Memories

She remembered that day well, the day the letter came. That thick little square envelope, yellowing around the edges. That scratchy handwriting that had been used to print her name and address, a deep red ink, dark, ominous:

Mrs J. Rider,

27 Alexander Close

Chelsea, London

She remembered that stamp she knew was from overseas. French. She remembered that letter and the cold feeling she had when she opened it. Her shaking fingers, almost too uncoordinated to get the task done. She remembered the sharp sound of the envelope flap coming free, the musty smell of the dirty parchment within, wafting into the air. She remembered the jerky movements she used to extract the stubborn letter. She remembered her silent tears as she read what had become of the man she loved. She remembered her world stopping.

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She had been sitting at the time, that she was sure of. In the big cushioned armchair that he was so very fond of. Positioned in front of her was the elegant centre table he had insisted they bought, laden with their many albums, depicting their small family. Her favourite album open to her favourite picture, the last one taken on their wedding day. It was this picture that had caught her attention in the immediate few moments after reading that wretched letter. She remembered, remembering. Everything that had happened on that magical day. From the nerves of a non-existent impending disaster, to the 'I do's' that sealed their bond forever. The rushing around and needles fear that she would be abandoned at the alter or other such drastic happenings. She remembered the intense relief that had flooded through her after the rings were exchanged. The ridiculously loud whisper of 'There's no going back now' from her aunt in the front row. She remembered the love in her new husbands eyes as they laughed together. She remembered those precious minutes before that photo was taken, how he had leant down and whispered into her ear,

'Smile' he had said, 'No matter what happens, I love you. Never ever forget that.'

She remembered how he had then pressed his lips softly against her temple and the warmth that had spread through her. She remembered how radiant he looked and how she couldn't help but mirror his joy.

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As she had looked down at that picture, more memories had flooded her senses. She remembered the weeks after the photo was taken. How another letter, similar to the one still clutched tightly in her unrelenting grip, had come to their door. She remembered what that letter had said. She remembered how it had been the cause of her husband’s departure.

'Being called in...' It had said 'All soldiers needed for immediate dispatch'. She remembered the argument that had followed. How he had tried to tell her that he'd be fine, that they needed him, that it was his job. She remembered how she had cried and begged him not to go. She remembered how she had given in to his pleading and his promises of keeping safe, his continuous declarations of 'I Love You'. She remembered how those words had echoed in her mind as he had driven away, she remembered it well.

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That same letter was clutched in her hands now, pressed against her chest. She knew the words off by heart now. She could recite it from memory, not that it made any difference.....

'Dear Mrs Rider,

You have been listed as the next of kin and wife in the files of Corporal David Rider. It is as a result of this that you have received this letter. I'm sorry to inform you that your husband, Cpl D. Rider of the 97th Coldstream Guards Battalion in the London Royal Yeomanry Regiment has been identified as one of our MIA (Missing In Action) soldiers. Cpl. Rider was last seen in a section just off No Man's Land, aiding a fellow soldier. The area around his last recorded position was hit soon after he was spotted there. His body was not found at the site after the dust cleared and as such your husband is classed MIA. We have no leads on his current position as of yet.

Cpl. Rider will retain his MIA status for a total of 90 days, during which if he is found he will be returned to you for a period of time. If he is not found after 90 days however, he will be then classed as KIA (Killed In Action) and awarded a medal for bravery in the field.

I am sorry for your loss; your husband was a great man, a brave soldier and a credit to the Great British Army. You will be informed of any advances made in the search.

Best wishes, Sgt. Major S. Delaney'

The words brought her no comfort, no warmth. The fact remained that the man she loved was missing, gone, and she had no means of finding him. He was as good as dead and everyone knew it.

It had been 89 days since that letter had shown up, and they were no closer to finding him than they had been at the start. She looked towards that elegant centre table where her favourite picture lay. She remembered what he had said that day,

'Smile. No matter what happens, I love you. Never ever forget that'.

And so, she smiled.

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