Cooper, Ethel – March 1918
3.3.18
My dear Emmie,
Today is your birthday. I have been thinking of you so much. I have a present for you. It is a piece of soap and is our allowance for toilet soap for two months. Only don’t use it for anything, but perhaps to wash a dog who does not come into the house. I used this sort lately for washing out some vests. It makes the things fairly clean, but simply reeks of dead fish.
Yesterday the Dutch Legation sent me the abstract of a letter from Aunt Alice. She said she had had no news of me except a card in December, that you were well, but very sad, and sent me £10, which the Consul here sent on to me. It is very kind of her indeed, but it is annoying to find that my letters are stopped, they are so harmless that I can’t think why…
10.3.18
My dear Emmie,
I often wonder why I go on writing these silly letters, for it is more than doubtful if they will ever reach you. I sometimes think it is more for myself and to keep myself in touch with the outside world.
The so-called Peace with Russia has been proclaimed, and the Kaiser ordered a public holiday last Monday, which does not seem to affect the fact that the Germans are marching on into Russia, occupying towns and plundering all they can find.
Now it is quite spring-like, and I feel that I must think about getting my few summer things in order. I shall manage quite well, except for shoes – that is everybody’s problem. My best are a pair of brown leather ones that I bought in Adelaide!
17.3.18
My dear Emmie,
I was delighted to get a long letter from Aunt Alice a day or so ago. She had got my December letter at last, and said that she was sending it on to you. She told me that Howard had fallen in France, and that she was trying to get a photograph of his grave, but that such things took a very long time now.
24.3.18
My dear Emmie,
The awaited offensive in the West has begun – yesterday – and badly for us, I fear – of course, I have seen nothing but the German reports as yet, but even making all allowances for the usual exaggerations, we must have had heavy losses both in ground and in men. I wandered down to Frau Jaeger after lunch today and found her, like the heroine in an old-fashioned novel, with her head in the sofa cushions, crying. Nearly four years’ experience has told me that the best way of cheering Frau Jaeger is to make her cross, so I told her she was a chicken-hearted idiot and no sportsman, and after an exchange of words she rallied and washed her face, and telephoned to the half-dozen of the faithful who are here, and made scones and a cake, and was in her right element.
31.3.18
My dear Emmie,
We have the worst week behind us since the August of 1914 – every day towns and villages that we have fought for, for the last three years, have fallen and the position looks serious.
I had a letter from you at last, two days ago – I was so very glad to get it – your last was written in September, and this one on the 30th of December.
