- Home
- Simon Poore
An End of Poppies Page 3
An End of Poppies Read online
Page 3
down or away. I didn't get to see what colour they are. Please do tell?
I asked my mother about her knowing your family and about us both being born here on Whitefriars Drive. She seemed very reticent, as if she didn't want to talk much about it. All she would say about your mother was that she didn't think her to be the most patriotic of women. I hope I don't offend you by saying this, as I am sure your mother has many good qualities.
Mother did say she liked your father when he was alive, though of course she didn't know him that well, what with him being away at the Front so much. And she says she has a 'lot of time' for your Aunt Gracie, whatever that means.
Apparently your father was good friends with my father. They were both, like you, in the Middlesex Regiment, although my father died just before Dulcie was born. Like your father he was killed near Arras. Not at the same time mind. I would have just turned three when he died so I do not remember him. Mother has pictures of him on the mantle. He looks such a fine handsome sort in his dress uniform, the good soldier. And like you I do sometimes wonder what it would have been like to have known him.
Mother says I have inherited many of his traits. It is strange to think that I am like someone that I feel like I have never met; that I carry within me so much of him. It is an odd feeling when I think about it. A sad feeling of something missing, although for mother I am a reminder of what she loved about him. As is Dulcie. Mother is so lucky to have had two children.
Apparently I speak exactly like my father did when I am passionate about something, and, don't laugh, I stick my tongue out when I am concentrating, just like he did. Mother says that I even like the same music that he did. When she plays Beethoven's seventh symphony on the gramophone I can't help but well up at the beauty and sadness of it. The second movement especially. I wonder if you have heard it or know it? Mother says it was my father's favourite. She plays it very softly in the back room. She says its 'unpatriotic' to like a German composer and I know she is right. Even the London Women's Symphony Orchestra only play people like Elgar or Britten or some of the new American composers. Although I must say I am not so keen on much of the new American music; all drums and fast beats and singers crooning. The factory girls fairly swoon over those singers they see at the cinema, but I cannot for the life of me see what they like about it. It seems tuneless and without beauty.
I am hoping to go and see one of the symphony orchestra's concerts soon, perhaps when they tour. Did you know they are going to tour? Obviously there are not many concert halls left because of the bombing. Not in the south anyway. So they have purchased a large circus tent and are going to tour the country to boost morale. Did you know that? Perhaps they may come to France to entertain the troops. Do you like music Jimmy? I do hope so. I love it. Do you think me awfully unpatriotic because I like Beethoven?
You asked about the evacuations. When Dulcie and I were small, after father died, mother took us to a farm in Shropshire. I think she was frightened of losing us too, though she has never said this to me. She worked on the land for our keep and rented the house back in Harrow for a while. War ministry types lived there for a few years.
I loved the summers in Shropshire. Dulcie and I ran in the fields like wild things, went to the village girls' school and played amongst the farm animals. I remember it made Dulcie so happy when the farmer entrusted us with suckling a new born lamb. It was so soft and warm and so very sweet. Although we both hated the farmer when she decided to sell that lamb for the table. Her name was Mrs Frost, so secretly from then on Dulcie and I called her 'Frosty Cow'. In actual fact she was mostly kind to us and I suppose it was a good lesson for us children to learn; that all living things must pass on. Even the sweetest of lambs.
Most of the time it was heaven at the farm and almost like the war was a whole world away. Idyllic some might say. It especially seemed to make the summers seem longer. When I think on it now it seems dreamy, almost unreal. I think a romantic like yourself would have loved it.
Of course it all changed in '51 when the Germans began the indiscriminate incendiary bombing of farms. I can remember the orange of the sky at night from the 'Brandbombe' and the acrid petrol smell of the dark smoke that filled the air the mornings after. Acre upon acre of precious wheat destroyed in one go. They only bombed when they knew the weather was tinder dry and that the fields would go up and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Such callousness. It seems inhuman to me that they would deliberately wish to deprive ordinary folk of the basic necessities of life.
