(Memorial to Commonwealth
servicemen killed during the Battles of the Aisne and Marne in 1918 who have no known grave. Soissons, France).
She would have known. She was his mother. She would
have felt his pain. Her mind held on to an image she had conjured of him. Dazed,
lost, left by someone in a cottage or a farmhouse away from the guns. Foreign
voices whispering questions he didn’t understand, unable to remember his name
or where he was.
Armed with the weapon of denial, she fought off
despair and the lure of mourning. Weeks later, she saw him.
Standing at the sink, she looked towards the gently rising
Pennine hills and fields crossed by snaking stonewalls. He was there, at the
bottom of the garden by the wall, his back towards her. When the sunlight caught
the tips of his ears, she cried out and lifted her hand to knock at the window but
the sun faltered and his image dissolved, extinguished by the late summer
light.
She turned to see if he had come into the kitchen.
Wiping her hands, she moved to the cellar head and shouted his name into the musky
darkness. Silence rose to taunt her. Then she heard him.
‘Ma, is the kettle on?’
There was that teasing love in his voice and she imagined
the smile playing around his lips. Maybe he had gone upstairs.
For a moment she paused on the landing, listening
for any movement. The door to his room opened slowly. The air was flushed with
the smell of his soap and she watched as he bent his long, straight legs to
look into the mirror to comb his hair. A low ray of light crept across the
bedroom window but when it found no shadows to play with, it slipped past, out
of the room, leaving her alone.
The stillness grew thin and cold as she opened the wardrobe
door as if to give herself an excuse for being in his space. Two empty coat hangers
rattled against the wood as she closed the doors on the neat shirts and
trousers.
Later, she persuaded her husband to place an advert
in the newspapers. Number, name, platoon, regiment.
…missing in France
since 27 May last. He is known to have been wounded and taken prisoner. Any
news concerning him would be gratefully received by his parents….
There were no replies.
A very moving account of wartime correspondence and its failings. The battles between hope and grief happening daily within the loved ones of lost soldiers is awful enough without the dispassionate silence of those who know better. Thank you for this, Judy.
ReplyDeleteI heard the tales of my grandparents' anguish when their son was missing at Dunkirk. They were the lucky ones. Their dreams of his shadow came true - he got out on one of the last boats. This is a very poignant story, Judy. So many must have gone through this scenario. Thank you for sharing it. xx Vivien
ReplyDeleteJudy this is a beautifully written, very moving piece. It holds all the pain and anguish of a generation we must not forget. Virginia x
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