Here's the latest chapter - I'm sorry if I've kept you waiting too long, but I hope it's worth it!

Please let me know what you think! x

Keep The Home Fires Burning
Chapter Four

28th March, 1917:

When Bert stirred awake, he was greeted by the most intense pain shooting across his chest, it was like a deep ache that constricted his body like the suffocation of a serpent. He tried to look around the room, but his vision began to blur as he moved his head and a seemingly cracking pain seemed to craze across his cranium. His head fell back against the pillows and his expression turned into a twisted grimace. He began to breath heavily from panic, but it soon caused him to grunt as a new intense wave of pain shot through him. It was felt as if someone had taken a blade and driven it deep into his chest. Bert gritted his teeth and felt his eyes begin to water – in response, he clamped them shut and took sharp, shallow breaths until the pain faded.

Bert slowly brushed the sweat from his brow – his skin now pale and almost lifeless. He eventually angled his head so that he could examine the part of his chest that throbbed so torturously and what he saw made the world around him spiral and spin. He wore no shirt and saw that part of his chest was wrapped in a layer of bloodied bandages – the source of the red pool came from his right pectoral. Stupidly, he reached up to poke the wound and cried out again as his fingers pressed against the bandages. He hissed violently to try and stifle his grunts, but the pain was so excruciating. Once again, his head fell back against the pillows and he began to feel numb – like he could faint at any moment. He turned his head when he heard the sound of soft footsteps moving towards him.

"Oh, Mr Alfred, you're awake!" a sweet voice said.

When his vision finally cleared he saw a young nurse with wisps of dark hair spilling out from her nurse's hat.

"Awake?"

"Yes, you haven't been very responsive lately…of course, you've been conscious, but not to a significant level"

"What…what 'appened to me?" Bert groaned as he looked as his bandages.

"You were shot, Mr Alfred" she said sombrely.

"I…what?"

"You were shot in the chest a couple of weeks ago, luckily you were brought here for treatment…for a while we weren't sure if you were going to make it through or not, but you seem to be steadily improving which is promising"

"So…I'm gonna be okay?"

"For now, Mr Alfred, we want you to focus on making sure you're well rested" she said vaguely, "Mr Alfred, I need to apply a fresh layer of bandages, do you think you could sit up for me?"

"I'll try" he groaned.

Bert shuffled for a moment, but as soon as he put any weight on his arms that very same stabbing sensation shot through him and with a strangled cry Bert fell flat onto his back.

"I'm sorry…" Bert hissed, "…I can't"

"That's alright…do you think you could try and lie on your side?"

Bert attempted that too and after some struggling he managed to lie on his left side – it was painful, but bearable and the nurse made sure to do her job quickly. She applied fresh bandages over his old ones and Bert craned his neck to look at her quizzically.

"I – uh – don't mean t' interfere, but wouldn't it be a better idea t' put on some fresh ones?"

The nurse gave him a motherly smile.

"If I were to remove the bandages that are already there I would damaging any scabbing that has formed over the wound which would mean it won't heal as well, so for the most part, you will simply receive a thin layer of fresh bandages"

"Oh, I see"

"You can lie back down now, Mr Alfred" she said sweetly. He did so.

"Thank you" Bert said quietly.

"Oh, I just remembered – something came for you today, Mr Alfred, I'll be back in a moment" and with that, she walked away.

Bert sighed as he became overwhelmed by what he had just learnt, he had been shot. He looked down at his now clean bandages and he felt his pulse quicken as he realised just how close the wound was to his heart…he had been so close to death. He felt his head spin. It was a heightened realisation, almost as if he had been given a whole new perspective; he could suddenly see things in much more detail…the very thing he never would've seen if he hadn't been so lucky.

But his world really began to spin when his mind remembered Mary. She nearly lost him, he couldn't help but think how broken she would've been if she had received the dreaded "Killed in action" telegram; he couldn't bear the thought of doing that to her, not to his Mary. He wanted to always be by her side. He could feel his heartache grow, he nearly caused Mary such torture, but he became determined to never let it happen again; he had been given a new burst of internal strength. He sworn that day that would return home to her, no matter what.

'They must 'ave told 'er that I'd been shot…I can't imagine 'ow painful that must've been…" he thought, 'I need to write to 'er, let 'er know I'm safe…I can't stand the idea of 'er panicking!'

Just as those thoughts occurred to him, the nurse returned to his bedside – holding an envelope in her hand.

