Not much time today, but I’ll respond soon with some thoughts on Isabella’s cook book. I’ll try to be less obtuse than last time, promise. G.
Bluey
From: Polly
To: Aggie
Date: 16 March
Hi, Aggie
A Harrod’s hamper? How absolutely awesome. Thank you. Gethyn has really cheered up.
Opening the hamper was such a surreal experience and a fabulous taste of home (even if it was, as Gethyn reminded me, a taste of stereotypical England sold from a shop owned by an Arab). There was even a tiny ornament of Big Ben. I keep it with me tucked into the bottom of my respirator sack and smile every time I see it. We’ve hidden the booze. We’re going to drink it when the war is over, whenever that is.
Life is still plodding on – same old, same old. By the time this letter reaches you I would imagine it will have begun. Shit, Ag, this is really happening. What has life come to when you’ve scaled your life down to such a bare minimum that the most important possessions you own are a gun and an atropine pen? I’ve discovered the secret to sound mental health out here is to find absolutely anything to do to keep busy. Spending time with my own thoughts is the enemy. Oh, and I don’t despise the army anymore. Overnight I morphed into becoming one of them (it’s easier than resisting). We (HQ staff) handed over our body armour today. Not all the guys on the frontline have it and they need it more than we do, but I hope we’re not attacked, because ten bullets and no body armour is unlikely to keep death from my door. Sorry if this sounds a little glib, but I’ve reached a level of acceptance that my fate is no longer in my hands. Having said that, we were ordered to start taking NAPs (nerve agent poisoning) tablets today in case of chemical attack, but Gethyn and I have had a chat about it and we’re not going to take them. We’re playing the odds game.
We’ve been told that if anything happens to our loved ones at home during the early stages of the war we will not be informed, which leads me on to one last favour. Can you promise me something? If I don’t make it back, can you please watch over Mum and Dad for me? Bake Dad lots of cakes, buy him a drop of whiskey now and again and take Mum for trips out to the garden centre, especially at Christmas – she loves that. She suffers from depression (you probably guessed) and what with Simon in Australia, they’re pretty much alone and Dad doesn’t have the happiest of lives when she’s on a downer. When the fighting starts, we may not be able to correspond for a while, but whatever you do, keep writing to me and I’ll write back when I can. Speaking of Simon, I’m afraid I haven’t had one single letter from him? But that’s my brother for you.
Much love and the best of luck with the café. Maybe I’ll find my way back there one day, once this lot is over.
With a tsunami of love.
Polly
Bluey
From: Polly
To: Andrea Jones
Date: 16 March
Hi, Andrea
Thanks so much for your letter. It meant a great deal to me to receive it. The best thing I can say about life at the moment is that I have food to eat and water to drink and as one of my colleagues said, some people on the planet don’t even have that. It’s true, no matter what your situation, there will always be someone who can be in a shittier pickle than you. Right now though, there won’t be many, and those without food and water probably won’t be wondering if they are about to get bombed or gassed, but then again maybe they are – when you’re in a shitty situation, the crap tends to gather momentum.
It was lovely of you to say that I’m an inspiration, but in all honesty, if I could choose between my life and yours, I would choose yours. You’re a mother and that surely is the most important job of all. Having said that, maybe the time for you to follow your own personal dreams is coming to the fore. Perhaps you could look at ways in which you could follow your dream to train as a nurse – you were always the one to take the mice and hamsters home from the classroom in the holidays. I bet you would be fab.
Follow your heart, Andrea. You never know where it might lead (perhaps best not to listen to me, though. Look where I ended up!).
Take care and thanks again for writing.
All the best, Polly.
Bluey
From: Polly
To: Aggie
Date: 17 March
Dear, Aggie
We’ve moved again. Can’t remember when I last slept. My day today:
1600 - Took down 12 X 12 tent with Gethyn.
1710 - Realised tent would not fit in bag. Refolded tent.
1725 - Couldn’t find tent pegs in dark. Felt like civilian. Realised had left two poles out. Repacked tent with poles.
1800 - Finally finished with bloody tent.
1805 - Found friendly army bloke to help carry tent to truck.
1805 - Stood in desert waiting for army to pack up all of HQ. Mammoth task they don’t want help with from amateurs.
2130 - Got thrown into truck without Gethyn by a Warrant Officer and landed on food supplies (tins).
2135 - Set off through desert in very long, lights-out convoy to destination unknown (very slow and very bumpy).
0100 - All vehicles stopped. Told we must wait in present location for five hours (amazed to have been given any info).
0110 - Pitying US Marine gave me a camp cot as I had bedded down directly on the desert floor.
0111 - Fell asleep.
0300 - Woke up with hyperthermia. Couldn’t be arsed to do anything about it as even small functions seemed beyond possible. Remembered that I’m not a baby and need to stay warm. Put on extra clothes. Fell back to sleep.
