9 June 1941 20 Northmoor Road, Oxford
My dearest Michael,
I was so glad to hear from you. I would have written earlier to-day, only Mummy carried your
letter off to Birmingham, before I had time to do more than glance at it. […]
One War is enough for any man. I hope you will be spared a second. Either the bitterness of
youth or that of middle-age is enough for a life-time: both is too much. I suffered once what you are going through, if rather differently: because I was very inefficient and unmilitary. I did not then believe that the ‘old folk’ suffered much. Now I know. I tell you I feel like a lame canary in a cage. […]
Still you are my flesh and blood, and carry on the name. It is something to be the father of a
good young soldier. Can’t you see why I care so much about you, and why all that you do concerns me so closely? Still, let us both take heart of hope and faith. The link between father and son is not only of the perishable flesh: it must have something of aeternitas about it. There is a place called ‘heaven’ where the good here unfinished is completed; and where the stories unwritten, and the hopes unfulfilled, are continued. We may laugh together yet…
[…] People in this land seem not even yet to realize that in the Germans we have enemies whose virtues (and they are virtues) of obedience and patriotism are greater than ours in the mass. Whose brave men are just about as brave as ours. Whose industry is about 10 times greater. And who are –under the curse of God – now led by a man inspired by a mad, whirlwind, devil: a typhoon, a passion: that makes the poor old Kaiser look like an old woman knitting. […]
Anyway, I have in this War a burning private grudge – which would probably make me a better soldier at 49 than I was at 22: against that ruddy little ignoramus Adolf Hitler (for the odd thing about demonic inspiration and impetus is that it in no way enhances the purely intellectual stature: it chiefly affects the mere will). Ruining, perverting, misapplying, and making for ever accursed, that noble northern spirit, a supreme contribution to Europe, which I have ever loved, and tried to present in its true light.
Pray for me. I need it, sorely. I love you.
Your own Father.
John Ronald Reuel Tolkien