Chapter 1-Autumn

It is Autumn. The year is 1918. The leaves are turning brilliant shades or yellow, red and orange-even in war-depressed London.

I stare blankly out the window contemplating the sheaf of cursive-covered paper in my trembling hand.

My uncle, Archibald Craven has written me to notify me of the imminent return of Yorkshire's own Border Regiment. What is left of them anyway after the battle of Belleau Wood. Neither of us knows who lived and who died from that battle, we were simply told the regiment was returning home.

Of course I will go back to Misselthwaite and anxiously await more news with him, but I hesitate to ring the bell for the maid to help me with my things.

I am afraid of what I will find-or who I might not. This was both Dickon and Colin's Regiment. We have not heard from either since May, the battle was in June and now it is September.

At the beginning of the war, Dickon much to everyone's distress was one of the first to volunteer and ship out with the Border Regiment as they joined the IX Corps in France. While we received regular letters from him, he always managed to find something cheerful to write even if it was just the bright sunshine awakening him in the mornings. This of course was in stark contrast to what we read about in the papers.

Dickon never liked to burden anyone anyway. Two years passed like this, and one day Martha came dashing into my room all excited with an article from the paper.

We never heard the news from Dickon, but the article told us everything we missed. He distinguished himself In the Battle of Albert in Somme by dragging his wounded commanding officer to safety.

After the battle in gratitude the young Sowerby boy had been promoted to Sergeant on the spot. Martha was so proud of her brother that she personally wrote a letter to the journalist thanking him for writing the article.

It was at this point that Colin decided he was going to sign up for the army as well, his father tried to dissuade him, partially because he wanted to have Colin finish his doctoral studies, but mostly because Colin was never a strong boy.

Colin would not be dissuaded though, and marched himself down to the local war office. With his partial degree and his father's connections it was decided Colin would depart to join Dickon's regiment in France, and Mr. Craven made it quite clear that Dickon was to be assigned as the 'Enlisted Advisor' to the young Second Lieutenant Craven.

It was understandable, Dickon was strong and could watch over and guide the overly zealous Colin, and it do them both good to have someone to depend on.

That was In the summer of 1916. Despite the blissful sun which made our garden grow and thrive, I felt very alone.

One day I gave up and finally allowed Mrs. Medlock to choose a finishing school for me and ship me down to London. I could not bear the garden with my boys. So I left the key in old Ben's trustworthy hands and rattled away in a coach without a single look back at the place that had given me so much joy over the years.

I faithfully sent and received letters from both of them almost weekly. The last one came from Colin on May 26th. Ironically, it is with this last one that I accidentally sliced my hand with the sharp letter opener trying to force it through the stiff Army paper. My blood dripped quickly onto the pages staining them with the crimson liquid just as I learned one of my boys had been.

He told me about how he and one of the other young officers had decided they wanted duck for dinner and went hunting. Dickon and the other aide noticed their platoon leaders missing and went to track them down.

While Colin does not spell out his and his friend's blatant stupidity, it is obvious from what is left unsaid in the letter. It turns out they wandered into a mine field put down by the Germans only a few weeks before, and the other officer stepped on one. Realizing his mistake the man froze in place.

Somehow Dickon and the aide managed to contrive a way to get him off it unharmed, but in the process Dickon took some shrapnel to his left arm and the aide lost his hand and the officer also received shrapnel wounds.

Colin was clearly shaken by the incident, but assured us Dickon was recovering nicely at the time of his writing.

I was expecting dickon to mention this at least in his next letter, but it never came because Belleau Wood happened and I'd hate to imagine him entering that fateful battle already wounded. I moped for days after that letter and my studies took a nose-dive.

Then we let out for the summer, and we received news from the front of the horrific battle. While not many British soldier were involved in Belleau Wood, it was mostly American marines, heavy casualties were to be had on both sides. After years of this torturous war, the British Army has precious little blood left to spill.

We returned to school last week, and I just got this letter not thirty minutes past.

So much for Medlock's finishing school, I never cared much for it anyways.