0600 - Got woken up by army bloke. Looked up to see lines of men peeing against trucks (realised it’s not just dogs that need something to pee against). Wondered where on earth I was going to pee? Pee’d round back of truck. Couple of blokes saw me. None of us cared.
0700 - Got to new location, re-built HQ. Much respect to Royal Signals guys and gals doing majority of work.
1000 - Had NBC exercise. Far too close to enemy now. Feel that the day has very nearly arrived.
That was my day. How was yours?
Love, Polly
Bluey
From: Polly
To: Mrs Day
Date: 19 March
Dear, Mum.
I’m sitting in the HQ tent watching Bush’s address to the nation on TV. It’s so surreal. I stood outside in the dark earlier and looked across at the glow of a couple of Iraqi oil fields in the distance. It’s a very important commodity – oil - isn’t it? Hope Dad is bearing up OK. Big hug for the dog.
Love, Polly x
Bluey
From: Gethyn
To: Aggie
Date: 19 March
Hi, Aggie
Well, the hour to go over the top is almost upon us. I considered declaring myself as a conscientious objector, but have singularly failed to act with moral fortitude and have followed the masses instead. Is this how all wars gather momentum, with individuals who no longer think or act as anything other than a collective? Saddam Hussein has done many terrible things, and he’s clearly an imbalanced sociopath. Maybe he’s ill (I’ve heard rumours), but surely what we’re about to do is not rational either? If I thought this war was a genuine humanitarian mission I would feel better, but I’m sure it’s a smoke screen. But for what?
Have you ever read Kiplings Law of the Jungle? Despite everything, it seems we still have not learned this law, and I cannot see how our aggression in Iraq will not lead, in time, to an almighty backlash, possibly giving rise to Sheer Khan. But as you told me, every story needs a villain, but there may well prove to be a twist in this tale yet, and the illusion may someday be revealed.
Whatever the case, the war starts tomorrow or the day after that. I will throw my soul to the devil and try to survive the storm.
Take care, Ag.
Gethyn
Bluey
From: Polly
To: Mr and Mrs Day
Date: 20 Marc
h
Dear, Mum and Dad
Some people have written letters to their loved ones, only to be opened if they don’t make it home. This kind of letter writing is not for me, but the notion got me thinking … why do we always wait until it’s too late to tell the people who are dearest to us how we feel? I’m absolutely not going to die, but if I had written a letter, this is probably what it would have said:
Basically, to my lovely Mum and Dad … thank you.
Thank you for always having a full fridge and a topped-up biscuit tin. Thanks for handing me the remote control and saying, ‘Watch what you want, love.’ Thanks for putting the gas fire on in June when I’m cold, and thanks for keeping my bedroom exactly how I left it. Thanks for buying me my first car, and slipping me a tenner when I went out with to the pub. Thanks for putting me through university, even though you couldn’t afford it, and thanks for all the times you went without the things you wanted, just to make sure I didn’t go without. Thanks for all those magical Christmases, and for holding my hair out of my face when I threw up. Basically, thanks for unswervingly providing a home where the weight of adulthood floated away from my shoulders as soon as I stepped through the back door. I love you with all my heart. Please try not to worry.
Your loving daughter,
Pollyanna x
Part Two
‘E’ Bluey
From: Aggie
To: Polly
Date: 20 March
Oh Jesus, Pol. It’s started. I hope you’re ok. Stay safe, lovely lady. Not sure what to write, nothing seems relevant. Oodles of love. Ag x
‘E’ Bluey
From: Mr Day
To: Polly
Date: 20 March
Dear, Babe
Well, it’s started then, my love. For God’s sake, keep your head down and no heroics. Write as often as you can.
All our love.
MumnDad xx
‘E’ Bluey
From: Josh
To: Polly
Date: 21 March
Hi, Pol
I’m sorry, too. Fuck the lamp. I see scuds are hitting Kuwait. It should be me out there, not you. Take great care.
Josh x
Bluey
From: Gethyn
To: Aggie
Date: 22 March
Dear, Agatha
It’s three am and for the first time in a couple of days I have time to myself to sit still for a few moments.
I haven’t written many letters since I arrived in Kuwait, but of the few I do write, for some reason, I feel that I can be the most honest with you. As the death toll rises and the war gears up, so my job has also ramped up and my attitude to the event has turned from varying shades of grey to black and white. In very basic terms, I’m the guy who provides a detached overview for battlefield first aid. It’s much harder than I expected it to be. The death toll is comparatively low, but each singular death is still a person’s life snuffed out. And there are those who are injured to care for, too. I’ve had to make some hasty decisions. I hope I’ve done well.
I wonder if anyone is keeping track of the Iraqi dead and injured. The children? The animals? All just a few miles away from where I sit as I write this letter, but I’m on the safer side of the line. The other side must be a frightening place to be. The arsenal at our disposal via the Americans is immense. It’s so immense, in fact, that the Iraqis haven’t bothered launching their aircraft to fight back – there’s no point.
