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Keep The Home Fires Burning
Chapter Three

1st January, 1917:

Mary,

As I'm writing this it is 1916 no more, happy new year, darling, this is going to be a great year for us – I can feel it!

Things have been quiet since Christmas, sometimes it gives us hope that this lousy war might actually be over soon. I hope that's true.

I made friends with a young man named Wilfred – turns out he's quite a poet! He rarely lets people read his work, but the lad has got real talent. Rather embarrassingly, he's convinced me to have a go at writing my own…as you know, I've always been more of an artist than a poet, but I figured it couldn't do any harm – so I wrote a poem for you. You'll find it on the extra piece of paper I've sent with this letter. If it's as terrible as I think it is, blame him – not me. So, just in case you want you want to write him a letter of displeasure, his name is Wilfred…

Bert looked up from his letter for just a moment.

"'ey, Wilfred, what's yer last name again? I wanna make sure you get the blame if this poem of mine doesn't go down well"

Wilfred laughed before replying, "Owen"

…his name is Wilfred Owen.

I hope things are still going well with the Banks family, how are they holding up? I know it can't be easy for you, but I know that you can help carry them through these difficult times. But remember that sometimes we all need to be selfish – even you.

Take care of yourself, Mary – and keep the home fires burning.

I love you.

Always,
Bert.

Mary always found herself on the edge of tears when Bert told her that he loved her, the words were so powerful and real when written down, but she would've given anything to have heard him say it. To have him lean into her and whisper those three magic words into her ear. She missed him terribly. He hadn't even been gone a year, but it had felt like an eternity for them both.

Mary took out the spare piece of paper and began to read Bert's poem that he was so dreadfully embarrassed about…

A passing touch that never quite meets,
Two gentle hands longing
to meet.
A loving gaze the will never be seen,
Adoring eyes that wonder
what could have been.

A young man waits for his dreams to come true,
When one day his love will see him and
remind him why his love grew.
Such hope that she might one day take his hand,
To give him a smile and make him feel
oh, so grand.

Whilst separated they do not wither,
For nothing could destroy his love for her
even when they're not together.
There are so many things he wishes to say, but he sticks to the few,
For the one thing he wants her to know is:
"I love you"

Mary brushed away the tears that stained her cheeks and tried to ignore the torturous ache in her heart.

11th January, 1917:

My darling Bert,

Words cannot describe the beauty of what you wrote, nor can they express how truly touched I am. Tell your friend Wilfred that he will not be receiving any letters of displeasure from me!

I'm missing you more and more, but keep fighting, dear – you need to keep smiling too.

I'm glad to hear that things have been peaceful over there, I hope it stays that way.

The Banks family are doing well, or at least they are considering the circumstances. They have been receiving regular letters from Mr Banks, so at least they know he is still okay. Jane and Michael are being incredibly grown up about it all, I know it's very hard for them, but I really do appreciate it and they do try and help me whenever they can. Mrs Banks is still struggling, though, she's helping with the war effort as much as she can, but she is trying to balance that along with her home duties – it really does put a strain on her. I can see that she wants to dedicate her heart to both causes, but I think she feels guilty about it. I try to help her out at home as much as I can, but I can see that the poor dear is struggling terribly. I think it all boils down to her missing her husband. I can empathise with that.

You've told me many times that I should be more selfish, but right now, there are people who need my help and I intend to help them.

Stay safe, Bert. I love you.

Mary.

Mary never wrote 'I love you' as much as Bert did, perhaps she preferred to savour the words? Or perhaps she just wasn't as expressive? Still, every time she wrote them, she meant it – with every fibre of her being. Bert smiled to himself when he read those infamous words and traced his finger lightly across them, as if it could somehow make him feel closer to the woman her loved.

25th January, 1917:

Bert felt his heart almost stop when someone shouted the news into his dugout. He felt a sharp ringing in his ears and his palms grew sweaty. But he didn't stop to ask questions, for there was only one question on his mind that day and he knew that no one in that trench could give him the answer. Instead he picked up a pencil and began to scribble desperately…

My dearest Mary,

I write this letter with the upmost hope that I shall receive a reply. Word has spread that there was another Zeppelin raid over London last night. None of us have been informed of the damage or which areas of the city have suffered most, but all that matters to me is that you're okay.

