Last Christmas in Paris

by Hazel Gaynor

Letters make one uncommonly honest, don’t you think? I’ve told you things in words that I would have been far too shy or distracted to tell you in person.

Do not feel that you are sitting idly by, knitting comforts or mixing another pudding for the Christmas parcel. Take a moment to comfort a friend. Check on elderly neighbours. Such small acts, when multiplied across all the streets and counties of our great nation, can become acts of immense importance. They can have as much impact as the bombs the enemy dares to drop on our cities. A woman’s war may not be fought on the battlefield, but it can be won in small victories every day.

From all that I have seen here, what the men need most when they are suffering is to feel a woman’s love, feel cared for, to know that their sacrifice means something.

I will continue to do my part here in France, and as I do, I will fight this war with the only weapons permitted to me: my pencil, my paper, and my words.