I wish the Iraqi’s had had the sense not to fight back – they can’t possibly win. I wish they had said, ‘OK, America. Do what you will, but we won’t lose more lives than we have to.’ But how can a nation just lie down and not fight back? On those terrible first two nights, when the British Marines began the assault on the Al Faw peninsula, I managed to lay down for a couple of hours between scud attacks and I could feel the force of the war reverberate through the desert. It’s very difficult to explain, but I swear the Earth knew what was happening, and I think it wept a little.
I’m so proud of Polly. I can’t believe she was put into this situation so completely unprepared. Since the war started she has found an inner strength from some deep recess within her soul that fires her on. I hope she knows how valuable her role here has been. I’ve tried to tell her, but it seems to fall on deaf ears. Having a woman around, and not just any woman, but a woman with a warm smile, whose voice on the radio to the troops every day is calming and gentle, has been a blessing. Some men have dealt with Polly’s presence here better than others. Perhaps the very few who have felt the need to subjugate her, do so out of fear – fear that they will prove to have less moral courage than the little blonde lady who speaks of nothing but sunshine, every single day. Her nickname, in fact, is Little Miss Sunshine (and she hates it) but it’s meant with nothing but love, but perhaps they don’t look deeply enough into her eyes. If they did, they would notice the sadness that lies beneath.
My eyes are stinging so I’ll sign off, but please do write soon. I’m ashamed I encouraged you to veer away from the lighter side of your writing. Humour and a little joy is surely the best medicine a person can have during dark times. I keep one of your books in my respirator sack, and when my sadness consumes me, I take it out and read a few pages. The lightness of your spirit is the best antidote to war I could have found. And for this, I will be forever in your debt. Thank you.
G
Letter
From: Headmistress of Midhope Primary School
To: Polly
Date: 23 March
Dear, Pollyanna
I don’t know if this letter will reach you now the war has started, but my name is Angela Cartwright and hopefully you will remember me as I’m the Headmistress at Midhope Primary School.
The reason I am writing is to tell about an eleven year old boy who would like to write to you. On the day the war started we held a special assembly for collective worship and prayed for all the victims of war – it’s such a worrying time for the children and so confusing, too. I had heard from Janet at the shop that you are caught up in the conflict and so I mentioned in assembly that a lady originally from our village was serving with the army in Iraq. After the assembly, a boy in year six, Oliver, asked if he could write to you. I phoned your parents to ask for your address. Your dad felt you wouldn’t mind if Oliver corresponded so I allowed Oliver to use my laptop during lunch to pen a letter and I helped him with his spelling etc.
You must be exceptionally busy, but if you could find the time to reply to Oliver I would appreciate it. He’s a soulful child but also wilful and disruptive. His name is particularly appropriate as he is presently in foster care having suffered from a disturbed childhood. The fact that he has asked to write to you has taken us all by surprise. He’s a very bright boy and could do well in life but does have some learning disabilities, including difficulty in handwriting which is why I’m allowing him to use my laptop to write to you and helping him with his typing. Unfortunately, he will almost certainly move on again in a few months, as I believe his present foster mother is shortly to cease to provide care. If you reply, it would be best if you send your return letter to me at the school address (mail is being forwarded to our temporary billet) and I will pass it on to Oliver. Take care of yourself, Pollyanna, and remember that we’re all very proud of you.
Very best wishes, Angela
Here is Oliver’s letter:
Dear, Polly
Mrs Cartwright told us about the war and we were told to pray for you and all the soldiers. We had a really long assembly today. My bum hurt but we did pray for you and so all the children think God will now make it so you don’t die.
I asked to write to you because I want to know about the war. Have you got a gun? Is it hot out there? Why are we at war? Is there a lot of sand? What about lizards? Is Saddam Hussein going to send bombs to England? Have you shot anyone? Are you scared? Will you get a medal? Did you know our school burnt down? We have to get the bus to Oakworth now. Some of th
e mums and dads don’t let the small kids get the bus and they drive them to school. I get the bus.
Yours faithfully, Oliver
Bluey
From: Polly
To: Aggie
Date: 23 March
Hi, Aggie
It’s eleven pm and there is a quiet but busy throng going on around me in the HQ tent so I thought I’d take a moment to write, although I’m not sure when you’ll get this.
We went to war a few hours earlier than expected. Despite feigning bravery, I was frightened to death, but it’s strange how quickly you can teach yourself to stay calm. One missile landed far too close for comfort, but the Patriot system seems to be neutralising most of them before they land. The front-line troops are doing incredibly well but it’s horrendous when you hear them crying out for support on the radio, especially if there are no aircraft immediately available to run in and help out (most jets seem to be going to Baghdad).
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