A Letter To A Rose

My darling Rose,

It has been a few days since I last heard from you. Since then, I have scribbled a few things down in the hope that you have received them. However, I fear that they may be lost or stolen away and in the hands of someone unworthy to read my precious words to you.

Please forgive the state of this letter, I write to you while I am currently hunkered down in what was once the dugout. I have attempted to keep the pages clean, but that is proving difficult as the rain continues to pour. Gone are the days where I can recall the feeling of being dry, instead of feeling a damp so deep in my bones, I may never feel what true warmth is again. The heavens opened three weeks ago and seem to have not stopped, yet this place is no heaven. This is a land where good men come to die. Where the innocence of the youth is lost. It has been a month since my deployment, and I have seen enough blood and mud to last me two lifetimes. The ground is thick and wet with both, a stain that will never be erased from either our uniforms or our memories, like a poison with no antidote. I pray each day for the news that this war is over, so I am able to return home and walk the concrete streets of London. But more importantly, I cannot wait to return home to you.

We have all forgotten the colour of our own skin, but I have not forgotten the pristine porcelain complexion of yours, and how soft it is to touch, though I fear my rough hands would mark you with the simplest of affections. I think about you all the time, the thoughts of you are the only thing that keep me going throughout the day. I am trying to keep my head down, trying to stay out of the line of fire so that one day, I can come back home to you and set my eyes upon you again. I imagine you on my darkest days, during the summer, wearing that lovely red dress you have and standing in the doorway waiting for me, beaming a smile that – on a day like this – could brighten it up immeasurably.

I wish more than anything in the world for just one more night where I could hold you close. Not a word spoken between us, but simply just feeling your warmth and hearing your heart beat along with mine as we slip into peaceful slumber. One of the men from my unit put on the radio yesterday and I was immediately transported into our snug little room, with the cat in the window, and you in my arms as we danced together to our favourite song. It might make you laugh to know, that, in my thoughts – you do not step on my toes.

Our sergeant has just informed us that we are going over the top tomorrow. My mind races to find a way of escaping this hell. This is not how this war was sold to us. We thought we were signing up for a quick war filled with adventure and glory, as well as showering us in wealth and honour. “…for King and country…” and all that, that is what they told us. And yet, I look around at those who can still stand, those who have seen firsthand what fresh horror awaited us here in this land, the harsh reality of it all. This is not glory, I do not feel honoured to be here, nor do I want to continue watching good men with wives, and families, die without mercy or hope. Yet, I hear there is word traveling through the trenches that our boys were successful in pushing back and advancing the line a few feet not too far from here. Maybe this war will end sooner than we think. Maybe if we do go charging over the parapet, the enemy will be waiting with the white flag of surrender. Maybe I will never fire my rifle and take someone’s life in the process. But I doubt it. We are in the hands of god now and only he can save us, yet he seems absent to this theatre and is content in allowing the devil to run this mockery of a show.

Let there be no mistake, I am coming back home to you, my love, I promise you. So, I hope you have a batch of those delicious freshly cooked biscuits you make so well. I have told everyone in my unit about them and now they all want to try, so be prepared because it appears I am also bringing the entire British army home for tea and biscuits.

I cannot describe how much I miss you; I am thankful every day that our paths crossed. It makes me laugh whenever I think about the first time I vomited the words, ‘I love you!’ at you. I worked myself up to such a panic that those simple words would scare you off, the only thing I could do in my desperation to rectify the situation was to kiss you. However, you declared your love back to me and shook me to my core, the first girl to say those words to me with true meaning and intention. I am besotted by your gaze as you peer deep into my very soul. You are truly unique in nature. I look forward to the day when we can finally be reunited again and spend the rest of our lives together. Please know, that I will fight with every fibre of my being to return to you and if I go down fighting, it will not be for my king, country, honour, or glory, it will be for you

I love you with all my heart, forever and always.

Daniel

Mrs Rose Tuck

It is my painful duty to inform you that a report has been received from the War Office notifying the death of: - 1184 Lance Corporal Daniel Tuck of the Fifth Army. Which occurred in West Flanders near the city of Ypres on the 18th of August 1917. The report is to the effect that he was killed in action.

By His majesty’s command I am to forward the enclosed message of sympathy from Their Gracious Majesties the King and Queen…