The papers say that we are winning the aerial war now and that the blockade of Hamburg is hampering their fuel supplies from Russia, so perhaps our English farms are safer for now. Thank God for the American imports that break the Atlantic blockade and for the Irish and their 'one big farm' mentality. At least Ireland is mostly out of range for their big bombers. That's what the papers say anyway.
So anyway, after the bombing Mrs Frost felt that she couldn't give mother as much work and said that she couldn't guarantee our safety. What a thing it is to live in fear. Everywhere. Mother applied to the ministry to return to factory work near Harrow and she went back to the crawler tank factory in Stanmore.
We have been back here in Whitefriars Drive ever since. Mother says you are welcome to come and visit for tea whenever you get your next leave. That is if you can travel up to London. I know that you were staying with your Aunt Gracie near Brighton; perhaps you will stay there again when you come? I am not sure that I would be able to travel there again if you were. Not with the trains being so erratic and mostly reserved for war work.
You asked me about your poor departed friend Billy Treacher. I am so sorry you lost a dear pal. That must be heart wrenching. I didn't know him, but then perhaps you played in the streets with him during the time we were evacuated? Mother never let Dulcie and I play in the street, she always said that she preferred to know what we were up to. I suppose that's why we loved the farm so much, where we were allowed to roam free. Now that we are older of course we are more responsible. Mother says she only knew the Treachers to say hello in passing.
The Daily Mail had a special pull out section last week, as part of their ongoing series on the history of the Glorious War. I have been collecting them. This week they published an up to date map of the Front. It shows the line of our Great Wall, from the Channel all the way to Switzerland. I can see where you are; a 'U' shaped section of the Front that surrounds the salient of Ypres. There are photographs of the Wall. I imagine the mass of shiny grey concrete, with its many gun emplacements, turrets and firing holes high above where you sit below underground. It looks like a magnificent long winding castle. What must it be like to see such an impressive construction in real life? Not since the Great Wall of China has such a thing been made on earth. Such an achievement! It shows the ingenuity and genius of the English, that is what the paper says. It must give you such a proud feeling to know that the might of the Empire could build such a thing to defend us from the Hun. The paper says it is impregnable and of a much more solid construction than the German wall. Theirs, they say, is a cowardly copy of our Great Wall and much more easily breached by our shells and rockets. I think our Wall is magnificent, don't you?
I will say that I liked your letter very much and would be pleased if you write again. Please don't feel shy about writing to me. I understand that we don't know each other very well but perhaps in time as we write to one another we will. Mother says I should make a parcel for you next time; she is always one for being patriotic and supporting our brave soldiers. So I promise I will do that, although I am worrying about what things I might be able to send you. As you know things are short in England and my wages don't stretch that far. Perhaps you could tell me what you might like when you next write. I know you like chocolate from your letter so I will try to save some for you from our rations. Perhaps I could knit you a scarf or a jumper?
Anyway I think I had better sign off now as I have a late shift today. I do so hate doing a shift on a Saturday and I had better go as it takes me half an hour to walk to the factory. I do hope this letter finds you well and safe.
Best wishes
Esme
X
M.O.D Approved. This letter has been censored in accordance with War Office Directive 728/4. All content of a sensitive nature has been removed by order of the Ministry of War.
Remember - CARELESS TALK COSTS LIVES!
076938964
Ypres Zone
Middlesex Regiment
Sappers Unit 2064
15th December 1961
Pvt. 761382 J.Fitzpatrick
Dearest Esme,
Thank you so much for your letter! It made my heart sing this morning when the runner brought the post and there was a packet from you. You have no idea how happy this makes me. The socks are wonderful, that was so kind. My other pairs are so full of holes and darning that there isn't much sock left! I will keep these ones you have made until I my others completely fall apart. They fit perfectly. I will have to keep them safe, hidden inside my jacket. Some of the boys here like to pilfer things when you are asleep.