"A letter arrived for you this morning, Mr Alfred" she said with a smile as she handed it to him.

Bert studied the handwriting and knew from the perfect artistic curve of each letter who it was from.

"It's from 'er!" he beamed.

"Pardon me for prying, Mr Alfred, but who is 'her'?"

"Mary…" he said with a loving smile.

"Is Mary your wife?"

"No, she's not my wife…"

"Do you want her to be?"

Bert smiled as he pondered her question,

"Per'aps one day…If she'll 'ave me"

The nurse smiled warmly.

"I'll give you some privacy"

Bert opened the letter as soon as she left and took a moment to admire its form – this was the only piece of Mary he had with him.

My darling Bert,

For the past few weeks I have been utterly petrified. When I stopped receiving your letters I was certain that something tragic had happened…I feared that I would never see you again. I write this after just finding out that you have in fact been shot in the chest, with no guarantee that you will recover. Bert, I'm so glad that you're alive, but I'm so, so scared. I can't lose you, Bert, I just can't. You have been my closest friend for so long, the only one I let get close to me and you're the man I love…I couldn't dream of a life without you. I don't think I'll ever be able to let you know just how much I treasure you, darling.

If you're reading this, then I hope that means that you are recovering; please stay strong, my dear, please keep fighting – I know that you can get through this. Please know that there is never a moment when I'm not thinking of you, I may be physically in London, but my spirit is always with you.

The address I was given informs me that you're currently in a hospital in Calais, Bert, I so desperately want to visit you, but I simply cannot travel to Calais, it is either not possible or too dangerous…this makes me feel awfully useless, but I do hope you understand my decision. However, if you are ever transferred to a hospital in England I will be there in an instant.

I hope you are comfortable in the hospital – I do so wish I could be there with you in this difficult time. Make sure you get plenty of rest so that you can make a full recovery. I don't want anything else happening to you.

I hope you'll be able to write back soon.

Get well soon.

All my love,
Mary.

2nd April, 1917:

Mary practically cried with delight when she received Bert's latest letter and for a while she simply held the document against her chest, revelling in the fact that he was still alive.

Mary, my love,

I simply cannot imagine how difficult this past month must have been for you and it breaks my heart to know that you have been plagued with such terror, but I'm alive, Mary and I promise you that I'm going to pull through this, I'm going to make a full recovery and one day I will be back in London with you – I swear it!

Please don't worry about me, Mary, I am NEVER going to leave you. Remember the day I left, I made you a Bert Alfred promise, that promise stated that I would come home safe and sound and remember what I told you about a Bert Alfred promise? – They've never been broken and I do not intend to break this one either.

It all comes down to one thing, Mary: I love you. I love you with all my heart and I'll never stop – and one day I'll be able to say it to you in person, just you wait. My life is meaningless without you, Mary Poppins – you're all I have left in this world.

Mary, the LAST thing you are is useless, I desperately want to see you too, but NOT if it will risk your safety. I know that you cannot get any regular transport over here and I will not allow you to fly here under any circumstances, I will not let you risk your life for me. But I know that I will see you soon and that is enough to keep me going.

Finally, the hospital is fine, so please do not worry about me; I will honour your wishes and I'll make sure that I get plenty of rest…in all honesty, there's a bullet wound in my chest so I can't really do anything apart from lie here!

Please send my love to the Banks family. Make sure you look after them, Mary, but most importantly, make sure you look after yourself.

I love you, my dear.

Always,
Bert.

P.S: Keep the home fires burning.

6th April, 1917:

Bert,

I hope this letter finds you well and I hope that you are still firmly on the road to recovery.

As I'm sure you know, today we received the news that America would finally be joining our side in this war, I hope that this may speed things up…perhaps the extra allies will finally bring all this fighting to an end.

The Banks family are all still doing well and appreciate that you ask after them regularly. Things have become much more of a routine as of late, I know it's not a routine that anyone should have to adjust to, but has certainly made life easier for them. Jane has been begging her mum to let her join in with her mother's campaigning, but she's still not allowed, Mrs Banks that she's too young – and I'm quite inclined to agree. Incidentally, Jane will turn sixteen next week, so I thought I should tell you just in case you want to write to her – I know she'd truly appreciate it.

Not much else to tell you, I'm afraid.

Get well soon, darling.

Love,
Mary.

