Many years after my grandmother died, while we were getting her house ready to sell, we found a small box buried at the back of a cupboard. On opening it I found photos, cards and letters. There were just 13 letters. Handwritten, in pencil, from my grandfather to my grandmother and their three young daughters.

I held these letters, wondering whether or not I should read them. As they began with, “My dear Tess and Kiddies,” and I am the daughter of one of the ‘Kiddies’, I felt that I could read them without invading my grandparent’s privacy. Now, years later, especially since the last three surviving World War 1 servicemen have died, my sister and I feel that some of the sentiments from our grandfather’s letters can be told.

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The first letter was dated 27 December 1916, and Granddad had just arrived in France after… “a good crossing, and decent weather until we got here. We had several miles to walk and it was dark and raining hard and oh the mud.”

He went on to say that he hopes they are all well and will write more later.

Letters followed every few days.

On 6 January 1917 Granddad heard from my grandmother, “Just a line in answer to your welcome letter which arrived today.” He went on to say “…glad to hear Kiddies came off so well at Xmas and hope we shall have a better one together next Xmas.” The following day he wrote that there was no news of a move. Six days passed before another letter was sent. “Sorry not to have written before but we have been on the move for 2 days… we have fine billets in a chicken house… the mud is still plentiful… You have no need to worry about me here for we shall do pioneer work and are quite away from the line.’”

More letters followed. Granddad was always so pleased to hear from Grandma although her letters often took quite a long time to reach him. On 19 January 1917 Granddad said, “I believe we are moving again but at all events we shall not go far. Parties of ours go out road making and mending so we do not run much risk. …we have had 2 days of snow so it is great… Don’t be alarmed if you get a field card for I may have no time to write… hope the girls are all keeping well and mind they write some more letters to me.” Three days later Granddad had another move. “We have got into a hut now… and above all it has a stove in it… so I shall be able to have dry boots tomorrow… sorry I can’t get home for Lot’s [his youngest daughter‘s] birthday.”

Letters again followed at regular intervals mentioning everyday details of Grandma’s life at home and whatever Grandad could say of his in France. I get a sense of their shared humour through his responses to things Grandma must have said in her letters. His deep love and concern for my grandma and his daughters are so apparent.

The last letter was dated 8 February 1917. “Just a line in answer to your welcome letters… You can see one letter has been on tour. Hope you have good luck with the seeds and no doubt you are busy…. Have been lucky enough to get another green envelope tonight so this will get away quickly.’” As always Granddad ends his letter “,,,with heaps of love and kisses to you all. Yours ever loving…”

Whether there were any further letters I will never know.

On 23 April 1917 Granddad sent a Field Service Post Card, crossing out the printed messages that were not applicable and leaving just two; ‘I am quite well’ and, ‘Letter follows at first opportunity’. It never did. The next day 24 April 1917, my aunt’s sixth birthday, Granddad was ‘Killed in Action’.

My grandmother received a printed letter from the Records Office dated 21 May 1917, “I regret to have to inform you that a report has this day been received from the War Office to the effect that… was posted as ‘missing’ after an engagement in France on 24 April 1917…”

Six weeks later a further letter was sent. “It is my painful duty to inform you that a further report has this day been received from the War Office notifying the death of… and I am to express to you the sympathy and regret of the Army Council at your loss. The cause of death was “Killed in Action”

As I read these last two letters from the Records Office I felt cold, I could sense my grandmother’s distress on reading them. How dreadfully long those weeks must have seemed to her. There were further letters, sympathetic but impersonal, regarding her pension. Then finally, on 18 Sept 1917, Granddad’s Death Certificate.

My grandma often used to speak of Granddad and their short life together. I particularly remember her telling me that each time Granddad went away his parents would give a farewell party for him, and how they would slip away to the greenhouse to spend a few moments alone together. She said that she was always the one upset and Granddad always the comforter. Poignantly, however this last time their roles were reversed and she said it was Granddad who needed comforting.

Through Grandma’s stories, Granddad never seemed a complete stranger, but he was always a distant figure. Now, both my sister and I feel that holding and reading these 13 letters from Granddad has brought him to life in our minds. He is no longer just a photo and someone my grandmother spoke of with such love, but a real person who we know loved his wife and children so much in return.

Photo by Tambako the Jaguar.