Wildflowers In The Ruins: A 1917 Story

Chapter Seventeen. Epilogue. Sweet Williams

Sunday May 28th, 1922:

Three and a half years later...

Staring out of our bedroom window, I clutch our newborn Son in my arms, wrapped in the soft cream blanket that had belonged to our beautiful Daughter, Hope, two and a half years previously. She's downstairs now, playing contentedly with Grace and Ruby, her cousins. Violet, my lovely sister-in-law, is with them whilst someone's gone to fetch Will. Alice's son next door thinks he went for a stroll. The midwife's gone downstairs to make us both a pot of tea and toast... Heaven knows, I need it!

The view from the window shows our modest, yet pretty garden with Cookham marsh beyond it. The sky shines a soft powder blue, peppered with the odd wispy cloud here and there.

Looking back, it took us long enough to get here, my beloved Will and I.
We had to reside in France until Spring 1919, when I'd fallen pregnant with Hope, myself treating the patients not well enough to travel and Will sorting out the turmoil caused by the previous four years. Sister Thompson saw to it that we returned to the York's together a week after William and myself became engaged, and where we managed to spend the remainder of the War. Will stayed with the 8th batallion, receiving a medal (which I'm glad to say he kept and wore on our wedding day) for managing to halt the 2nd Devon's attack. Looking back, it's a miracle we both survived, but every morning and evening in my prayers I'd pray for Will and his men. Katie and Enid very kindly taught me how to knit (I'd never had the inclination before but felt compelled to then) and that Christmas of 1917, I made Will a scarf and gloves. He wrote me a book of poetry containing wild flowers he'd pressed which will always warm my heart to gaze at and read. Corresponding often through letters as we'd sometimes go weeks without seeing each other, they're all tied up now in a scarlet velvet ribbon. Nestled inside a trunk under our bed, the letters lie on top of our two uniforms, always a reminder of what we endured to be where we are now.

The most precious and important thing we did as soon as the war ended was with a great deal of time and effort, we located Lauri, the young woman Will had encountered, and the baby, Babette. They were malnourished terribly and Lauri barely spoke, but we managed to provide for them and helped them find complete safety.

Together, we also wrote to Tom's mother whilst Will was recovering at the Newfoundland's. Sadly, my darling Granny passed away only five days before the war ended. She went peacefully in her sleep though, and we managed to sell the cottage quickly to a family.

A few days after my engagement to Will, I bumped into Private Rossi, the Scottish soldier with the lovely smile who'd travelled with Will in the back of the truck and proffered that daisy to me. He was visting a friend in the hospital tent and even though my head was down, administering medicine, he immediately recognised me. Surprised but visibly happy Will had reached the Devon's, he told me he'd inform the others.
I know not if any of them survived the War, including our driver, Private Ellis and also Sergeant Campbell, but I hope and pray they did.

Private George from Cornwall returned to his wife, six children and home in St.Ewe. His wife, Cora, wrote to me shortly before my return to England to thank and inform me he'd temporarily given up his dreams of a dairy farm to continue work on the Heligan Estate, which has become a convalescent home for soldiers. Only five of the fourteen brave men from there returned home.

As the War contininued to wage on, the rules with patients and nurses thankfully relaxed gradually. Me and Will increasingly enjoyed our engagement for the almost two weeks remaining of it between the end of the war and our wedding day, and our marriage more freely then, usually picnicking on our sacred time off, enjoying strolls along the coast or cosying up together in front of the fire in Maison du Poirieres.

We still had to reside in our separate lodgings even though we were man and wife, but were allowed to spend Friday and Saturday nights together in one of the spare officers rooms, closeted alone and completely away from everyone else. My generous friends had all put money in to buy me an exquisite bridal trouseau, which came from Paris and Rosamund, Sister Thompson put most of her month's wages into for me. The trouseau items I still love to wear of a night, but looking back, that particular time was incredibly lonely without my beloved Will. Whilst he was at the Newfoundland's, I'd generally manage to visit him two or three times a day... and always for a goodnight kiss. Sometimes we'd eat together or just sip tea. There were moments where we kissed, cosily resting together on his bed, holding each other and whispering sweet nothings... or perhaps exploring each others' bodies in a way we'd never had before without going all the way, as I'd learned to tap into my sensuality and felt it so wonderfully after falling in love with him. There were moments where we told each other of our childhoods and reminisced of more carefree times before the War. Some visits the two of us would purely sit whilst Will would read, write poetry and letters and I'd sew or read too in a comfortable silence, and then other times we'd dare to plan for our future together. We never had an official honeymoon, but we didn't presume to. Instead we were both granted the entire weekend off immediately following our wedding, which was a blessing we didn't expect. A month after our return home we did go to Brighton for a week so I count that holiday as our honeymoon now to be honest.