If you receive this letter please respond to me as soon as you can. Please, Mary!

Whatever happens, know that I will always love you.

Yours forever,
Bert.

2nd February, 1917:

My darling,

You needn't worry about me; whilst there was another attack on London it was quite far from where we live. I was not harmed, nor was anyone we care for, we are all safe, Bert.

But London is beginning to suffer, she is a broken city now. She was hit hard by the German bombs – I fear that we cannot go on much longer. You're doing your country proud, Bert. But I do wish you were back home.

Chin up, my dear.

I love you too.

Yours,
Mary.

Bert felt a few tears fall from his eyes when he opened the letter and in that moment, nothing – not even the war – seemed to matter, his Mary alive and well. That's all he needed.

14th February, 1917:

To my love,

Happy Valentine's day, Mary.

There are no words strong enough to describe how much I miss you. During the cold nights, I wish for nothing more than to have you in my arms, just so that I can be near you and so I can keep you warm. I wish that I was back in London with you. I would love nothing more than to hold you close to me and to feel your soft lips on mine. I wish I could say I love you in person, to be able to look into your eyes and embrace you as I say it.

I wish I was poetic enough to tell you how much I care for you, all I can really say is that I love you with my whole heart and I'm going to make sure that I return home so I can say it to you – and seal my words with a kiss. I wish I could've told you all of this before the war started.

I miss you terribly, Mary, but I just know that'll I'll be home soon.

All my love,
Bert.

Bert was sombre for a few moments as he finished his letter, but he was forcefully dragged from his thoughts by a bellowing shout from beside him.

"Steady on, Bert! That's a bit racy, innit?" the man shouted. It was one of the younger soldiers that Bert shared a trench with.

"'ey! Fred! Were you lookin' at me letter?!" Bert accused sorely.

"Sorry, Bert, but I couldn't resist…sounds like this Mary lass really has you smitten!" he chuckled.

"Oh, is 'e writin' to that Mary Poppins of 'is again?" another voice questioned.

"That one who's too perfect to be true" commented another.

Bert held the letter protectively against his chest, but managed to force a smile.

"She really is perfect" he assured them.

"Ah, every bloke says 'is girl is perfect" one of the soldiers laughed.

"Per'aps" Bert said flippantly.

'But none of them know Mary Poppins' he thought to himself.

The younger soldiers who had spied on Bert's letter sat next to him with a cheeky smile. He leaned leisurely against the trench wall.

"So, Bert, how long has this Mary Poppins been your girl?"

"Well…I don't know if she's 'my girl' – so to speak"

The boy raised his eyebrows.

"I don't believe you, especially after reading what you wrote in that letter!"

"Give us a read, Bert!" one of the other men teased.

"No way!" he exclaimed as he began to blush slightly.

A low rumble of laughter erupted throughout the trench and Bert rubbed the back of his neck.

"Listen, mate -" another soldier began. "—'ave you told this Mary girl that you love 'er?"

"Of course"

"An' 'as this Mary girl said that she loves you?"

"Yeah, she 'as"

The soldier gave a slight shrug and grinned at Bert.

"I really don't think there's anythin' more for me t' say"

"I dunno if we're really 'an item', though…"

"Hey, Bert, have ya ever kissed her?" the young soldier asked – a playful expression painted across his face.

Bert was quiet for a few seconds.

"Yes" he answered reluctantly.

"And have you ever…you know?" the boy gave Bert a wink and began to imply about the prospect of him being intimate with Mary.

"Absolutely not!" Bert almost snapped, "I wouldn't do a thing like that to 'er, not when she's an unmarried woman"

"Ah! So you'll get busy once she's wearing a ring?" the boy teased.

Bert's expression began to cloud over with defence.

"That's not what I meant" he said sternly.

"I know…but you can't deny it, can you?"

