A Storm Brewing
Jan. 23rd, 2012 08:56 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
the_shrubberyThis is a little project that has been drifting around in my mind for a longer time now. I hope I can make it not too long, but we know how well that always goes.
Norfolk, August 1939
Emily found her mother standing on the edge of the cliffs, staring out onto the unusually quiet North Sea. Not saying anything, Emily simply stood next to her mother and, like her, observed the tranquil waters. The sun was already deep in the West and warmed their backs and for a moment, Emily simply enjoyed standing there on this beautiful summer day, on this the most beautiful spot on earth, surrounded by light, and air, and sand, and the glittering sea in front of her. In the end, however, Emily was too much of a talker to be able to enjoy the silence for too long, and so, when she realised her mother, although she had noted her daughter‘s presence, did not seem inclined to begin a conversation, Emily did so.
‘Such a beautiful day,’ Emily said. ‘Rather warm, too, isn’t it? I think we could wash the bedroom curtains tomorrow.’
‘There is a storm brewing,’ Emily’s mother said. ‘Out there, in the east.’
Emily squinted, but she could not see anything, even in the distance.
‘Do you think so?’ she asked. ‘Because I cannot really see it. Maybe I am short-sighted after all.’
Anne sighed. Finally, she tore her eyes off the sea and turned to her daughter. Emily was an unusually tall girl and yet, so often, to Anne she was like a little bird, that needed to be sheltered and protected from the evils of the world outside. Anne’s maternal instincts had been strong with all her children, but it was something more with Emily, who had inherited her father’s romantic soul, but not his worldliness, her mother’s tranquility but not her pragmatism. In spite of her height, Emily was almost fragile in appearance and her elfin features made her appear much younger than she was. With a heart bursting with love for the girl next to her, Anne registered the loose cotton frock her daughter was wearing, which recalled the printed muslins of a much earlier age, and the bun of curls in her daughter’s neck, which had, as usual, come partly undone. Emily was still so very much a young girl; Anne wished she could remain one forever, but she knew it would not be so. Unless Anne was wrong, Emily would very soon be forced to grow up her innocence and grow up.
‘A metaphorical storm, dearest,’ Anne said now. ‘War is coming.’
Emily did not immediately answer to this. She merely stepped even closer to her mother, flung an arm around her shoulders and rested her head on her mother’s shoulder, uncomfortable as it was for her, considering her height. Anne could feel her daughter tensing and covered her daughter’s back with the shawl she had around her shoulders.
‘Mummy,’ Emily said simply.
Anne had little difficulty understanding her daughter. In spite of their differences in character and outlook, she and Emily had always been close and on most days, Anne could tell exactly how her daughter was feeling.
‘I am afraid so,’ she said now. ‘Not today, not even this year, perhaps, but it will come eventually. Hitler cannot be stopped now. Who knows where he will strike next? I hope I am wrong with all my heart, but I fear that this time next year, we will be at war.’
‘But surely,’ Emily whispered, ‘he would not dare to invade Britain, would he?’
‘Maybe not yet,’ Anne said, ‘but what will happen if he invades Denmark, or maybe Belgium? One day, peace in our times will not be enough and we will find ourselves involved in a war whether we wish it or not.’
‘Why, mummy?’ Emily asked. ‘Why does he do that?’
‘I do not think anybody knows,’ Anne said. ‘But I do not think he will ever stop unless someone makes him.’
‘It is a good thing to stop him, right?’ Emily asked.
Anne could feel her daughter shiver in spite of the warm sunlight and the shawl around her shoulders.
‘Yes, love,’ Anne said. ‘If he can be stopped, that will be a good thing, but I fear it will come at a terrible cost.’
‘If there is a war, Max and Ben are going to sign up, are they not?’ Emily whispered.
Anne sighed again. It was no wonder that Emily would, sooner or later, hit upon that one topic that was closest to Anne’s heart, not only because Emily, for all her naiveté, understood her mother much better than most other people, but also because Emily found any separation hard to bear. With all her heart, Anne wanted to be able to protect Emily from the horrors she was sure the coming war would bring.
‘Yes,’ Anne said. ‘Their characters will not allow them to do anything else. Once the war begins, your brothers will feel it their duty to sign up.’
Anne momentarily closed her eyes. She knew that no amount of persuasion would keep her sons from doing what they saw as the honourable thing. She was resolved not to try it and tried to be proud of her sons, but she knew it would be ever so hard. Max, her eldest, her serious, taciturn son, would try his best to reason with her, explaining why he needed to go to war. She knew he would have his affairs in perfect order before he left, as if detailled instructions how to deal with his personal items would make his loss any more bearable. Ben, on the other hand, she mused, her mischievous Ben, the constant joker, would try to lighten the mood even when mounting the train that would bring him to the battlefields, and would probably have three different girls promising to write to him while he was gone. And Anne and Emily, her dreamer-daughter, would be left behind, waiting for news here, at home, always looking out at the sea and wondering what the tide would bring.
