To M. D. M. and M. H. M:
My dears,
These letters were all written for you; scratched down on odds and ends ofwriting paper, in a rare spare moment at the canteen; at night, at my billet,by candle-light; in the mornings, perched in front of Madame’s fireplace withmy toes tucked up on an ornamental chaufrette foot-warmer. Why werethey never sent? Simply because all letters mailed from France in those days,must of course pass under the eyes of the Censor. And as the Censor waslikely to be a young man who sat opposite you at the mess-table, it meantthat one mustn’t say the things one could, and one couldn’t say the thingsone would. So, after my first fortnight over there I decided to write myletters to you just as I would at home, putting down everything I saw andthought and did, quite brazenly and shamelessly, and then keep them,—underlock and key if need be,—until I could give them to you in person.
Written with the thought of you in my mind, these letters are first of allfor you, and after that for whoever they may concern, being a true record ofone girl’s experience with the A. E. F. in France during the Great War.
My village has red roofs. When I first came to France and saw that thevillages were two kinds; those with red roofs and those with grey, Iprayed le bon Dieu that mine should be a red-roofed one. Heavenwas kind. Every little house in town is covered with rose-colored tiles.We came here yesterday from Paris. Our orders, which were delivered tous in great secrecy, read: Report to Mr. T——, Divisional Secretary,Bourmont, Haute Marne; then followed a schedule of trains. That was allwe knew except that some one t