I have written a short story for my A level English coursework. The 'briefing' that we received was simply that we had to write a fictional piece of prose which looks at the impact of war on the individual. I decided to choose World War One as it was of particular interest to me. I proceeded to write the following. I hope you enjoy:
The news of
his death came as such a shock to me. It was completely unexpected. He had only
been away to fight for a couple of months. But what do you expect in the middle
of a global war? I suppose I never really knew what to expect. All I knew was
that the one and only love of my life was gone. Forever.
When the
inevitable telegram arrived, the children were home. I originally felt that the
best option was to not tell them for a few days; at least until I could cope
with the situation myself without bursting into tears, but I knew I could not.
It took me all day to build up the courage to tell Vincent and Emily. Emily was
devastated; she would miss her father dearly, but she was always an incredibly
independent child and was not particularly reliant on her father. Vincent was
truly melancholy; his father was his best friend and they shared everything
with each other.
I could not
comprehend the simple fact that my husband was gone. We as a family were no
longer waiting for his return from battle; he would never return. So much was
left unsaid. The words of the short telegram were constantly on repeat in my
mind; ‘…Regret to inform you Corporal C G Harrington… killed in action
France August 14th.’ Perhaps they sent the telegram to the wrong
family. Perhaps they did not realise that there were two people by the name of
Corporal C G Harrington. Perhaps my husband Charles was not dead.
I insisted for my children to
stay home from school and work for at least a week after we heard the news.
Vincent was adamant that he should return to work as he was now the main source
of income in our household. I reluctantly agreed and he continued his daily
routine throughout the week. I assumed that Vincent wished for some sort of
distraction from his father’s death and work was his only possible solution. I
craved such a distraction myself, but could not bring myself to leave Emily to
fend for herself at home on weekdays. As the first week of mourning reached an
end, I was gradually coming to terms with the death of my husband. The children
seemed to be coping well, but I could hear Vincent’s muffled whimpers when he
pretended to be asleep during the night. I did not know what to do to help my
poor child. I had nothing to offer him as he lamented.
On the first Friday after we
received the news, when almost a week had gone by, I received a letter. It was
written in handwriting which was unfamiliar, yet was quite clearly addressed to
me. I was hesitant at first with opening it as I was unsure what the contents
of the envelope included. As I tore it open, a faint whiff of earth graced my
nostrils; also a faint smell of gunpowder appeared to linger in the air. I
assumed that it was from a nobleman from the countryside; it never occurred to
me that it was from a warzone. This only dawned on me when I read the letter:
Dear
Mrs Harrington,
I
am ever so sorry for your loss. Your husband never stopped talking of you and
your children. You and your family are in my thoughts and prayers at this
dreadful time. I did not know your husband for long, but, in such conditions as
our trenches in France, we grew close rather quickly. He trusted me to write to
you as soon as he died. He wanted me to inform you of a letter addressed to
you. He decided not to entrust a person with it as he feared his words would be
lost. He informed me that you should look in his bedside cabinet to find the
aforementioned letter.
I
know how much you and your family will miss Charles. It has only been a couple
of days since I heard the news myself and I am still struggling to come to
terms with it. I truly hope you and your family will be alright after such an
incident.
May
God bless you and your family at this time and always,
Anonymous
I could not believe it. I dropped
the letter and hurried upstairs to the master bedroom which was once ours.
Charles always slept on the left-hand side of the bed so this supposed letter
would logically be found on this side. I opened the cabinet and there was an
envelope carefully placed upon his favourite book. I carefully picked it up,
treating it as preciously as if it were a china bowl. The envelope was
addressed to the children as well as myself, so I kept it hidden until Vincent
was home from work. We gathered around the dining room table and, together,
opened the envelope to reveal a letter. This is what it read:
Dear Rose, Vincent and Emily,
If you’re reading this, then it means I have
regretfully passed away. I hope you are all coping with my absence. I am not
sure how long it has been since I left to fight, but I am sure you are probably
not familiar with my company much anymore, so hopefully the loss will not be as
difficult to adjust to. I cannot but apologise for no longer being around. But
I thought that the loss would also be less difficult to adjust to if I were to
say goodbye to you three individually, if not in person then through this very
letter.
