you are missing or dead. That too would be a little more heartache for her and she is so very delicate right now. She has had the stuffing knocked out of her; it is like grief has eaten away her very backbone and she shuffles and slumps about the house like a doll with ragged seams.
I have learnt so much from M. Did you know that there is a massive support network of women against the war in lots of other countries? Of course you know about the underground in France and here, but they are supported by women in America and even places as far away as the Empire of Japan! Imagine, Japanese ladies taking to the streets to protest about our war! I now realise the full extent of the lies we are fed J. I always knew that information was important and that the government monitored it in order to safeguard us against the Germans. But now I fully realise that it is all simply a pack of lies. Even the films we get to see are only the ones they consider it safe for us to see. M says that in America there are Hollywood films depicting the war and showing its true horror; films that are critical of both sides. She has contacts at the American embassy and they tell her about it. In secret of course.
M says that soon something big will happen. Something that will challenge all those 'toffs' that you talk about who are in charge. Something so big it could end the war, and topple the King and government. I cannot say anything more about it for obvious reasons, except to say that the thought excites me J.
It excites me that despite all that we have suffered there could, like you say, actually be hope for us. We simply must be strong and survive until the time comes.
M and I are planning our trip to see your mother. She is important, and from what M says, is far more involved that you might know. That is all I dare say about it for now. But I will be able to tell you what happened in my next letter.
There have been several more devastating rocket attacks in the city recently. Like the one that killed D. They spread wildfire panic because the sirens can hardly start before they hit. They are so fast the spotters hardly see them. You hear the screaming whine of their engines but before you can even take the sound in it is too late and they have hit. There is a pause and then the whine is replaced by the most massive of explosions. There are now several huge craters around the city. It is scary because, like you, we have no defence against it.
London is but a shadow of its former glory. I never really thought about it before but this must have been a magnificent city back before 1914. So many of the landmarks that people took for granted back then are long gone. There is no Big Ben or St Paul's cathedral, no Buckingham palace, no beauty left. I have seen pictures of these magnificent buildings in the history books, you must have seen them too when you were at school. But yet again those history books lied to us. They used the destruction of so much beauty as a justification of our burgeoning childhood hate of the Germans.
But the truth is that we are all to blame. How much beauty have we destroyed in Cologne, Hannover, Dresden or Hamburg? How much of Paris is gone? Forever.
Silly how I took it for granted that our home should be a place of concrete greyness. The supposed important buildings, such as the Ministry of War, are now great blocks of grey concrete, metres thick. We have all seen them. And even these structures are merely covers, big domes that cap the underground rabbit warrens where the foul bureaucrats plot this war. I can't believe I took this to be normal. Why should they be protected underground while we take our chances out in the open?
From what you say in your letters it is a similar situation at the Front. The ordinary soldier exposed while the high class officers dodge the danger in their bunkers or isolated chateaus far away from the front.
But now, these rocket attacks expose us all. There is a rumour that one hit the Ministry of Communications the other day. It smashed through the imposing block of speckled concrete that is supposed to be a 'bomb-proof' office building. They say many were killed. It wasn't reported in the papers but M says that the whole area of Whitehall has been blocked off for days. So perhaps now that the Germans have this 'super weapon' no-one is safe. No-one.
M says that these attacks are beginning to weaken the Government. That the rising panic on the streets will be hard to control. Previously there was a certain routine to the bombings and people for years have known what to do. Where they stood. And for years they could almost fool themselves that the lottery of death wouldn't reach them. Especially during the long periods with no bombing, when the war was a distant fantasy across the channel where we sent our boys, our sons, to be our brave tin soldiers.
I too believe that there is hope. We have all suffered for so long, as a society and as a nation. I do not think that it is too much too hope that we could have a life together. A real normal life like so many others do around the world. You could have your dream of being a writer J, there is hope that all this will end
on the horizon. Just be brave and look out to see it.
Much Love to you dear J,
Esme
Xx
Madame F. Moreau
46 Rue de Rosamel
ÉTAPLES
62630 FRANCE
21st September 1962
Dearest E----,
I am still convalescing in the hospital and I must say that being here is almost like being on holiday, especially compared to the conditions we have endured for the last year or two. I should also say that you shouldn't blame yourself. My letters to you were just as foolish and it is in no way your fault what Colonel C---- inflicted upon me. I brought it upon myself. I forget that I too am still young and sometimes naive.
It was so wonderful to receive your letter. An orderly I have never seen before slipped it to me in the hospital mess tent. I find it amazing that so many are working together to defy the behemoth of this war. Secretly working together. I will probably never see that orderly again but I will make sure that I do not forget the kindness in her young face. We did not speak, but just shared a knowing glance of recognition and compassion as she passed me the envelope. It is such a thing of hope to know that strangers understand and care so much