A Letter

Dear Jacqueline,

I don’t know if John ever mentioned my name to you during the years he had been in service. He’s told me all about you though, and it’s been a lot. We had been at the station for four years , and there hadn’t been a single day when he wouldn’t talk about you. John always used to ask me to tell you that. He used to keep joking that he never had the courage to say that himself to you.

We met on the very first day we had joined the company. I was working as the nurse in the army hospital. It was a broken nose that had brought him to the hospital, and a broken toe soon had him staying at the hospital for a couple of nights. That’s when we got to really know each other, swapping stories about each other’s lives.

I think it would be fair on my part to tell you a little about myself. I’m Chloe, from Devon, England. I know you and John are from New York, and that’s where you guys met before he joined the army. I know what you’re feeling at this moment, Jacqueline. John was my best friend here. I keep thinking how he was the one who used to be lying on the bed, and I’d be the one who’d have to keep his spirits up. I wish he was here right now, talking about you the way he always did. Somehow, I loved the stories he used to tell me about you.

I’m writing this letter to you, because John and I made a promise to each other. During the time that he stayed here, John and I made a pact – in case anything happened to either one of us, a letter, like this one here, would be written. I’m fulfilling that promise to John right now, as I’m sure he would have fulfilled his promise to me as well. Had it been him lying down here instead of me, I’m sure he would have been writing this letter to Kimmel, my fiancé.

John was a good man. He was a brave man; and he loved you very, very much. I don’t know if they’ve told you much about John’s stay here. Even if they did, I know it must have been mostly army mumbo jumbo.

John came here with a dream, to serve his country. To do the right thing, to make sure that he fights. He knew the reason for fighting. He knew why we must, always, keep fighting. He knew right from wrong. He knew good from bad, just from injustice. He had always known that even if he falls, the fight will not be over. He knew that when he falls, he must do so with pride and honor. Those were his principles, and he lived every word of them.

I met an officer of his battalion the other day, and he told me how he had died fighting. John was one of the first men to charge, in the face of blazing machine guns and shells. The officer told me how he created havoc in the minds of the opposing force, how one man alone, seemed enough to make an entire battalion retreat to where they came from.

I remember how he had taught me to be brave too. I used to be afraid of fighting, scared of the war, the bombs, the landmines, the shells. Scared of the bullets flying all around us, the smoke and the fire that surrounded us. I’ve never seen action the way John had, but the attack on the hospital had been scary enough for me. During those moments, it was John’s words that kept me alive, gave me strength. I was still scared, but John’s words was what had kept that fear in control.

John had been a good officer. He was gentle, and kind. He was brave, and noble. I wish he was still here, that someday, he would board a plane out of here and be on his way to New York City to meet you. Instead, it is the memories of a broken nurse that will greet you. I’m sorry for your loss, Jacqueline. I know how much you loved him. As for John, I still feel proud. For what he has done, for his country, for the world, for peace, for humanity. I salute him for his bravery.

I’m enclosing John’s favorite poem along with this letter. He had written and given it to me a few days before he left with his battalion. He told me that it would give me courage, for whatever may come. It helped me a lot, and I pass it on to you. For all the things that may come your way in the future.

I wish, someday, when I’ll be able to walk again, we shall meet. Looking forward eagerly to that day,

Love from,

Chloe Simons

Enclosed with the above letter was the following handwritten note:

My Boy Jack by Rudyard Kipling.

“Have you news of my boy Jack?”
Not this tide.
“When d’you think that he’ll come back?”
Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.
“Has any one else had word of him?”
Not this tide.
For what is sunk will hardly swim,
Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.
“Oh, dear, what comfort can I find?”
None this tide,
Nor any tide,
Except he did not shame his kind —
Not even with that wind blowing, and that tide.
Then hold your head up all the more,
This tide,
And every tide;
Because he was the son you bore,
And gave to that wind blowing and that tide!

Dear Chloe,
I leave from the base tomorrow, and I wanted to give you something before I left. I hope those words will build the faith in your heart, as much as they do in mine. Remember the pact, Chloe. I hope to see you soon.
All the luck in the world,
From John.