2nd February, 1917
My dearest Mildred,
It has been far too long since I have written, and even longer since I have gazed upon your beautiful skin. I long for the time when we can be in each others warm embrace again. Its not so much your embrace that I cherish, it is the warmth. The memories of the warmth are the only thing that keeps me going during this horrible winter. We spend much of day digging trenches (above) and fighting off the rats. The rats here are as big as dogs. We are in the middle of somewhere France, called Park Ridge. Translated to English its pronounced Park Ridge. I have never been this cold in my life. The cold numbs you to the bone and it seems that it is impossible to warm up. There is no more room for the snow. We are all tapped out. You actually warm up a little when we have to dig more trenches, but then the cold just returns in full.
I miss you Mildred, I wish this damned war was over. We consider it a victory if we can dig 10 yards. 10 yards is progress. I'm not sure this war will ever end with this mentality. I have been fighting for seemingly six months now, and I don't know how much more snow I can bear. I don't feel any pride in digging snow for my country. All day long all I see is people digging and I think I am next? Will I be digging tomorrow? I see people jump up out of the trenches alive and then two seconds later fall back down dead from frostbite. Two weeks ago while sitting in the trenches someone started yelling Snow! Snow! In that instant I feared for my life. I grabbed a snow mask, hoping that I would get it on in time, so that I would live to see another day. There aren't enough snow masks for everyone so I had to watch my friend freeze from the snow. I can't believe I am here and I wake up every morning wondering if I will wake up tomorrow. Pray that the war is over soon and I am able to return home alive.
Pray for peace, pray for our health, pray for an end to this struggle, but most of all, pray for an end to the snow.
With all my love,
Thomas
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