Norfolk, August 1939
Emily found her mother standing on the edge of the cliffs, staring out onto the unusually quiet North Sea. Not saying anything, Emily simply stood next to her mother and, like her, observed the tranquil waters. The sun was already deep in the West and warmed their backs and for a moment, Emily simply enjoyed standing there on this beautiful summer day, on this the most beautiful spot on earth, surrounded by light, and air, and sand, and the glittering sea in front of her. In the end, however, Emily was too much of a talker to be able to enjoy the silence for too long, and so, when she realised her mother, although she had noted her daughter‘s presence, did not seem inclined to begin a conversation, Emily did so.
‘Such a beautiful day,’ Emily said. ‘Rather warm, too, isn’t it? I think we could wash the bedroom curtains tomorrow.’
‘There is a storm brewing,’ Emily’s mother said. ‘Out there, in the east.’
Emily squinted, but she could not see anything, even in the distance.
‘Do you think so?’ she asked. ‘Because I cannot really see it. Maybe I am short-sighted after all.’
Anne sighed. Finally, she tore her eyes off the sea and turned to her daughter. Emily was an unusually tall girl and yet, so often, to Anne she was like a little bird, that needed to be sheltered and protected from the evils of the world outside. Anne’s maternal instincts had been strong with all her children, but it was something more with Emily, who had inherited her father’s romantic soul, but not his worldliness, her mother’s tranquility but not her pragmatism. In spite of her height, Emily was almost fragile in appearance and her elfin features made her appear much younger than she was. With a heart bursting with love for the girl next to her, Anne registered the loose cotton frock her daughter was wearing, which recalled the printed muslins of a much earlier age, and the bun of curls in her daughter’s neck, which had, as usual, come partly undone. Emily was still so very much a young girl; Anne wished she could remain one forever, but she knew it would not be so. Unless Anne was wrong, Emily would very soon be forced to grow up her innocence and grow up.
‘A metaphorical storm, dearest,’ Anne said now. ‘War is coming.’
Emily did not immediately answer to this. She merely stepped even closer to her mother, flung an arm around her shoulders and rested her head on her mother’s shoulder, uncomfortable as it was for her, considering her height. Anne could feel her daughter tensing and covered her daughter’s back with the shawl she had around her shoulders.
‘Mummy,’ Emily said simply.
Anne had little difficulty understanding her daughter. In spite of their differences in character and outlook, she and Emily had always been close and on most days, Anne could tell exactly how her daughter was feeling.
‘I am afraid so,’ she said now. ‘Not today, not even this year, perhaps, but it will come eventually. Hitler cannot be stopped now. Who knows where he will strike next? I hope I am wrong with all my heart, but I fear that this time next year, we will be at war.’
‘But surely,’ Emily whispered, ‘he would not dare to invade Britain, would he?’
‘Maybe not yet,’ Anne said, ‘but what will happen if he invades Denmark, or maybe Belgium? One day, peace in our times will not be enough and we will find ourselves involved in a war whether we wish it or not.’
‘Why, mummy?’ Emily asked. ‘Why does he do that?’
‘I do not think anybody knows,’ Anne said. ‘But I do not think he will ever stop unless someone makes him.’
‘It is a good thing to stop him, right?’ Emily asked.
Anne could feel her daughter shiver in spite of the warm sunlight and the shawl around her shoulders.
‘Yes, love,’ Anne said. ‘If he can be stopped, that will be a good thing, but I fear it will come at a terrible cost.’
‘If there is a war, Max and Ben are going to sign up, are they not?’ Emily whispered.
Anne sighed again. It was no wonder that Emily would, sooner or later, hit upon that one topic that was closest to Anne’s heart, not only because Emily, for all her naiveté, understood her mother much better than most other people, but also because Emily found any separation hard to bear. With all her heart, Anne wanted to be able to protect Emily from the horrors she was sure the coming war would bring.
‘Yes,’ Anne said. ‘Their characters will not allow them to do anything else. Once the war begins, your brothers will feel it their duty to sign up.’
Anne momentarily closed her eyes. She knew that no amount of persuasion would keep her sons from doing what they saw as the honourable thing. She was resolved not to try it and tried to be proud of her sons, but she knew it would be ever so hard. Max, her eldest, her serious, taciturn son, would try his best to reason with her, explaining why he needed to go to war. She knew he would have his affairs in perfect order before he left, as if detailled instructions how to deal with his personal items would make his loss any more bearable. Ben, on the other hand, she mused, her mischievous Ben, the constant joker, would try to lighten the mood even when mounting the train that would bring him to the battlefields, and would probably have three different girls promising to write to him while he was gone. And Anne and Emily, her dreamer-daughter, would be left behind, waiting for news here, at home, always looking out at the sea and wondering what the tide would bring.