"Leave him alone, lad!" an older soldier called out, "Bert's obviously missin' a loved one – just like the rest of us – so don't go winding him up, that's just out of line"

The boy hung his head.

"I apologise, Bert"

But Bert was a gentleman as always and managed to flash the boy a smile.

"Don't worry about it"

19th February, 1917:

My darling, Bert

You simply have no idea how lonely London feels without you. The loss that I feel seems to spread throughout the entire city…London has become a dismal place, but I know that she is still fighting…she is still clinging onto those last few strands of hope. As am I.

I want this war to be over, Bert, I want to be in your arms, I want you to kiss me and I want to hear your voice. I want to be with you and know that the war is finally over. Oh, Bert, I do wish you were here with me.

I love you, my dear.

Mary.

4th March, 1917:

My dearest Mary,

You will never know how delighted I am when I receive your letters, they are the only part of you I have here. Life out here is getting harder and harder, perhaps it's because I'm finding this life away from you impossibly painful. I do wish we were together…but I suppose there's not much point in wishing, at least not right now.

But don't worry, I haven't given up hope, nor have I lost my fighting spirit – there is still something that keeps me going, and as long as that feeling is inside of me, then I'm going to take a hold of it and never let go. Thank you for the strength that you give me.

As always, I hope you are well, Mary. You haven't spoken much about yourself lately, I do hope that you are not suffering over there. Believe it or not, Mary, I almost crave hearing about how you're getting on over in London – nothing makes me happier than knowing that you're coping and doing well. And when you tell me about your day – and your time with the Banks family – well, it's like an escape. I can lose myself in the calm London life that I crave.

There's nothing more for me to say, Mary – other that I'm still breathing and, as always, I miss you.

All my love,
Bert.

10th March, 1917:

Bert,

I am glad that there is still something that can bring you happiness whilst you are in the trenches and you must know that each letter I receive from you fills my heart with joy. They let me know that you are still alive and well – I don't think there's anything that means more to me than that.

Please don't give up, Bert. I couldn't even begin to imagine how hard it must be for you…the things you must have seen…

Please don't give up, Darling – know that I'll always believe in you.

I'm sorry if my letters have been lacking in any way, I didn't feel as if there was anything noteworthy to write about, but if you want to hear about my life here in London, then I shall honour you wishes without a second thought.

Firstly, I am doing fine. Life is still hard, but aside from missing you – I do not suffer nor struggle in abundance. I am taking each day as it comes – with a new hope that the war will end soon. I'm still with the Banks family and I expect that I will stay with them until the war is over. The twins seem to be growing up fast, I do so enjoy my time with them – they possess a seemingly refreshing innocence. However, in truth, I think I enjoy their presence for some other reason…I wonder if the war has given me a new perspective on what I want in life…

Jane and Michael are still coping incredibly well without their father, they support their mother endlessly and she too, is beginning to strengthen. She often confides in me, it's a side of her I've never seen before, but it is a comfort - both for her and myself. I think she talks to me about her problems because she knows that I am also missing someone special. I also make sure to talk with Jane and Michael every evening – just to make sure that they're okay…they're still so young.

Stay safe, Bert.

With love,
Mary.

13th March, 1917:

Mary awoke a few days later and could hear an unusual amount of noise coming from downstairs; she was usually the first one awake within the Banks household, but today, that was not the case. She dressed quickly and when she made her way into the dining room she was greeted by Jane, Michael and Mrs Banks – who was holding one of the twins – huddled around a newspaper. They had been speaking with stress and worry, but their words stopped when they saw Mary standing beside them.

"Is something the matter?" Mary asked politely – almost afraid to know the answer.

Mary looked over at Winifred – who had tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Oh, Mary Poppins" she whimpered as she handed Mary the newspaper.

Mary read the headline over and over again – not quite believing the words that she saw.

GAS ATTACK BACKFIRES ON BRITISH FORCES.

She tried to ignore the sense of foreboding that was washing over her as she continued to read.

