After I left her village I thought often about Marie, at least for a couple of weeks. Yes, I treasured the memories of the time we had together, and of her kiss, but when you're fighting a war you don't have time to be in love. If I thought at all, it was that I would come back to Canada. I'd lost Peggy, but there were other girls. Marie was too young, I told myself, she'd find a nice French boy and marry him. Probably she'd have gotten over me already.

Every so often the mail would catch up with us. There would be the letters from Maman, perhaps one from school friends, maybe a newspaper. One day, as Cooper was calling out the names of those lucky enough to have mail, he called me over. "I think this one's for you – it's hard to tell." The envelope bore a French stamp, and was addressed to "Sergent Jean Johnson, Armée Canadienne. The whole front was filled with pencilled notations: "Try the 58th Bn." "Not at this address, try 22nd Bn." Somehow it had made its way through. The handwriting was French, and not very sophisticated, when I thought of Maman's neat script. I tore it open. One look and I had to sit down.

"My love,

I hope that this letter finds you. I did not know how to address it. I hope you are well and safe.

That much was neatly written. But then the words seemed to have been poured onto the page, and tumbled over each other:

I cry every night. Why did you have to go? Why did you stop me from giving myself to you? Maybe then I'd at least have your baby, even if I will never see you again, and you'll go back to Canada. I love you! I miss you so much.

Please do not be angry with me for writing. I've been so lonely since you went. Each night I pray to God that He will protect you, and send you back to me.

Your Marie"

I was speechless. All my memories, all my feelings for Marie flooded back to me. I'd have to write her as soon as possible. But I had to think, and I had to have privacy to write – neither were things I had right now.

But eventually I did compose a letter, and found that in writing it, I now knew what I wanted. But to get it to Marie there were a few problems. First, I didn't want anyone to read it, and all mail was censored by the company officers. Secondly, I didn't know anything except the name of her village, and not even how to spell it. I went to my officer.

"Sir, where was that village where I met that girl? I'd like to send a letter." He looked up at me for a minute, and gave me the name and departemente, spelling each as I copied it onto the envelope.

"This would be a very personal letter, would it, Sergeant?" I nodded.

"The kind an officer really shouldn't be reading?" Nod.

"There's no military content?"

"No Sir. None."

"Good! I suspect it's in French, anyway, and I was always lousy at it. Seal it up, and I'll sign it as passed. Leave it with me. Better it doesn't get mixed in with the regular mail."