Firstly, Vincent; my boy Vincent! As I am
writing this, you are not yet 16, but I am most certain that you will grow up
to be a fine, young man. I want you to know that I am ever so proud of you, my
son. You were my first child and my life changed the moment you were born. My
life was no longer simply about myself and your mother; my entire life rotated
around the existence of you, and later your sister. I wish that you find
happiness, dear son. Whether it be found with a lovely, fair lady like I found
with your mother, or whether it be with another’s son. Yes, Vincent, I am aware
of your feelings for men; I noticed the very signs in my good, although brief,
friend Oscar Wilde long before you were even born. But know this: I do not
believe that loving another man is wrong. If it is who you are, then you be who
you are. Do not feel pressurized into a partnership that you will never be
happy in by the society around you. But you, son, are lucky because times are
changing. Soon, you shall have the chance to be happy with whomever you may
love. It will take a while, my son. But trust me when I say that opinions will
change and you will be happy. And if you are happy, then I shall always be
happy; whether I am alive or not. I named you after my favourite painter,
Vincent Van Gogh, because he was an inspiration to me, just as you are. I truly
hope you are more accepted in your world than Van Gogh was in his. I hope you
get the most out of life and I hope that you make your mother proud just like
you have made me proud.
Emily, my dear little Emily! I am sure that
you have doubled in height since we last said goodbye! You are only 10, yet I
know that you are the most intelligent person I have ever been acquainted with.
Dear child, I hope very much that you succeed all aspirations in your life
because I know you are capable of such feats. Although it must be a ghastly
ordeal to have to continue your life without a father, I do not wish for it to
hold you back in the slightest. I want you to be travelling around the world,
perhaps fall in love with the perfect partner, or write for the New York Times
over in the United States. Whatever you want to do in life, my dear, I wish for
you to do it. No matter how outrageous it may be. Most importantly, I wish for
you to take care of your mother and Vincent. I ask you to do so because your
mother is dealing with a greater loss than you may possibly imagine, and
Vincent is currently dealing with his own internal demons and needs somebody to
be there for him. I want you to be there for the both of them, no matter what.
That is simply all I ask, my child. I trust that you shall do so benevolently
and without hesitation. I wish you the very best, dear child.
Finally, I address you, dear Rose; the one
true love in my life. We have been through everything together and, no matter
what, you have stuck by me which I shall be forever thankful for. When we first
met, I never thought I would be lucky enough to ever even hold your hand, let
alone spend the rest of my life with you. I cannot but apologise enough for not
being able to let you spend the rest of your life with me. I know that you
loved me so very much, as I loved you, but I must insist that you do not let me
hold you back in your future endeavours. I highly insist that you find another
person to love you. You deserve to be loved, perhaps more so than I could ever
love you. I want you to seek happiness and fulfilment in your life. I want you
to find somebody to help you raise our beloved children as best as you can. I
want you to continue on with your life; leave me behind; move forward; but
please do not ever forget. Do not forget the times we shared together; the most
glorious moments of my life. I will miss you so very much, as I am certain you
shall miss me. I will miss your hands; the tenderness as soft as the texture of
a feather, the scent very much similar to the aroma of roses, which I always
found rather fitting. I will miss how fitting our hands were entwined; I could
hold your hands forever and never be unhappy. I will miss the opportunity to
gaze into your rich blue eyes and stroke your honey butter hair. I will miss caressing your
lips delicately with my own. I will miss the way you make me short of breath
every time I am in your presence. And, most of all, I will miss your undisputed
kindness to every person you meet and your unrequited patience.
I love you all and hope you go far in life.
As you read this, I hope you can make one more promise to me; promise that you
will not mourn my death for the rest of your lives. I cannot bear the thought
that I have burdened you to lives of misery and grief. I would love for you all
to carry on living, but do not forget.
With all my love,
Charlie