You asked if I like to be called 'Jimmy'? Well most of my pals call me that, or sometimes Jim. It's what my mother
I asked my mother about her knowing your family and about us both being born here on Whitefriars Drive. She seemed very reticent, as if she didn't want to talk much about it. All she would say about your mother was that she didn't think her to be the most patriotic of women. I hope I don't offend you by saying this, as I am sure your mother has many good qualities.
Mother did say she liked your father when he was alive, though of course she didn't know him that well, what with him being away at the Front so much. And she says she has a 'lot of time' for your Aunt Gracie, whatever that means.
Apparently your father was good friends with my father. They were both, like you, in the Middlesex Regiment, although my father died just before Dulcie was born. Like your father he was killed near Arras. Not at the same time mind. I would have just turned three when he died so I do not remember him. Mother has pictures of him on the mantle. He looks such a fine handsome sort in his dress uniform, the good soldier. And like you I do sometimes wonder what it would have been like to have known him.
Mother says I have inherited many of his traits. It is strange to think that I am like someone that I feel like I have never met; that I carry within me so much of him. It is an odd feeling when I think about it. A sad feeling of something missing, although for mother I am a reminder of what she loved about him. As is Dulcie. Mother is so lucky to have had two children.
Apparently I speak exactly like my father did when I am passionate about something, and, don't laugh, I stick my tongue out when I am concentrating, just like he did. Mother says that I even like the same music that he did. When she plays Beethoven's seventh symphony on the gramophone I can't help but well up at the beauty and sadness of it. The second movement especially. I wonder if you have heard it or know it? Mother says it was my father's favourite. She plays it very softly in the back room. She says its 'unpatriotic' to like a German composer and I know she is right. Even the London Women's Symphony Orchestra only play people like Elgar or Britten or some of the new American composers. Although I must say I am not so keen on much of the new American music; all drums and fast beats and singers crooning. The factory girls fairly swoon over those singers they see at the cinema, but I cannot for the life of me see what they like about it. It seems tuneless and without beauty.
I am hoping to go and see one of the symphony orchestra's concerts soon, perhaps when they tour. Did you know they are going to tour? Obviously there are not many concert halls left because of the bombing. Not in the south anyway. So they have purchased a large circus tent and are going to tour the country to boost morale. Did you know that? Perhaps they may come to France to entertain the troops. Do you like music Jimmy? I do hope so. I love it. Do you think me awfully unpatriotic because I like Beethoven?
You asked about the evacuations. When Dulcie and I were small, after father died, mother took us to a farm in Shropshire. I think she was frightened of losing us too, though she has never said this to me. She worked on the land for our keep and rented the house back in Harrow for a while. War ministry types lived there for a few years.
I loved the summers in Shropshire. Dulcie and I ran in the fields like wild things, went to the village girls' school and played amongst the farm animals. I remember it made Dulcie so happy when the farmer entrusted us with suckling a new born lamb. It was so soft and warm and so very sweet. Although we both hated the farmer when she decided to sell that lamb for the table. Her name was Mrs Frost, so secretly from then on Dulcie and I called her 'Frosty Cow'. In actual fact she was mostly kind to us and I suppose it was a good lesson for us children to learn; that all living things must pass on. Even the sweetest of lambs.
Most of the time it was heaven at the farm and almost like the war was a whole world away. Idyllic some might say. It especially seemed to make the summers seem longer. When I think on it now it seems dreamy, almost unreal. I think a romantic like yourself would have loved it.
Of course it all changed in '51 when the Germans began the indiscriminate incendiary bombing of farms. I can remember the orange of the sky at night from the 'Brandbombe' and the acrid petrol smell of the dark smoke that filled the air the mornings after. Acre upon acre of precious wheat destroyed in one go. They only bombed when they knew the weather was tinder dry and that the fields would go up and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Such callousness. It seems inhuman to me that they would deliberately wish to deprive ordinary folk of the basic necessities of life.
