After a few dreadful minutes, I got up, unable to help creeping into his small, sparse room, still warm from his presence. Running my hand down his soft blue bedcover, I remembered how many times I’d pulled it over his small frame at bedtime, and kneeling down next to the bed, I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with his essence, that unmistakable smell he’s had since he was a baby. I’d recognize it anywhere, all salt and warm honey.
That evening, when I’d stopped crying, I realized that this was a feeling I was going to have to get used to. Keeping busy, stopping my head from thinking the most abysmal things, never knowing where he is or whether he’s still alive.
David is all that I have. I know he must go and do his duty, even though I wish with every ounce of me that he might have been given a desk job or kept home to refuel planes. I can only pray that God is watching over him. I suppose I am just one of the millions of mothers around the world standing by a door, watching our children walk down the road away from us, kit bag on backs, unsure if they’ll ever return. We have prayer enough to light up the whole universe, like a thousand stars breathing life into our deepest fears.
I had to pull myself together for tonight’s choir practice, at once looking forward to expelling some pent-up feelings into the air, and also fearful that I’d collapse, breaking our silent vows to keep it tucked inside, keep spirits up.
I went to the church early, wandering up to the altar and thinking about the finality of death. Then a hand on my arm made me turn around, and there was Prim nodding her understanding. As if she knew, she saw straight inside me at the emptiness and fear.
“Are you all right?”
“Loneliness seems to follow me,” I said with a sad smile.
“It’s never the end,” she said softly. “Love is always there. You just need to embrace it.”
“But—” I wasn’t sure what she meant. Where is the love when my family have gone?
“You need to cherish your memories of people. You can’t ask anything more from them now.”
The door squeaked open and Kitty and Silvie dashed in, breaking up our talk with their chatter.
“Did David leave today?” Kitty asked, breathless from running.
“Yes,” I replied. “He left this morning.”
“Did he remember everything?”
“I suppose so,” I replied stiffly, not wanting to talk about it.
Silvie’s little hand tucked into mine, and when I looked down, I saw her eyes large and fraught. The poor child’s seen far too much of this war. I can only pray it never comes here.
Soon the choir stalls were packed, people clamoring to hear news of the war from anyone who knew anything. A few of us remained quiet, listening in a half-tuned-in way as our thoughts were drawn away. Some of the women who also had loved ones away came to give me their sympathy, their scared eyes welcoming me into their haunted world.
Prim turned to the choir, requesting that we sing “Love Divine” for Sunday. Gathering up the sleeves of her dramatic damask cloak, she held her baton high in readiness, and we plunged into it, bathing in the glow of song. At the end, Mrs. Quail tottered to the front and had a word with Prim, to which she nodded and directed Mrs. Quail back to the organ.
“By special request, we’ll have a good old sing of ‘The Lord’s My Shepherd.’?” We gathered up our song sheets and looked toward her to begin. I knew Mrs. Quail had done it for me. She knew it was one of my favorite hymns. I caught her eye to say thank you, and as the slow, methodical introduction began, I felt the blood pumping faster through my veins.
The most beautiful sound, the choir in full voice was singing softly, hesitantly to begin with, and then opening our voices straight from our very hearts.
The Lord’s my Shepherd, I’ll not want;
He makes me down to lie
In pastures green; He leadeth me
The quiet waters by.
The volume swelled with passion and deliberation as we poured our emotions into every darkened corner of the church. Every dusty cloister and crevice reverberated, reaching a crescendo in the final chorus, a vocal unison of thirteen villagers that cold, still night, pouring out our longings, our anxieties, our deepest fears.
AIR BASE 9463, DAWS HILL, BUCKINGHAMSHIRE.
Thursday, 25th April, 1940
My darling Venetia, I have felt little except the wild beats of my heart since we parted last Tuesday. The way you looked, the way you moved in that dress, I feel mesmerized, put under an enchanted spell by your elegance and beauty. When you told me that you would consider my offer of marriage, I could only rejoice in the knowledge that you might one day be mine. I only hope that I may survive this war long enough to know you properly as my wife.