The First Letter Young Peter Dawson Wrote.

The First Letter Young Peter Dawson

Peters brothers name is Henry. The war started in september of 1939. Peters birthday is on May 29th. They went to dunkirk on june 2nd of 1940.

The first letter young Peter Dawson wrote, was to his brother, he had been 16 years old, his brother had passed months before, in the war. It had just began, only 3 weeks in when the Dawson residence had got the letter that their eldest son, Henry, had passed. They had said he got shot down by an enemy plane, could have drowned, or died in the impact. Not too long after this Mrs.Dawson stopped being her cheery self, she would cook soup on the stove-top most nights, of course the family would have complained, if not grieving the loss, so they let it be, they had mourned, cried, who wouldn't. When young Peter found out, the first thing he did was run to George Mills' home, he had been his best friend, his only friend, since they were only 4, back in 1927, it was easy then, no war, no constant loss, just sunshine, playing football at the local park, laughing, just doing things friends do. He knocked on the door and was greeted by Mrs.Mills, a lovely woman she is. Peter tried his best not to let the woman notice his melancholy expression, She had said hello to Peter, which of course he said back, usually he'd ask how she's doing but at this time he needed only George, no time to waste. "George is up in his room, darling" she had said, "thank you Ma'am." he had run up the stairs of the small home, George was lying in his bed, reading the book his Nan had given him on his 15th birthday, a slow reader he was, must have only read thirty pages so far. George was 16 now. "George?" the blonde boy had said, the boy had looked up from his book, "oh Peter! I didn't see you." George must have seen the look on Peters face, a look only he had noticed, unlike his mother, George, saw right through him. "Whats wrong?" he had said getting up from his bed, stepping closer to Peter. The tears formed in the blondes eyes, his bottom lip trembling, no way he could get even a word out, the boy couldn't speak. So he didn't. He buried his red face into his friend's, George, just shushed him, placed his hand inside the thick golden strands piled atop his head. Whispering sweet nothings. That day was a quiet day, Peter and George laid upon the black haired boys bed, over the sheets, Peter lying utop his chest, his lungs attempting to calm, George tracing nonsense patterns onto his palm, other hand laced with the other boys. They were positioned like this for god knows how long, before Mrs.Mills, stumbled through the door, the boys hands spread apart faster than the speed of light, Peter moving his head from Georges chest onto his pillow, "oh" she had said, looking as if she'd a ghost. "oh, hi mum" the boys saw she was about to say something when her eyes locked with peters tear stained face, "Peter are you alright, love." The sincere nickname seizing his racing heart, "yes, ma'am, sorry, my brother, in the RAF? He passed, George was just comforting me"

"Oh, darling I'm so sorry, thought you two were a couple of poofs!" she laughed at her own "stupidity" thinking of what she'd do if her son were a living sin. The boys awkwardly laughed, "well, I'm very sorry about your brother. I'll leave you two be." she smiled and walked out, leaving the door open a crack just in case The young boys locked eyes, smiling ever so slightly. Then, Peter had laid back onto Georges chest, and soon drifted off, to the the sound of the boy's, beating heart.

Good morning Henry, it's been a week since the letter. Mum and Dad miss you, I miss you. I went over to George's today, we went to the park, played some football. Like old times I guess. Not the same without you 'round here. Well I've got to go, off to school, I got an A in Mrs.Moss' class. George got a C+, he misses you too.

Peter.

The hundred-seventh letter Peter Dawson wrote, was to his Grandma, she was 82, A wonderful woman, lived in WestMinster, she came 'round for Christmas, and for birthdays. On the 19th of january 1940, the Dawsons got a note, from the local hospital near his mums home. Saying she had passed. Natural causes, Mr. Dawson, of course, was sad. He had seen it coming though, telling Peter, she was old, her time had come. That made the boy think of his brother, how his time should not have came. Not for a long, long time.