The First Call
Disclaimer: I do not own Dunkirk, it belongs to Mr. Nolan, but this was a very touching movie/story, and was personal for me, it made me think of my grandmother and her family. So I felt and wanted to do this as a tribute for them and in honor of both Mother's Day and Victory Day. I only own the character, Clarice Milton and her family.
September 1, 1939
The call had gone out, drafting all of the men, and Clarice knew that he would be going, and he had to know that she would probably be going as well. The war effort needed nurses, and volunteers, so Clarice had gone with her husband, Roland to the docks. The ships were ready with other families there and ready to part. The women and children were crying as they embraced their men, bidding them to be careful and to come home soon.
For a moment as her eyes drifted aimlessly among the crowds, it seemed to slow for her, and she felt the familiar sting of tears coming on. They had not even been married three years, and now this war had broken out…?
"Darling," she heard his voice in her ear, bringing her back to reality, and she was once again reminded that this was real.
She turned to look at him, "…I am sorry, I still cannot believe it," she murmured faintly.
Roland contained a wince, it rippling across his face in a twitch, "I know. But it was coming, a long time now," he told her, and moved to embrace her again.
His uniform had swam across her view, replacing her view of the crowds and his face now. It reminded her again what was happening. He would be going to war…Clarice's shin trembled.
She couldn't do this.
What would she tell their son?
Would Mark remember this? His father's face? Or hers? Who knew how long this would go on, if this was only the beginning? Would the fighting reach him and their families?
Roland had said goodbye to their son – at the age of 2, Mark had thought, he was going to work, unaware of how serious the war was…
It was enough to break her inner dam, and the tears could not stop as she sobbed into his chest, clutching at him desperately.
This could not be happening.
His arms tightened around her as he rubbed her back, trying to soothe her; Clarice tried to bring herself to believe him, that they would all be alright, and this would be over and everything would be normal again.
She lifted her head to look up at him, her face red, what little make up she was wearing now a mess – she must have looked a sight to him now…
"Write to me please," she pleaded to him. His blue eyes crinkled as he smiled at her, "I will whenever I can, I promise you, and you write back to me," he told her, "And you must also promise me that you will learn how to shoot," he gave a forced weak laugh.
Clarice couldn't stifle the gasp and gave him a weak shove, "Don't tease me," she griped at him.
He laughed a little more at that, "I don't tease," he swallowed hard, his chiseled jaw clenching, "I…I want you to be safe. You and our son," he murmured to her.
The young woman screwed her eyes shut and her mouth pursed together, trying to stifle cries, "I…I really hope it will not come to that." That they would not arrive here, and she would not have to take a life…but when it came to their son, the decision would be an easy one.
"Just promise me those two things," Roland insisted, still keeping his smile on as he lifted his hands to cup her face.
"I promise," she swore to him, reaching up to cradle his hand to her face.
The horn went off, and it signaled the final boarding call, for all soldiers; it was time for Roland to go now.
Looking over his shoulder, Roland took a shaky breath, and Clarice knew that he was afraid. After years of knowing him, she knew him well, and this frightened him, "Promise me, that you will live, that you will come back alive, and that you'll write," she heard herself say frantically as she reached to take his hand.
He looked back at her and gripped her hand, "I promise you. Give our boy another hug from me," he promised once more asked her between the kisses, which she returned. She wanted it to last as she moved her lips against his, trying to quench a hunger, and hold onto the memory of his lips. Just all of him.
"I love you," she murmured breathlessly against his lips.
Roland pecked the top of her lip again, "I love you too," he whispered back, pressing once more kiss to her lips before reluctantly drawing back and slowly backing away, slinging his possessions over his shoulders and stepping back and slowly turning around to board the ship.
Clarice could not stop the more tears that came, as she watched him move further away from her, and ascending the steps aboard the ship.
She wished he would turn around once more and wave to her once more. She needed to remember what he looked like.
By some coincidence he did and gave her a wave, and a thin but firm smile. He wanted to be brave for her, for them, he did not want her to worry.
She waved back at him slowly and smiled back faintly. Clarice was more than sure it was every woman's hope here, that their men would come back alive and in once piece.
Sniffling, she swallowed then took a shaky breath watching him while all the other men boarded and the ship began to undock itself.
Through the crowds she walked slowly waving, ignoring the cool floors underneath her, and clicking of her heels. Many of the other women followed along with her waving and shouting to the men. Clarice felt like her voice was caught in her throat, but she brought herself to shout his name. It was lost in the cries, but she tried to tell herself he heard her. At first she was shouting her love for him and to be careful, but after a few passing minutes, she wasn't sure what she was shouting anymore.
The ship was so at a distance from them and Clarice dropped her arm back to her side limply.
They were going off to war, and yet why did it feel like a crushing defeat inside of her, that she was losing anyways?
Clarice licked her lips resolving to turn herself around and walk back to her mother's flat, where Mark was right now, waiting for her.
She had to try and explain what was going in the most delicate way possible. Oh, her poor boy…their poor lad…
How much of it would he understand?
Would he wait every day for his father, and ask about him, and where he was? When would he come home?
And what could she do now? What would she do now?