write to you in a much happier frame of mind because something wonderful has just happened that
must telt veu about at once. We are all standing to in our trenches yesterday morning, charismas morning. It
was erisp and quite all about, as beautiful a mooring as I have ever seen, as cold and frosty as a Christmas
A write the name of the lesson
Name the author
e What is the meaning of the word "Trenches"?
Who has written this letter, to whom, and when?
Answers
Explanation:
I spotted it in a junk shop in Bridport, a roll-top desk. The man said it was early 19th century, and oak. I had always wanted one, but they were always far too expensive. This one was in bad condition, the roll-top in several pieces, one leg clumsily mended, scorch marks all down one side. It was going for very little money, and I reckoned I was just about capable enough to have a go at restoring it. It would be a risk, a challenge, but I had to have it. I paid the man and brought it back to my workroom at the back of the garage. I began work on it on Christmas Eve, mostly because the house was resonating with overexcited relatives and I wanted some peace and quiet.
I removed the roll-top completely and pulled out the drawers. Each one confirmed that this would be a bigger job than I had first thought. The veneer had lifted almost everywhere - it looked like water damage to me. Both fire and water had clearly taken their toll on this desk. The last draw was stuck fast. I tried all I could to ease it out gently. In the end I used brute force. I struck it sharply with the side of my fist and the drawer flew open to reveal a shallow space underneath, a secret drawer. There was something in there. I reached in and took out a small black tin box. Sellotaped to the top of it was a piece of lined notepaper, and written on it in shaky handwriting: "Jim's last letter, received January 25 1915. To be buried with me when the time comes." I knew as I did it that it was wrong of me to open the box, but curiosity got the better of my scruples. It usually does.
Inside the box there was an envelope. The address read: "Mrs Jim Macpherson, 12 Copper Beeches, Bridport, Dorset." I took out the letter and unfolded it. It was written in pencil and dated at the top December 26 1914.
Dearest Connie,
I write to you in a much happier frame of mind because something wonderful has just happened that I must tell you about at once. We were all standing to in our trenches yesterday morning, Christmas morning. It was crisp and quiet all about, as beautiful a morning as I've ever seen, as cold and frosty as a Christmas morning should be.