1950

1.

I loved Yorkshire in spring.

As I walked through our propriety's garden, which was more than three miles wide, my eyes couldn't open wide enough to observe all the beauty nature offered to the world. The blooming flowers created a sea of colours, the birds were frantically tweeting in a confused melody only flying creatures could understand the meaning of and the grass seemed greener than ever.

After days of rain, we welcomed the beaming sun with lighter apparel; long gone were the heavy coats, a light wool cardigan covered my shoulders and my favorite spring dress twirled around my ankles. A brown paper bag in my basket, which contained bread and a box of milk,was all that we could afford that day at the market. The prices had singularly raised in the precedent months and our portions were even smaller than usually.

Nonetheless, we lived a life full of love.

Father had always been a distant man. From my earliest memories of him, I had always remembered being drawn towards his eyes. In his topaz coloured pupils twirled stories that I couldn't comprehend, just like the ones our institutrice made us read in latin. As I grew older, I understood that the mystery held behind his eyes were mostly stories of pain. He had always been a troubled and damaged man, who tried his best to overcome his sadness with a smile to never allow us to see his broken parts. My father, although often lost in a hidden place inside of his head, had always been known to give the best advices. Every time he would look at me, with tears in the corner of his eyes, I knew what was coming:

"-Elizabeth", he would say, "promise me you'll never forget that you are a Meryl and Meryls never give up."

I never really knew what it meant.

Mother, on the other end, was a bubbly woman, who liked to always look perfect. She would spend hours, on Sundays, before church, in front of the mirror, brushing and styling her hair. She would then call me, make me sit on her lap and braid my red curls. Then, my sister would come in and get her braids as well. A few minutes before we had to leave, she called my three brothers in her room and wet their heads to tuck their brown silky hair back. I loved the cacophony and the mess that were linked to these mornings. The routine was forgotten for a few hours and we were just kids, dressing up for a show. We would then parade in front of the town, who we always impressed by our good manners and politeness.

My siblings and I sat in the kids section, located at the right side of the room. We always sat in the back, far enough from our parents to feel free of their surveillance. Church was one of the few moments where we didn't bicker. We sat next to each other, in silence, letting the holy spirit invade our hearts and souls. The church was made out of wood and the smell was a mix between humidity and smoke, stuck inside the walls. It was hard for us not to move, since the benches left marks on our little legs, but we tried to stay as silent as possible to honour our family name.

Those were my best childhood memories, along with the summers we spent running in the fields, sticking gold flowers behind our ears and picking grass to fill our pockets. I was happy. I was a kid.

And then, the war began.