My dear Irma,
What hellish times these are to be living in a German city, I could never have thought when Otto and I moved here after we married that I would so long to [be] back in my small childhood village with you and all the other girls who were sensible enough to stay there.
The cinemas, theatres, lovely shops, all that glitz and life that was to accompany Otto's job at the bank, well there were the first to go. All bombed to pieces. If it were only the lack of the finer things in life, you know I would be quite fine. I am quite used to making do.
But then went any chance of new clothing, winter boot without holes, gloves that haven't worn through. We mended and made do but then our supplies of needles, thread, and fabric went which left us with what we had and no means of fixing them.
And that is just one thing. The fuel shortages became no fuel, which became chopping up the spare chairs, piano, anything to burn to keep the winter cold out.
Medicines are hard to come by, and now, so is food. I feel a hunger most evenings that I can scarcely describe. A hollow, knowing craving that blocks out all other suffering. And we are the fortunate ones, so many of our friends have lost the roof over their head to the incessant bombing. I swear the British will not be satisfied until every last man, woman and child is homeless and without hope.
I pray this can not last forever and that things in the countryside are less dire.
Send my love to the girls and my family - please do not let on how bad things are here, they would only worry.