Some of these men had been married only weeks before receiving their orders. Their honeymoon was replaced by military camps and battlefields thousands of miles from home. Others kissed pregnant wives goodbye, knowing there was a chance they would never meet the child waiting to be born. For countless fathers, the only way they ever knew their sons or daughters was through photographs tucked carefully inside a uniform pocket and letters read by the light of a candle or trench lantern.
Letters became lifelines. Families waited anxiously for the familiar handwriting that meant another week of survival. Every knock at the door could bring relief—or devastating news. Telegrams delivered by solemn-faced officials became symbols of heartbreak, informing families that a husband, son, or brother had been killed, was missing, or had become a prisoner of war.
