George Davidson. The son of a rich business owner who sold cigarettes. He went to a private school with fancy uniforms and seasonal clothing. It was fall of 1947. 2 years after the war had ended. George is only 9. It was 1933 when he was born. Only 5 years before the war. He doesn't remember anything of course. Things were complicated for little old George. Running off to the countryside with his older brother, who was only 12 at the time, and his mother. His father was no longer in the picture as George hadn't seen him since he was a baby, and only god knows how long it may take to reunite him with his family. Fortunately, they managed to stay together, as they were all taken in by the same lovely people. The family they were taken into was a kind old couple who housed their grandson with them after his two parents died during the war. Their grandson was only a year younger than George, and was quite a bit shorter than him. His name was Clay Woods. He was an sweet, athletic boy who often played football in their garden and also had some sort of a green thumb for harvesting the small vegetables found in their garden. George often saw him outside the window while he studied, kicking his football against the large oak tree of unearthing a potato or two. The boys grandad, Gareth, was an old clever man who had a nack for cracking odd jokes. He definitely was a peculiar man, as his mother would say, but he was the one who taught George maths during his spare time so he could really complain. Unfortunately, when George turned 13, Clay 12, he moved back in with his father and never saw the boy again. That was until, they met again at their new job.