0oooooooooooooo0

30th June, 1917:

Mary awoke with a sudden jolt in the middle of the night – a strong sense of terror coursing through her veins. Her chest rose and fell with the force of her heavy breaths and she could feel her heart pounding within her - as if it were desperate for escape. She brushed the beads of sweat from her brow and simply sat in her bed until she felt her heart rate begin to steady. Her dream had been so real. The fear made her stomach feel completely hollow and her head light – these feelings made her almost paralysed and the visions she had dreamt were painfully fresh in her mind. She gulped and gripped into the covers so that she could steady herself and to make sure that she was back in Number Seventeen and far away from where she had just been.

She rubbed her eyes with exhaustion; this had happened every day for a week now and she didn't know if she'd be able to stand it for much longer. Every time Mary closed her eyes at night, her sleep was intruded by torturous visions of Bert lying injured in No Man's Land. It was the same each time. He would run through the deathly field of monochrome, his head down as he braced against the heavy gunfire and endless onslaught of shells; mud would fly everywhere with each fresh explosion – the sounds deafening. Then each night, Mary would watch as a German bullet would rip straight through his stomach – sending him to the ground in agony. Mary would always cry out in her dream, but she never made any sound, in these dreams she was nothing more than a spiritual presence – never being physically there – and each night, she would watch as Bert slowly died. She would wake up after that, trembling feverishly with tears soon staining her cheeks. It seemed to feel more real each time.

Mary took a deep breath, and with her legs still weak, she slipped from her bed, put on her dressing gown and crept downstairs and out the front door just as the clock chimed for midnight. The night air was cool and refreshing, like a sudden reminder of reality; and although her reality wasn't much of a comfort, it still reminded her that Bert was still in the hospital and away from the frontline…but most importantly, it reminded her that he was alive. The breeze caused her long brunette locks to dance and Mary closed her eyes as the wind washed over her small frame – it had always been a soothing sensation for her. She always liked how fresh and free the wind felt – nature's personification of freedom, although, in the past it had been quite the opposite for her.

"Mary?" a tender voice arose from behind her.

Mary whipped around and saw Jane stood in her nightgown – her expression confused.

"Jane Banks, what on earth are you doing out here at this hour?"

"I could ask you the same question"

Mary shot her a stern look, but her eyes were still soft as they were lit by the moonlight.

"I couldn't sleep…" Jane said shyly, "…and I heard footsteps, so I sort of…followed you"

Mary looked at the child softly – they were now stood side-by-side.

"I couldn't sleep either" Mary admitted.

"Really?"

"You don't need to sound so astonished, Jane…I'm human too, you know?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude, it's just that, well, you've always seemed so faultless and-"

"—Jane, I was only teasing" Mary said lightly.

"Oh…"

"I suppose you're not so used to that either?"

"I'm afraid not"

Mary sighed slightly.

"Well, Jane, you're a young woman now, so I can't really treat you like a child…not unless I need to, of course" there was the oh so familiar flash of mischief in Mary's eyes and Jane smiled as she recognised the nanny she had known before the war.

"Why couldn't you sleep, Mary Poppins?"

Mary felt herself tense for just a moment.

"I don't think there was any reason for it…sometimes – like everyone else – I just find it hard to sleep"

"Were you worrying about Bert?" she asked almost shyly.

"Hmmm?"

"Well, that's usually why I can't sleep, because I'm so worried about my father…he told me that I needn't worry about him, but I just do and every night I seem to worry more and more"

Mary felt an ache in her heart that was painfully familiar to her. No child should ever have to experience war, they should never have to lie awake at night and wonder if their own father will still be alive in the morning.

"Sometimes people just can't help but worry…" she said as she gazed up at the stars, "…but there's nothing wrong with that, it just means that we love them"

Jane was quiet for a moment as she took in what Mary had said and the heavy truth behind it.

"Do you love Bert, Mary Poppins?" she asked quietly.

Mary let out a small sigh.

"I know how much you love your father, Jane and I know how proud you are of him, so don't feel guilty about worrying, he only asks you not to so that he knows you're still happy…but worrying about someone you love is normality and, in truth, I think he'd be rather touched by it…you know as well as I do, Jane that it's a horrid system, the ones we love go out and fight for our freedom and happiness and while they're out there facing all sorts of dangers we're here living in almost perfect safety. Straight away we feel guilty for the danger we don't have to face, but then they ask us not to worry, that they want us to smile and enjoy ourselves, but how can we possibly do that when they're risking their lives?"

