Dearest Lizzy,
I’m not sure if you’ll ever see this letter, but a soldier must do as he’s told. They say to write these in case something goes wrong, though our drill sergeant insists that won’t happen. After all, the pamphlets promise we’ll be home by Christmas!
Speaking of the drill sergeant, he’s such a bore! He goes on and on, ruining all the fun. Yesterday, he yelled at Paul Flanders, and I could hear poor Flanders crying in his bed later. We wake up super early for runs, and we have to keep our hair tidy and shave every day. It feels like there are a million rules! At least this will all be over soon. The food? Dreadful! I think I’d take your god-awful pumpkin pies over this mush any day.
But I’m looking forward to coming home a hero! I can’t wait to take Madeline to the drive-in, and I know she’ll help charm Mama back to her cheerful self. Mama writes me back, but her letters feel a bit stiff. I’m sure Madeline will help with that!
Now, here’s a secret I need you to promise not to tell anyone: I’m allowed to drink here! Everyone thinks I’m 18, and they don’t question it when we pass a bottle of army rum around the fire. It’s a little fun in the chaos!
With the money I earn for protecting our nation, I’m going to buy you that jewelled comb from Macy’s—the one you adore. Will that make us even for making you cry when I left? I still don’t understand why everyone was so upset.
I’m really excited for tomorrow! We’re going to attack the base at Neuve Chapelle, and I’m in the first wave. It’s a bit scary, but I think Father would be proud of me. If we succeed, I might even be able to take some time off. And since I’ll be 17 by the time I’m officially back, do you reckon Father will let me work at the factory with him instead of sending me back to school?
I’ll keep this letter to read later, along with the pendant in my coat pocket that has pictures of you, Mother, and Madeline. I’ve shown them to a few of my comrades, and they all agree she’s the prettiest girl in the world.
Love always,
James
Photograph by Christina Tian
Article by Isita Ghanta