The papers say that we are winning the aerial war now and that the blockade of Hamburg is hampering their fuel supplies from Russia, so perhaps our English farms are safer for now. Thank God for the American imports that break the Atlantic blockade and for the Irish and their 'one big farm' mentality. At least Ireland is mostly out of range for their big bombers. That's what the papers say anyway.
So anyway, after the bombing Mrs Frost felt that she couldn't give mother as much work and said that she couldn't guarantee our safety. What a thing it is to live in fear. Everywhere. Mother applied to the ministry to return to factory work near Harrow and she went back to the crawler tank factory in Stanmore.
We have been back here in Whitefriars Drive ever since. Mother says you are welcome to come and visit for tea whenever you get your next leave. That is if you can travel up to London. I know that you were staying with your Aunt Gracie near Brighton; perhaps you will stay there again when you come? I am not sure that I would be able to travel there again if you were. Not with the trains being so erratic and mostly reserved for war work.
You asked me about your poor departed friend Billy Treacher. I am so sorry you lost a dear pal. That must be heart wrenching. I didn't know him, but then perhaps you played in the streets with him during the time we were evacuated? Mother never let Dulcie and I play in the street, she always said that she preferred to know what we were up to. I suppose that's why we loved the farm so much, where we were allowed to roam free. Now that we are older of course we are more responsible. Mother says she only knew the Treachers to say hello in passing.
The Daily Mail had a special pull out section last week, as part of their ongoing series on the history of the Glorious War. I have been collecting them. This week they published an up to date map of the Front. It shows the line of our Great Wall, from the Channel all the way to Switzerland. I can see where you are; a 'U' shaped section of the Front that surrounds the salient of Ypres. There are photographs of the Wall. I imagine the mass of shiny grey concrete, with its many gun emplacements, turrets and firing holes high above where you sit below underground. It looks like a magnificent long winding castle. What must it be like to see such an impressive construction in real life? Not since the Great Wall of China has such a thing been made on earth. Such an achievement! It shows the ingenuity and genius of the English, that is what the paper says. It must give you such a proud feeling to know that the might of the Empire could build such a thing to defend us from the Hun. The paper says it is impregnable and of a much more solid construction than the German wall. Theirs, they say, is a cowardly copy of our Great Wall and much more easily breached by our shells and rockets. I think our Wall is magnificent, don't you?
I will say that I liked your letter very much and would be pleased if you write again. Please don't feel shy about writing to me. I understand that we don't know each other very well but perhaps in time as we write to one another we will. Mother says I should make a parcel for you next time; she is always one for being patriotic and supporting our brave soldiers. So I promise I will do that, although I am worrying about what things I might be able to send you. As you know things are short in England and my wages don't stretch that far. Perhaps you could tell me what you might like when you next write. I know you like chocolate from your letter so I will try to save some for you from our rations. Perhaps I could knit you a scarf or a jumper?
Anyway I think I had better sign off now as I have a late shift today. I do so hate doing a shift on a Saturday and I had better go as it takes me half an hour to walk to the factory. I do hope this letter finds you well and safe.
Best wishes
Esme
X
M.O.D Approved. This letter has been censored in accordance with War Office Directive 728/4. All content of a sensitive nature has been removed by order of the Ministry of War.
Remember - CARELESS TALK COSTS LIVES!
076938964
Ypres Zone
Middlesex Regiment
Sappers Unit 2064
15th December 1961
Pvt. 761382 J.Fitzpatrick
Dearest Esme,
Thank you so much for your letter! It made my heart sing this morning when the runner brought the post and there was a packet from you. You have no idea how happy this makes me. The socks are wonderful, that was so kind. My other pairs are so full of holes and darning that there isn't much sock left! I will keep these ones you have made until I my others completely fall apart. They fit perfectly. I will have to keep them safe, hidden inside my jacket. Some of the boys here like to pilfer things when you are asleep.
You asked if I like to be called 'Jimmy'? Well most of my pals call me that, or sometimes Jim. It's what my mother
An End of Poppies
Jones and the Mammoths