Prelude to the Second Weltkrieg - Part 2: Commune of France

February 20, 1937

February 20, 1937 – Paris, France

My dear brother,

I can't tell you how proud I felt reading your last letter. I took it right over to mother and read it aloud to her. I did leave out the parts about Simone still, because if mother had her way she would interrogate every one of the women you've ever met for many many hours before allowing you to do a thing like dance with them all night. But when I read her all about your latest exercises and your news about redeployment, she was simply beaming. I haven't seen her smile at the thought of you in the army in a long time, but if there's anyone who hates the Germans more than mother, I haven't met them. I almost thought she was going to burst into tears of joy. I swear it Henri.

Although you should be more careful, the censors – very wisely I'm sure – had to black out parts of your letter. Too much detail falling into the wrong hands could be very dangerous Henri! Do try to be more careful.

I imagine you may be very stressed and focused on your work for the next little while by the time this letter reaches you, so if it's all the same to you, I will just fill you in on the latest events here at home to distract you and hopefully put a smile on your face. I promise, no more fishing for political insights from your sister!

At work the factory is humming along, and we recently received word that we'll be adding a night shift as well. They'll be hiring more people obviously, but apparently there's already a shortage of workers in Paris, and not enough housing for new workers coming in from around the country. Two of the newer girls down the line from me are already sharing an apartment with another two girls – only two rooms too! So long story short, I may offer to work a few of the night shifts in the next few weeks until we can find more people. It will be exhausting I'm sure, in fact I'm already quite tired after a regular week's work, but the extra money will be nice to have and the satisfaction of finishing more shells destined for the huns is its own reward.

I also have plans for that money already. The old set of pans mother gave me when I moved out have now finally become so damaged that they're almost unusable. In fact I'm already down to just the one pan and that large pot – all my meals have become giant stews I share with the rest of the building! So yesterday I spent a good hour shopping for a new set at the stores by Les Halles and believe I've settled on one. They're a beautiful cast iron set that cost far too much, but I think it will be quite the nice reward for a few weeks extra work. When you return on your next leave I promise to cook your favourite meal. Perhaps that roast you like so much?

I met with Claire again just after your letter arrived, and the poor thing looked even worse this time. I worry it may not be just the baby keeping her awake at night either. She complained unceasingly about Marc – that's her husband in case you've forgotten his name – and how he does nothing but complain when the child wakes them up, even though she is obviously doing all the work to feed and care for the child. It's only been a few weeks now, but she's really daydreaming about a return to work; it was the only other thing she spoke about. I understand the desire to work as much as any woman, but I thought she would be happier to be a mother for a while longer.

I mentioned your letter and told her, in a very joking way, that you always thought she was too good for Marc. I said it just to reassure her that Marc was lucky to have her, but she looked about to cry at the comment. I feel simply terrible for her. If I have any money left over after I've purchased the pots, I will have to give her some sort of gift. She's truly a sweet woman. Maybe the arrival of spring will help her get out of her sadness as well.

On the complete other end of the world, I also reconnected with Yvette the other day! She, I'm sure you'll remember, was the one who slapped you. It had only been a few months since we'd talked last, but it turns out she'd met a man and become engaged in that time! She was living at home still and joked that half the reason she said yes to getting married was so she could move out. She promised I would meet him soon – in fact next weekend we have set a date to go through the Orangery and she'll bring him along. She seems so, so happy, and couldn't be more excited to be married. Also interesting – she and him agreed to put off children for a few years so she can continue her schooling. I'm sure you'll remember that she's one of the few women accepted at the University for literature in our year, and she has plans to become a journalist. And her fiancé is downright encouraging of her ambitions. It's very reassuring to know there are decent men out there, after everything with Pierre.

Uncle Robert also wrote again. He is coming to Paris next week and will be staying with mother. If I can I will avoid a night shift on that evening and share a bottle with them. I'll get all my political impulses out on him, I swear it. Although I will share if I learn anything decidedly intriguing.

I hope my little anecdotes have helped ease your burden or at least made things interesting for you while you're away. You can tell me your thoughts, or better yet, tell me all about your situation now – how is your new deployment location? Are you busy with more drills? How is the morale in your team? Are you excited? Scared? I admit to feeling a bit of both at times when I think of our country's position. But then excitement wins out. If we can crush the German Empire once and for all, we can really begin work on a true socialist paradise in Europe.

I so look forward to your next letter. I wish you and your comrades nothing but the best of health and luck! Know that you are all in our thoughts these days.

Sincerely,

Margeurite