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| The Letter | |
| By brook_rivers | ||||||||||||||
| 03 June 2006 | ||||||||||||||
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Second World War nostalgia ‘Mummy, Mummy Granddad’s not very well!’ screeched a worried looking 5 year old as she hurtled from the front room into the kitchen. Linda was standing doing the daily chore of washing up the breakfast items, but at the same time enjoying the scene in her beautiful sunlit garden where several chirping and twittering robins were splashing about in the bird bath. At these words Linda hurriedly put down the bowl she was washing and briskly went into the front room. Her daughter Emily’s exclamations had given her quite a fright. Her dear old dad at 77 was in the best of health, but that still didn’t stop his daughter worrying about him. Her mother had died two years ago and since then, although John had put up a very jolly performance, he had understandably not been the man he once was. Linda arriving in the front room envisaging all sorts of things was faced with the scene of her father sitting in his usual chair by the window, his back slightly to the room, with his usual morning paper. Nothing out of the ordinary there then Linda thought, but he had made no movement when she came rushing through the open doorway. ‘Dad’ Linda said tentatively. No answer. ‘Dad, are you ok?..’ Linda questioned advancing towards him and laying a concerned hand on his shoulder. ‘…Emily said you weren’t feeling too good, is everything ok?’ John hadn’t moved one inch. Linda noticed a broken china cup on the floor at the other side of him, half the contents of tea slowly soaking into the newly laid cream carpet and sighed. Her father seemed relatively normal except for the fact that he seemed to be frozen to the spot and speechless. Linda really didn’t have time for this, she had to get Emily to school and there was still lots to do but her dad wasn’t one for being silent and she couldn’t figure out what had affected him in such a way, he had been chatting away to her only ten minutes ago. She sat down on the chair next to him. ‘Dad talk to me, tell me what’s wrong’. John slowly raised his gaze which she now realised had been glued to the newspaper in front of him. ‘The letter’ he whispered almost inaudibly’, he faltered and as she looked at him she thought she saw a feeling of pain flicker across his pale blue eyes. The he said a bit louder ‘the letter…it’s that bloody letter!’ ‘Dad I don’t understand’ said Linda softly. John silently pushed the national news paper over to his daughter, who started to read while he relaxed slightly and reclined in his chair. He closed his eyes and as the morning sun played over his face he let his mind go back and revisit his memories. He might have been the wrong side of 60 but there was nothing wrong with John Langley’s memory. Especially, he thought, of his memories as a fighter pilot in world war two. They were as clear as day. Like many of his generation that was a period of his life he would never forget. He had always been a happy-go-lucky chap and as a teenage warrior against the Germans his positivity had never left him, and that is what he believed pulled him through. He had taken his job very seriously as he had a lot of responsibility, but the minute he was out of the plane and touched land he was the happiest man in the world. Life was for living that was his philosophy. He had a lucky charm that shared in all his joys and her name was Dora. His first love. She was a WAAF at his base and he thought the world of her. He was the envy of all his mates; they couldn’t understand how tall lanky John had pulled a looker like Dora. She was the epitome of English beauty with a cute hour glass figure and long chocolate brown tresses. Her deep green eyes used to sparkle when she laughed, and she was always laughing. John knew the secret as to why Dora had chosen to be with him out of all the others, and that was because they were made to be together. Outwardly they may have looked like an odd couple but inwardly they mirrored each other. John treasured the memories of Dora, of course he had dearly loved his wife Irene who he had spent the golden years of his life with, but his youth and the war were inextricably mixed with the fragrance of Dora. He had often wondered what had become of her. As a pilot his luck had finally run out and he and his crew had been shot down on the way back from a raid. Thankfully they landed in allied hands and he had been nursed back to full health and then smuggled back in to Blighty just in time for D-day celebrations. He had sent a letter to Dora at the first opportunity explaining what had happened to him, because he knew she would be worried sick. By the time he finally stepped back on English soil again the whole county was in complete chaos. What with the thousands of street parties and de-mobbing that was going on the order of the war years had been over turned in a flash. He went back to the base hoping that she might be there, but it was nearly deserted. The few WAAF’s he did see he hadn’t recognised, after all he had been in France for almost 10months. He had tried in vain to track Dora down. Knowing she was from the Isle of Sheppy he didn’t think this would be too difficult, but nevertheless he had never seen her beautiful face again. Yes, he had often wondered what had happened to her, why she hadn’t replied to his letter or tried to get in contact with him and know he finally knew the truth and it was all because of that damn letter. Linda lifted up her head after reading the article her father had pointed too. ‘You’re going to have to explain this one to me Dad because I feel like I’ve missed a bit. Why is this article about the letter that has taken the longest time to arrive shaken you up so much?’ ‘Because I send the letter to my sweetheart back in the war, and I’ve finally found out why she never replied’ John replied in a sigh. Linda now understood. The article was about a letter that was sent on 7 December 1944 and had somehow been swept aside in an English postal depot and only just been delivered on 10 June 2006. The letter was printed in its entirety in the newspaper, with an appeal to find anyone who was connected with it. Linda now comprehended that the misplacement of this letter had changed the course of her father’s life. In the weeks that followed there was quite a bit of media attention surrounding John’s letter and Dora had been traced. John had rung her to arrange to see her and when he heard her voice again he truly thought his heart would burst. She sounded just the same. Finally the time came for their long over-due reunion. Linda had fussed over his appearance all morning. He took one final glance in the mirror before leaving and surmised that he hadn’t really changed that much, well except his once jet black hair was now a shock of white! It turned out Dora had moved immediately after the war to south Wales, Llanelli. It took a few hours to get there from St Albans but the journey was nothing compared to the years apart that he and Dora had spent. He arrived at the given address and a little old lady opened the door, the first thing that John registered was the deep green eyes, which were still sparkling, and he said ‘Thought I would come in person this time Dora I don’t trust the postmen anymore!’.
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