My Dearest Wife Cordelia,
It has been far too long since I have last seen you and my beloved country side.  England seems so far away, and although it has only been two years, it feels like an eternity since I was working in the fields beside our boys.  Little William must be about twelve now, and Noah about seven.  I almost feel like they were just a dream, that you were just a dream.  Sometimes, when I need strength, I envision you and Charlotte cooking in the kitchen,  But our daughter no longer is there is she?  She’s probably married off now to some miserable lad who’s fighting beside me in the godforsaken, death ridden trenches.
I got word that the yankees from America have joined in, those poor miserable chaps.  I don’t think that we’ll last long even with them.  We’re losing.  At least, that’s what it seems like.  It seems that all of us, the Italians, the Russians who have long deserted.  We all sit in these damn holes.  I heard that the Japs are doing well, though, and our comrades from Aussie land and New Zealand are helping the best they can, but from where me and the lads are standing, it’s an uphill battle.  It’s torture sitting here with lads from the neighborhood lying dead on the ground next to me, rotting away.  There are rats who bunk with us, mud covered and fat on the corpses they’ve been eating, the gluttons.  When we ran out of rations the other day, I helped a couple of the lads kill them, and we cooked them up for supper over a fire.  Captain said that it was dangerous to light the flame, but he ate with us and we listened as some of the chaps from the other side tried to tread into no-man’s land.  Their screams were almost enough to make me lose my appetite and the sound of the land mines were surely enough to deafen some of our boys.  That might be me next.
The Germans and Austro-Hungarians are supposedly the ones who are really losing out here, but how can that be when we are all sitting here and dying all by ourselves.  Some of the boys bit the bullet.  Others got sick and went to sleep and never woke up.  Other times they just give up breathing.  Occasionally there will be a charge on us and they’ll try softening us up with the artillery and some of the boys die because of that, but nothing's new,  They don’t get far, but neither do we.  I wonder if it’s worth fighting now.  I’m so tired.  The boys are tired.  Our alliance is tired,
It wasn’t much of a surprise when the Bulgarians joined in.  The Ottomans are losing hard though, so I guess we’re doing okay.  We aren’t dead yet.  Sometimes I curse those Serbian blokes for starting all this.  I mean, they had a good cause, but they fell before we could really start all this.  If they would have just left Archduke Ferdinand alone, the Russians would have never mobilized, and the Germans would’ve never declared war.  We would’ve never been in this mess, but I do see what the blokes were thinking.  Imagine our proud country being ruled by some lesser power.  It’s just not possible, and I know we wouldn’t stand idly be. 
I saw a leaflet the other day about how us boys needed to power on, how we were winning the war, and I sit here and wonder what kind of lies their feeding the lads back home.  The poor lads.  I know better than any of those rich political bigwigs what horrors are out here, and I thank God almighty that you and our children aren’t seeing what I am.  It’s miserable and the air reeks of death out here.  I pray that I’ll be home with you soon, preferably not in a box.
I do not want to take any more of your time spouting about things that might trouble you, so I leave it at this for now.  Until we meet again, my love.
                                        Your beloved husband,
                                             William L. Tyler