Dearest Paul,
Thanks for the postcard from Saskatoon. (Not a sentence I ever thought I’d write.) At least, now, we know where you’ve gone. Of course you left without saying goodbye. Had you said, I’d have persuaded you not to. I’d have had Petra add her voice to mine. I’d have locked you in the house till you saw reason, numbskull.
Given how long the trains take to Halifax and the crossing from there to Liverpool, I expect you’re there now. Or nearly there. Did they give you some training first? I hope so. You can barely shoot a rabbit. Or gut a fish. Christ.
You left just in time. Did you know? You and your weather instincts? The first snows arrived the day after you left us and we’ve had several storms since then and the line out of here is probably still blocked. I know the road is. The new well froze solid so we’re back to melting saucepans of snow. Thank god smells are weaker in the cold; bathing is not a tempting prospect. The water’s hot enough when you tip it from the stove into the bath but the heat goes out of it in no time.
We lost Bella, I’m afraid. You’d taken such care to shut her in the stables but, of course, the second we opened the door she was off like a rocket to find you and she never did come when I called her. The snow was only starting so she’ll have travelled a fair way. I went after her on one of the horses but not soon enough – too busy comforting the girls. I’m hoping some kind soul might have taken her in – such a handsome, loving dog – but nobody has seen her yet.
Poor little Grace was almost more upset about the dog than she was about you! Or perhaps the two of you are muddled up in her head and it’s easier for her to say she misses the dog than the uncle? Your sister is her usual stoic self, angry with you on the outside and buttoning up whatever pain she feels. She has been working like a Trojan. Insists I teach her to plough come the spring, if you’re not back by then.
If you’re not back… I know I should be patriotic and write only morale-boosting sentiments but I’m afraid I can’t and it would insult your intelligence. I miss you more than words can say, Paul. It’s like a growth inside me, heavy, malign, eating my strength, there the moment I wake, there when the cat wakes me or I roll over in the night.
Oh yes. We got a cat. Or it got us. Just showed up in the snow, mewling to come in. No-one can settle on a name. It doesn’t laugh like you, or smell as good, and it bites, but it’s a weight in the night and that helps a bit.
I’d send my love but you already have it all.
I am ever your H.
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Letter To An Unknown Soldier
Short StoryThis story is a collection of short letters that have been submitted to the Unknown Soldier project. The project is inspired by a statue that stands on Platform 1 of Paddington Station in London, representing all the millions of soldiers who died –...
