What Soldiers Wrote Home

In 1914, the British Army introduced the field service postcard - a form with ready-made lines. There was nothing to compose; you just crossed out what did not apply: "I am quite well," "I have been admitted to hospital," "I have received your letter," "A letter will follow at the first opportunity." Then came the date and signature. Hundreds of millions of these postcards were sent home.

The calculation was practical. The form passed censorship instantly - there was nothing to inspect - and arrived faster than an ordinary letter. For a family, one uncrossed line meant the most important thing: on that date, he was alive. And the fact that you could not add anything of your own was printed on the postcard itself.

An ordinary private's letter did not go straight into the mailbag. It was read and signed by an officer from his own company - not a faceless official in the rear, but the man you had shared tea with that morning. Writing in front of him that only half the platoon was left and that you were scared was almost impossible. You started crossing things out before the censor did - in your head.

There was a workaround: the "green envelope." A soldier signed a promise that it contained only personal and family matters, and the company commander did not open such a letter - though some green envelopes were later checked at random in the rear. A quarter-century later, Soviet letters were folded into triangles and left unsealed: it was easier for the censor, and they were stamped "Reviewed by Military Censorship."

Censorship does not explain everything. During the American Civil War, mail was barely checked - and letters from it are noticeably more candid. But there, too, men spared their mothers and wives. A second filter was at work: the recipient herself. You are writing to someone who will learn the news 2 weeks later and can do nothing but worry.

That is why the same people's diaries read differently. Keeping them at the front was usually forbidden - yet they kept them, in tiny handwriting, hidden away. On the same day, someone sent home "everything is fine, thanks for the package" and wrote herself a terse line about who was buried that day. A letter is written for someone. A diary is written for no one.