Apologies for any historical inaccuracies!
It was officially the first day of spring.
Timothy had been sent off to school, eventually with his Maths homework in his hand. And Patrick soon after left for work, not before a kiss and a cheeky wink.
Time for a spring clean. Shelagh thought to herself.
She looked round the small kitchen with her arms nearly elbow deep in washing up. Patrick always enjoyed a full breakfast when he had a long day with loads of appointments and calls. Although Shelagh loved to see him enjoy it, she didn't particularly like the washing up afterwards.
Smiling to herself, she wiped her damp hands on the towel and hung it back up next to the sink.
I'll start with the cupboard in the corridor.
Coming to a decision, she took the duster and polish from the box in the living room and made her way to the cupboard.
She rarely ventured in this particular one. There wasn't a reason, but as far as she was aware, there wasn't much of interest in there.
Opening the creaky door, she immediately saw the big boiler tank, and an old mop and bucket. But her eyes lifted upwards to the shelf just above her eye line. On tip-toes, she saw a box that had been pushed to the back. Shelagh reached in, and lifted it down into her arms.
In their bedroom, she placed the full, closed cardboard box onto the bed and opened the flaps.
She gasped when she saw the contents inside. Medals. Gold buttons. A few blank and white photographs that had faded slightly but their pictures not clear at first glance. Gingerly reaching in further her hands hit a hard object; chunky but cylindrical in two points. She lifted it up and held in in her lap.
She gasped.
Most men would be happy with some enemy binoculars
Here, in her hands, lie a pair. She recognized the faded stripes running down the two sides. But why, why were they with all the other war memoirs.
Suddenly, the door downstairs opened and closed quickly. Shelagh heard fluffy of footsteps at the other end of the flat and then heard them gradually get closer and closer.
"Shelagh? Have you seen…" Patrick's voice faded as he set his eyes on the objects placed on the bed in front of his wife, who sat cross-legged.
His immediate thought was anger, How dare she look through his things? But then he remembered that she was his wife, she had the right to look at these things. The objects that he would carry with him as memories of the past, that he could now share with her.
In her hands he saw the binoculars. Then he saw her puzzled expression that wore so beautifully on her face. He knew what she was going to ask.
Why did he have them?
He remembered the night so clearly. Bombs and guns are been blowing all day. Not a moment of silence passed since early that morning. Whilst a group of them were having dinner, they heard a commotion outside in the trench. He went outside, and he was told that one of his closest friend's has been killed when they went over the top. Just before he took his last breath, the solider had asked for the object in his hand to be given to Patrick as a thank you for his friendship. The object, the pair of binoculars picked up from the battlefield, were placed in Patrick's trembling hands.
He related the story to Shelagh. She began to see the struggle he took to finished telling it and walked over to him placing her arms around his waist. He crumbled into her.
Those binoculars were placed on top of the fireplace, as a reminder to Patrick that although his path was difficult, his past made him the person he was today.