She paused briefly,

"There's two sides to every coin, the only trouble is that those two sides will never meet so they'll never truly understand the perspective of the other..."

"It's been three years since the war started…sometimes I think that the end is only just around the corner, but sometimes I lose all hope and think that it will never end, or that it'll end with Britain defeat…"

"You mustn't think like that, Jane…I know you can't help it – everyone has thoughts like that – but you must do your very best to try and ignore them, if not for your sake then for your father's"

"My father's?"

Mary nodded.

"Just like every other soldier out there, he can't afford to have such thoughts…he's fighting for you, Jane and your whole family; he needs to strongly believe that he can make a difference and give peace and freedom to you, your family and everyone else in this country – it would help if those back home shared those beliefs…just so his fighting is worthwhile"

"You're right" Jane said with a sombre tone.

"Don't look so defeated, dear –" Mary comforted, "—I know that you believe in your father and I know that deep down your heart is filled with optimism and a truly admirable fighting spirit – just don't let that spark die, Jane"

"Thank you" Jane smiled.

They stood there for a little longer, simply taking in how peaceful London was…it was a sight they rarely saw.

"You never answered my question, Mary Poppins"

"Oh? What was that?"

"I asked you if you loved Bert"

Jane knew better than to pry into Mary's business, but she felt that this was a necessary question to ask; she saw how terrified she was when heard that he had been shot and she knew that she lived for his letters…perhaps she just wanted Mary to admit it, or perhaps she just wanted the clarification so that Jane could still believe in the existence of love in such dark times. She had expected to receive one of Mary's famous 'I never explain anything' responses, but instead, she was given an answer more powerful than she ever could have imagined…

"With everything I have"

"You do?"

"Truly…I regret not admitting it before the war or at least before he was sent away…but…" Mary stopped as she felt a lump form in her throat. She took a deep breath, "…but I can take some comfort from him knowing that I truly, truly love him"

"He'll be back, Mary Poppins…when this war is over he'll come back to London"

"So he keeps telling me"

"Do you…do you think you'll marry him?"

Jane couldn't see it, but Mary's eyes flew open with surprise. She flashed Jane a small smirk.

"Jane, dear, you're starting to pry"

Mary could see a flash of excitement within Jane's eyes – she knew that the little girl from all those years ago was still very much a part on the fifteen-year-old that now stood in front of her.

"But do you think you'll ever marry him?"

"Oh, come on now -"

"What about children? Do you think you'll have a family together?"

"Jane!" Mary almost exclaimed as she felt herself begin to blush.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mary Poppins…it's just that I think you and Bert both deserve to be happy…I saw how well you two got along when Michael and I were just children – you seem perfect for each other…"

Mary felt her lips curl into a smile.

"…I've seen the way you behave with the twins too, even when they were mere months old I could see how happy you were; you really looked like a mother, Mary Poppins – a mother that was adoring every single second of it…and I've seen how scared you've been whilst Bert's been over in France…I just want you to have your own happy ending, Mary"

Mary gave Jane a motherly smile.

"Jane, you really have grown into a wonderful young woman…but you really should be getting back to bed"

"Could you answer one last question?" she asked cheekily.

Mary raised her eyebrows but eventually chuckled.

"Okay, one last question – If you promise to go back to bed afterwards?"

"I promise"

"Okay, what's your question?"

"After the war, if Bert one day asked you to marry him, would you say 'yes' or 'no'?"

Mary chuckled, mostly from embarrassment, but also because of how confident Jane had become.

"Well?" Jane pressed.

Mary decided to be truthful with Jane' she supposed that she didn't have to be so secluded with her feelings all of the time. So, with a smile, she gave her answer…

"I would, without a doubt, say 'yes'"

0ooooooooooooooo0

30th July, 1917:

My dearest Mary,

I thought I should write to let you know that I'm doing a lot better! My chest still aches a fair bit, but I can actually sit up on my own! I'm allowed to walk around whenever I feel like it, but there's really nothing to see here so I tend to just sketch or read throughout the day. I have made friends, though, the fellas that I share a room with are pretty funny guys – especially considering the situation we're all in. They don't get any visitors either, none of their loved ones can get over from France so I think we're all grateful for each other's company.