British forces experienced a tragedy as a gas attack against German forces backfired. When the gas was released the wind was coming strongly from the South – company leaders were confident that it would stay as such – but moments after the gas was released, the wind direction changed suddenly, causing the gas to move back to the British trench. The number of casualties is unknown, as is the exact location of this tragedy; but it can be confirmed that it occurred on French soil.

With her heart racing, Mary looked back over at Mrs Banks and they shared a torturous understanding – both Bert and Mr Banks were fighting in France. Without saying a single word, Mary marched back up to her room – hiding her tears as she did so.

My dearest Bert,

I have recently heard about a mishap that occurred on French soil involving a gas attack from the British forces. I know I sent my last letter only a few days ago, but I do hope you will be able to write back soon. Bert I'm terrified. Whilst I know that there is every possibility that you are alive and well, I can't ignore the fact that there's that one chance that you may have been harmed, or worse…

I'm trying so desperately not to think about it, and perhaps it is bad for me to be writing this letter mere minutes after receiving this news, but, Bert, I simply cannot bear the thought of something happening to you – it is far too painful.

My dear, I hope with all my heart that you are okay. If so, please write back soon.

I love you.

Always,
Mary.

16th March, 1917:

My darling Bert,

In all honesty, I'm not quite sure why I'm writing this letter; I still have not heard from you since the gas attack tragedy, so one might say that is a pointless act. But, I think writing these letters gives me a burst of hope – as if it makes it easier to believe that you are unharmed, even if it's only for a moment. Some may say that writing these extra letters does nothing but cause me pain, perhaps that's true, but I cannot bring myself to sit idly and worry. I know you hate it when I panic, but I simply cannot help it, Bert. If I receive a letter from you then that will put me at ease for a while; but I don't think I'll be truly settled until you're back home.

Mrs Banks hasn't received a letter from Mr Banks for a few days, so naturally she is worried sick too. I do so hope he was not involved in the mishap – I hope that about you both. You both deserve to be safe, in fact, you both deserve to be home and away from the trenches.

I know that Mrs Banks is trying hard to put on a brave face for her children, but it's ever so hard for her. She still helps with the war effort whenever she can, but I think she's beginning to crumble. Sometimes I see it when she looks at John and Barbara – there's a certain look in her eye that seems to convey guilt. If anything, Mrs Banks wants to help too many people; she wants to support her fighting husband, her frightened children and her suffering country. She doesn't receive enough credit for what she does. And neither do you.

Bert, my dear, I do hope that I will hear back from you soon.

Love,
Mary.

19th March, 1917:

My darling Bert,

Mrs Banks received a letter from her husband this morning, he is alive and well and was not involved in the gas attack tragedy. I am truly happy for Mr Banks and his family and I am greatly relieved that they have avoided the extra hardships.

I have still not heard anything from you, my dear, and my worry increases with each passing day. I try my best not to show it, but there's only so much trauma I can hide; I feel that the Banks family have noticed this, but they say nothing to me – out of kindness. I don't mind that, in fact, I'm not sure I'd want them to say anything; I know that they'd mean well, but even the kindest of words would not assure me that you're safe and I'm sure that they know that knowing such a fact would be the only thing to cure me of this distress.

I'm still supporting you, Bert, and I do hope to hear from you soon – I'm not sure I can carry on much longer. I just need to know if you're okay – even if the answer causes me pain.

I love you.

Mary.

23rd March, 1917:

To my love,

Bert, my darling, I fear that my worst fears may soon become a reality. I still have not heard from you. The only spec of hope left comes from the fact that I have not been informed of any harm that has fallen upon you.

Bert, I cannot take this anymore, I just need to know if you're okay. I cannot sleep at night, instead I lie awake with a fearful heart and tear-filled eyes. All I can think about is the possibility of you no longer being here – it's a torturous thought that I cannot bear, yet it's all I can think about. It's made me truly realise that cannot live without you.

I always knew that you were special to me, you were the only person I ever let get close to me. I told my secrets to no one else…I never shared my feelings, adventures or heart with anyone except you. I need you, Bert, I need you in so many ways.

