Francis, With Love

A letter from a WWI female factory worker to her brother on the front line

The lights come up to reveal an empty stage, with a wooden box in the centre. A young woman, around 20 years of age enters from upstage right, clasping a letter. She is well-spoken, and clearly educated. The back projection shows a living room of a house typical of the 1900s. She walks forward and sits on the box, then looks upwards.

Dear Francis,

(She looks at the letter in her hand)

Thank you so much for your last letter. It truly warms my heart to hear from you. (Exasperatedly) I can only imagine the horrors you must see and hear each day, and all I can write back to you is of the things I see and hear each day, which are petty and of little importance. (More cheerfully) But perhaps they will serve to take your mind off your own troubles for short while.

(She stands and addresses the audience)

Upon observing the many posters emerging throughout London, I have taken the advice of the wonderful Mrs Pankhurst and have begun working in the Woolwich Arsenal. (She walks slowly right) I am sure you think me brave and audacious, but let me tell you, (Stops and faces audience) I have never been so frightened in my life as when I entered the Arsenal. They chaperoned us into a workshop and all I could see were vast pressing machines (She looks around as if seeing the machines) lining the walls and (She looks at the palm of her hand, as if seeing the caps) thousands and thousands of little copper caps. There was a young boy working upon one such machine,(Clench fist) heaving and pulling to make these caps �" I truly believed I could never complete such a task.

(Back projection changes to show pictures of female munitions workers at work. We hear sound effects of heavy machinery at work. The lights dim, and Fresnel lighting illuminates Clara.)

Yet here I am, (She extends her arms) 10 days later, sweltering in the summer heat, producing hundreds of copper caps each day. (Smiles and shakes her head) You would laugh if you could see me, Francis, your frail and feeble sister who could never quite stomach tree climbing or sword fights is now operating heavy machinery for twelve hours a day. I get paid for it too! 11 shillings a week! I confess, this is less than the few men who remain (they earn 26 shillings) but this pay is perfectly adequate, and there is the strong opinion among the women I work with that this signifies that times are changing �" only yesterday I saw a girl whose hem (indicates the hem of her dress) was three inches above her ankle!

(Flood lighting illuminates the stage)

Although I revel in the fact that I am able to do something for the war effort, I believe the path I have chosen is a dangerous one. Every night I return home with no injuries save for (Begins rubbing her back) an aching back. (The sound effects increase in volume) But some women who work on the cutting machines or screw turning machines are in terrible danger �" there is no attempt at ensuring the safety of the workers. (She begins to pace, left to right, quickly and purposefully) Only yesterday I saw a woman who had been pulled into her machine, and had terrible cuts all over her face and hands. (Begins to talk faster, more irately) She was rushed into hospital but no extra precautions were taken to prevent such an event happening again. (Stops pacing and faces the audience) How can this be? England is transforming, we are endeavouring to be more ‘avant-garde’, yet how can accidents like this still be endured?

(The sound effects cease, and a spotlight illuminates Clara)

(She sits down, then sighs and rubs her forehead) Forgive me; you don’t want to read my rants. Despite my many complaints, we do have enormous fun, teasing the men and irritating the factory managers. Our latest battle with them has been over the use of the lavatory. You see, they have accused the female munitions workers of using their time there to gossip (Very exaggerated) although I can assure you, we do nothing of the sort. Despite our protests, a move has been made to reduce lavatory usage, and this is to be encouraged by employing a reward system for infrequent use. I am sure I do not need to tell you of the outrage and indignation this has caused among the girls. (Stands up, as if making a speech) It was decided most promptly that we would not tolerate these indelicate accusations, (Walks slowly to the right) and that we would resist such unjust action. It may be that our visits are more numerous, and take a little longer than is strictly necessary, but that is only to be expected. Negotiations regarding a rota system are underway, but rest assured, (Clenches fist) like plucky Belgium, we shall stand firm!

(Returns to the centre slowly, once again looking at the letter in her hand. She sits on the box. The back projection changes to show letters from WW1. Flood lighting illuminates the stage.)

Your pleas in your latest letters have not gone unread, Francis, and a thick pair of socks are on their way to you. I only hope they provide the comfort you so desire. (She pauses, and her composure seems to wane. Sound effects of distant machine gun fire and shelling begin) We all miss you so much, dear Francis. I only hope God will watch over as he has done so already. We pray for you every day, without fail. We hear such horrific tales of injured soldiers, Francis, (Indicates the body part mentioned) of men whose jaws have been torn from their faces, whose legs have been ripped from their bodies, who are so morbidly wounded they are left in shell holes to die! What good are socks, or chocolate, if you are hit by a shell, or shot? (Leans forward in earnest) My dear brother, you must promise me you will keep safe! Promise me, Francis. Promise me! I…I cannot bear to lose you.

(The sound effects cease. She hugs herself, and bows her head)

Your fate lies with God now, my dear brother. May he keep you safe.

All my love,
Clara

(The lights slowly dim to a blackout)