If there's one thing that I can take away from this, it's that it has felt so good to be away from the trenches – even if there's a bullet hole in my chest. I know I've never spoken about the trenches, nor have I spoken sombrely about anything; but I simply cannot lie about them…they are the most awful place I've ever experienced. Each day you must wade through water, mud and disease…the nights are cold and the days not much better – except in the summer when it's unbearably hot. But even if you can get used to all of that and the endless barrage of shells, there's nothing quite like the lack of hope that's found in a trench. In truth, when my time in this hospital is done, I hope I'm sent back to England.

I'm sorry for sharing all of that, you know that I would never want to upset you or make you worry, but it's all that's been on my mind. I know that my time here will soon come to an end, I imagine that I'll only be here for another month before I'm discharged…I just hope that when the day does come, I'm sent far away from the fighting.

I miss you, Mary, and I love you.

Forever,
Bert.

7th August, 1917:

Dearest Bert,

You have no idea how happy I am to hear that you are recovering so well! For the longest time, I truly feared that you would not pull through, not because I lacked faith in you, but because I lost faith in the war-driven world; things seemed all too well for so long that I was sure we were about to hit a string of bad luck. Yet here you are, still writing to me and you still have a firm hold on your fighting spirit. You really are amazing.

Bert, you must have seen so many ghastly things whilst in the trenches, you don't deserve that, you don't deserve any of the horrors you've had to endure…know that if I could trade places with you, I would in a heartbeat. But know that I'm always sending strength to you.

You belong here in London, Bert, it's your home and I truly hope that whoever makes the decision can see that too – I hope I'll be lucky enough to have you return to me. Know that if you should get sent to England, I'll do whatever it takes to come and see you. I just want you to hold me.

Mrs Banks has kindly put together a sort of care package for both you and Mr Banks, that should hopefully arrive within the next couple of days. She insists that it's nothing too extravagant, but hopes that it'll help keep you both going. Jane and Michael have also assured me that they plan on sending you a couple of letters, so you'll have those to look forward to as well. They're so proud of you, Bert – but they worry too.

I hope good luck should find you soon.

All my love,
Mary.

13th August, 1917:

Dear Bert,

This letter is from both Jane and Michael.

We just wanted to say that we're so glad you're getting better – we were so scared when we found out what happened to you. We really hate the fact that both you and father have to fight in this war. You've always been like family to us, Bert – Mary Poppins too – we had so much fun with you when we were younger and it's a shame that we didn't see you more often after Mary left us. Promise that you'll visit us after the war is over? We miss you very much – you need to meet out baby siblings too! I'm sure Mary Poppins has told you all about them.

Speaking of Mary Poppins, she misses you ever so much. She probably doesn't tell you this, but she really does struggle sometimes and we hate to see her so defeated…some days she's as she usually is: bright, cheerful and often singing as she looks after us and the twins; but other days she's quiet and sad, we can see it in her eyes. On those days, she can barely crack a smile. It's because she's so worried about you, Bert and it's exhausting for her. We hate to see her so broken – she needs you, Bert…and I think she's starting to realise that more and more with each new day.

We wish you all the love and luck in the world – maybe we can all have another jolly holiday together when the war is finally over?

Love,
Jane and Michael.

0oooooooooooooooooo0

23rd August, 1917:

Bert's heart practically dropped when he heard the news and for a while he couldn't figure out if he was about to cry, scream or faint. Instead, he just stood in silence and could've sworn that he felt the colour and life drain form his face; he felt as if the room was being sucked into a vacuum – and he was the only thing that remained static. He could hear the violent thump of his heart. He made his ways back to his bed – each step feeling heavier than the last – as if his body was trying to prevent time from moving forward.

My darling Mary,

Good luck has not found me this time, but at least she was my companion for a short while. I have pretty much made a full recovery and am fit for duty again – therefore I will be discharged from the hospital at the end of the month.

Mary, please know that if anything happens to me than I will go on loving you – I only wish I could've been brave enough to tell you how I felt about you long ago; I've had feelings for you for so long and I feel like I've wasted so much precious time.

Mary, I'm being sent back into the trenches.

Yours forever,
Bert.

**!**

So, there you go! That was chapter four! I'm not sure how many more chapter I'll write, probably no more than two - three at the most.

Still, I'm really enjoying writing this, I have a bunch of ideas and it's all flowing easily - so, as always, the next chapter should be up within a few days!

Anyway, I REALLY hope you enjoyed this! - I'd love to hear your thoughts! xxx