Winter in the Trenches

November 20th, 1916

Dearest Kathleen,

Snow came to wipe the sins of man. With it, the harsh punishment of blistering cold. Despite the heavy layers of white, it will never wash away the blood. Its stains are the remembrance of how far men will go when they believe the righteousness in what they’re fighting for.

Today is slow. I hide from the wind in a dugout with only a small lantern to keep me warm. I sit on ground as hard as Iron. My feet are so cold I risk a lashing from the Sargeant by removing my boots, and wrapping my feet in a sheepskin coat I claimed from a casualty.

I melted snow in a capstan tin with a small candle just so I could shave. The cuts on my face sting in this frigid air. If I could eat the small candle without extinguishing the flame I would. Honest as my love for you, I would swallow that flame. Anyway, after my shave, in my stupidity, I left my lather brush in the water and it froze over.

Despite my absent mind, I’m alive. It seems we’ve faced the worst. After much fighting, We’ve gained significant advantage. We’re being told that control of the western front is just around the corner. It makes me hopeful that I’ll be kissing your porcelain face soon.

I’m afraid I must keep this short, or my hands may become relics of the winter,

This cold heart still beats for you,

Edward.