Disclaimer: Downton Abbey and its characters belong to Julian Fellowes.
It had been cold on that late afternoon in May, almost as if the weather knew about the afflictions that made his heart race at that moment. His hands, however were warm. Warm and sure as he held hers tight, knowing too well they would be parted soon. Knowing too well the day of his return was so uncertain.
She was wearing a violet dress under her ivory coat, gloves, hat and shoes matching. Her golden hair neatly done in fashion, her free hand carrying a small purse, trying its best to control any nervous motion. They waited for the train, his mother sitting on a bench. They waited for a train that would take him away, only two months after their wedding.
The station was busy. Men in uniform. Crying wives. Begging children. The station was filled with worry and fear. The smell made him sick to his stomach. The stories he heard between whispers too horrible to convey. She had smiled at him after a tender kiss. A smile he would forever remember. A kiss he would forever savour. Everything he hoped to return to. He was off then, and she was left behind. The unbearable waiting for both began.
xxxx
'My Dearest,
I find myself awake in the middle of the night as I write this. Sleep hasn't visited me in days but you know that's how I usually am. Instead, I've been thinking of you, more precisely of the day we said our goodbyes and shared our last kiss at the station. A kiss that meant so much more than a farewell, but also the longing of my return home, safe and sound.
I miss you, Anna. More than words can express. I find myself thinking about you at every second of every day. Thinking about the first time we've met. Our first kiss. When I, at last, proposed to you. Do you remember that night? The two of us alone under the stars as I walked you home. Your heels hitting the ground, and you were so upset that there was mud in the way. You told me I would have to make it up for you, and so I did. You were so full of life. So hopeful. And I was too, as hopeful as I had ever been. Nervous too, I must confess. I tried so hard to appear confident while my heart jumped in my chest. Sometimes it seemed so loud I thought you could hear it, and then, you looked at me and I was sure you did. I felt young that night, as I did every time I was with you, as I do every time I write or every time I look at your photograph. That's how I feel now, writing this letter, as I imagine me whispering these very words into your ears as we lay in bed.
We've had so little time together. And tomorrow it will be four months since we became husband and wife and two months without you. The only thing that warms my heart at this moment is your photograph and the knowledge that you are waiting for me. For now, my only hope is that if I sleep, I dream of you.
I know you will ask me where I am and what I'll be doing, and although I hate talking about this miserable war, and most of the time I'm not allowed to, I will write you what I know and what I can; tomorrow I'm leaving for another base. We will be back in the air and our future is unknown. They talk about Germany again and even Africa. I will let you know where I'm ahead before I go, if I have the time and if I'm allowed.
Tell Mother I send my love. As for you, you are a constant in my heart and my mind. Don't worry too much. I will be back before you know it. Also, don't venture outside more than necessary. Stay home, read your books. It's an order, Mrs Bates! And I'm only half joshing.
With all my love,
John Bates.