Please be safe, Bert, please write to me and please come home.

I love you. I love you so much.

Yours forever,
Mary.

26th March, 1917:

Mary had still not heard from Bert and it had taken its toll on her. She continued to work just as hard with the Banks family, but they could see how much she was suffering; her skin was pale and her eyes red. But beyond that, her gaze seemed stoic – almost vacant; as if a part of her was missing…well, that was true. She was without Bert and was constantly haunted by the fact that she may never see him again. Her speaking voice still had its iconic melodic tone, but Jane and Michael suspected that it was forced for their sake. In their eyes, she was truly amazing. Each day she had to face the ever growing possibility that Bert had been injured or killed in a gas mishap, yet she still tried her absolute best to make sure that they were happy. They had no idea how she could be so wholly selfless.

But that morning, whilst stood by the front door, Mary held a letter in her hand. Jane and Michael watched from the top of the stairs – not making a single sound. They both hoped with all of their might that the letter would in fact inform Mary that Bert was safe; that it would be a letter in his charming hand writing that would bring the life back to her. But Mary didn't open it for a while, she took the time to just stare at it – her gaze sceptical.

'It's not from him' she thought to herself hopelessly.

But regardless she opened the letter and after a moment's hesitation, began to read…

Dear Miss Poppins,

We regret to inform you that Mr Bert Alfred received a gunshot wound to the chest on March 14th (1917). However, we can inform you that Mr Alfred did not die from his wounds. He was safely recovered and taken to a nearby hospital in France. Attached to this letter is an address that you may send letters to.

It is not known how long Mr Alfred will remain in hospital care as his wound was quite severe and it is highly likely that he will also experience shell shock once he is back on his feet. As of now, Mr Alfred is still in a critical state and we – unfortunately – cannot guarantee that he will recover from his injuries. We will let you know if his condition worsens.

- TM

Mary felt the world around her spin, like her mind could no longer focus. Her heart began to beat violently, her breathing quickened, her limbs went weak and she soon collapsed onto her knees with hot tears falling onto her cheeks.

"Mary Poppins!" Michael gasped as he and Jane charged down the stairs.

"Mother!" Jane called, "Mother! Quickly!"

Jane was soon by Mary's side and could do nothing but let her heart break as she watched her broken nanny cry. Mary cried into her hands desperately and didn't even noticed the soothing hands of Jane and Michael on her shoulders. The letter lay alone on the cold floors. Mrs Banks soon came striding out of the drawing room.

"What's happened?" Winifred exclaimed in a tone that was laced with horror.

"We don't know -" Jane began – her voice starting to crack form panic, "—but she just received a letter…"

"Oh no…" Mrs Banks breathed, "…Bert"

"He's been shot" Mary whimpered.

The world seemed to fall into silence.

"No! No, he couldn't have been! Not Bert!" Michael protested.

"Jane, Michael, go upstairs"

"But, mother -"

"Now" Winifred said sternly.

The children eventually obeyed. Mrs Banks knelt beside Mary and pulled her into an embrace.

"Shhh, dear, shhh, it's going to be alright"

"He's been shot, Mrs Banks…he's been shot and they're not sure if he'll recover"

Winfred began to cry too, she had become very close with Mary since she had returned to them and ever since they first met she had always known Mary as the strongest, kindest and most cheerful woman she'd ever met – as if sunshine followed her wherever she went. Yet here was that same woman, completely broken and crying within her arms. It was the true epitome of tragedy and the pain that the war had caused.

"It's okay, Mary…" she soothed, "…at least you know he's alive, and you know that Bert is a fighter, he'll pull through this"

"I can't lose him…" she choked, "…I just can't bear to be without him…"

Winfred held Mary tighter.

"Shhh, it's okay….you're not going to lose him"

But Mary knew that was a piecrust promise.

*!*

Please don't hurt me!

Okay, I am very sorry if that killed you - truly!

But, I can promise you that the next chapter will be up very soon so all of your questions will be answered!

Anyway, I really hope you enjoyed that!

I'd love to hear your thoughts! :) xx