File:Erica (Thorp) de Berry to Thorp family, 11 March 1918 (986d9eae-b478-4004-a6d2-2a89af663852).jpg

Manuscript letter

Archives Number: 1006/004.006.002-006#012

Monday,
March 11th –
Dearest People,
I have been bad this week about writing, but trust that old Elancourt[?] letter will assure you that I’m still alive. It was a bit late in arriving, but between one thing and another I simply did not get round to the job of typewriting copies for all who’d contributed, tho’ I’d written it out for you months ago.
I enclose a present to Mamma from “Georges” – don’t think it’s a request for my hand! – and a sweet letter that one of (page 2) Rose’s blind boys wrote, which I thought might interest you.
Another air raid this week, but not such a big one so I didn’t cable. I was again at Presles and we heard the machines pass and saw fascinating play of searchlights and signals. We got the children up and down into the refectoire which is in the basement and an ideal “abri”, and spent several jolly chilly hours chanting chapelets and singing familiar songs. The resignedness of the children on all these occasions is a thing I can’t get used to. They’re (page 3) all so used to raids & bombardment that there’s no panic or crying –simply stolid waiting till it’s over. Most of them curled up on the benches and went to sleep, in the most motley collection of garments you ever saw! A trail of stockings, “bretelles”, and “combinaisons” marked the descent from the dortoir and it really was so funny that I couldn’t help laughing outright. The plan is not to wait to get all dressed but to take shoes and clothes under ones arm (they sleep in several layers of garments and often stockings! to start with) and to proceed noiselessly below. Of course we carried the babies who never really waked[sic] up, and were (page 4) [crossed out: so] meekly patient and resigned throughout. And on the way back to bed when it was all over, the only remark that little Jules [crossed out: had to] makde was, “Est-ce qu’on va avoir les [??] demain?”
This patient acceptance of everything, more than anything else in the work, brings home to one what they’ve lived through.
Yesterday we had another example of it. We were all having tea with Mrs[?] Hill – Sunday P.M. – when a sudden telephone message [crossed out: arrived] came that 125 Alsatian children had arrived at the gare de l’Est, presumably (page 5) for the Comité[?], and what was to be done? No word had been sent ahead, as is generally the case, and we knew that all the depots were full except for a possible half-dozen beds. But we telephoned madly around and dashed to the station, to find a canteen full of sweet, weary-looking Alsatian boys, so blonde[sic] and rosy, and all talking a patois that was full of “ach’s” and “och’s”[sic] They had been sent in a hurry from Jerues[Terues?] which was being gassed, three families in one house killed at a blow – and en route their train (page 6) had been bombarded, so that they’d had to change and everything was mixed up – hence no time for sending word of their coming. They couldn’t stay in the station canteen all night, because the beds were needed for incoming [??], so we had to search pillar and post – and finally found room for them all.
It was the first time that I’d seen them straight from bombardment – [??] and weary and heavy-eyed, with funny awkward bundles slung over their shoulders. And again there was the same (page 7) silent resignation – no tears, no complaining, -- simply unquestioning readiness for the next event on the inexplicable programme of their lives. It’s an extraordinary, unforgettable thing –
At last, our famous shower – bath is installed after months of difficulties and lack of labor, and we’re going to start in – this week on a thoroughgoing scrub. I doubt if the nuns can ever quite come up to it with all ages, but I’m going to stay down on Saturday nights now and supervise.
(page 8) You can’t imagine, unless you’ve been here some time, what a revolutionary step this is, and how gradually we’ve had to lead up to it!
Jack Zinssel[?] and I had a walk in the Bois the other day – think of it! – he hatless and carrying my muffler nonchalantly in [crossed out: the] his Sam Bro[??] belt. It was the first really informal spree.[sic] I’ve had[sic] You can imagine the fun of it! And we ended up by munching apples all the way down the rue St. Honoré after a raid of rue de la Paix stores for a silver cigarette-case commission I had to fill!
Isn’t it a drôle de vie!
Dearest love to you all
from your Bun –

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