Letters To Alice. Rosie James
360-5e28-927f-b245ef192149">
Dear Alice, dreadful news was told to me today…
Bristol, 1941: Alice Watts leaves the shell-shocked city for her new life as a Land Girl on Home Farm. It’s completely different from her quiet old world, but she’s determined to do her part. And the back-breaking work is made bearable with the help from her two new friends - bold, outspoken Fay and quiet, guarded Evie - and the letters that arrive from her childhood friend, Sam Carmichael…
To Alice, Sam was always more than just a friend, but as the son of her wealthy employer, she never dared dream he could be more… But at least every letter brings reassurance that he’s still alive and fighting on the frontline… Because it’s when all goes quiet on the letter front that nothing seems certain and it’s a reminder of how life – and hearts – are so fragile.
A tale of true courage and the power of sheer determination, this un-put-downable WWII set saga is filled with warmth, humour and heart-wrenching emotion.
Perfect for fans of Nadine Dorries, Katie Flynn and Dilly Court.
Letters to Alice
Rosie James
Born in Bristol of Welsh parentage, ROSIE JAMES has always been a compulsive writer, her early enthusiasm kept alive by winning the occasional childhood literary prize, and much later by seeing her articles and short stories published. She is a trained singer, and as a lyric coloratura soprano, her roles include many in opera, operetta and oratorio, her church choir music taking her to many parts of Europe. She enjoys theatre, eating out with friends, and she entertains regularly at home – slightly hindered by her new, very lively puppy, who insists on digging up all her plants and chasing birds, squirrels, and neighbours’ cats. She has three grown-up children, and six grandchildren who regularly visit with their parents and who still expect to play paper and pencil games after the meal. Rosie lives in Somerset.
Contents
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
In grateful memory of my parents, from whom I inherited the love of music and the written word
24th April 1941 London
Dear Alice
This is the first moment that I have been given any time off to drop you a line. I know things have been dreadful for everyone in Bristol, too, recently, and I’ve been hoping and praying that you are safe. Please write soon, and tell me that you are. I’m hoping that no news is good news.
It would be difficult for me to describe the scene here after the bombings this month. Amazingly, many of us – and many buildings – seem to be still in one piece, but the devastation is horrifying, and I have seen some terrible things. Every hospital has become an emergency centre (St. Thomas’s was hit) and no one has been allowed off duty. Even the most junior of us have been expected to rise to all occasions, and of course we have. We are all doing our best not to let the side down.
It has been a privilege to witness the bravery and courage of the victims, Alice – one elderly gentleman I was looking after, and who was close to death, still managed to smile at me as I clasped his hand and held him at the end. The look we exchanged as he finally slipped away will stay in my memory for ever.
No one ever grumbles, but just gets on with everything in a matter-of-fact way. We haven’t had that much sleep lately and meal times are brief, but the determination and camaraderie have helped to keep us going.
After last September’s outrageous attack on the city, and now this latest one, let’s hope that Hitler will give us a rest for a bit. (I sometimes wish I was in uniform somewhere, and doing something positive to help bring this ghastly business to an end.)
I hope, I really hope, that we can all arrange to get together soon.
Always and ever – Sam.
PS. Sorry to spill all that out on you, Alice, but one of the reasons for writing is that, a couple of times, I have asked myself whether I have chosen the right profession after all. Because handling unrecognizable bodies, and trying to comfort the frantic and bereaved, has been a nightmarish revelation, and there was one moment when I almost lost control and broke down. (Though thank goodness I managed to hold it together!) Such emotional weakness in anyone hoping to be a surgeon is not acceptable, but I had to tell someone, and you are the only person I want to share this with. I already feel some relief in confessing it.
Please