A boy needs a father. Others get a person; George gets this.

Also known as 5 times George spoke to his father.

Age 5

The first time he remembered his Mama bringing him to visit his father, he found out he was going to be a big brother.

"Matthew, I know you are happy for me. And Henry does take such good care of George." He hadn't been paying attention until he heard his name, watching the village over the cemetery wall, but when he looked back his Mama, she was holding a handkerchief to her cheek.

"Come, George." His Mama held out her hand and he took it dutifully. "Is there anything you'd like to say to your Papa?" George looked up at his mother in confusion before looking back at the stone in front of him. He had always known that his Papa had died, but it never occurred to him that he was in the church cemetery.

"Hello, Papa." He tightened his grip on his mother's hand and buried his face in the folds of her skirt.

"It's alright, George. Papa loves you." He found comfort in the way her hand stroked through his hair. "I wanted to let him know our big news." She continued to comfort him, falling silent herself.

After a few moments, he took a look at the foreboding stone and kicked the toe of his boot against some loose stones. "What news?" He said quietly, as if it would disturb those around them.

"Oh, George." His mother pushed him away slightly before ducking down to meet his eye. "I thought, but, never mind." She combed her fingers through his hair before speaking again. "Henry and I are going to have a baby. You are going to be a big brother."

"A big brother." He repeated, processing the words. "With Henry." He muttered. "But then why tell Papa?" He was terribly confused. "Is Henry my Papa now too? Not my step-father?" The question seemed to take his mother by surprise.

"Henry is still your step-father. But he will be the baby's Papa, just like Matthew is your Papa."

"Oh." He knew enough of his letters that he could read the name Matthew on the stone before them. "I wish he were here." He said softly.

"Oh, my darling. Me too." She stood, taking his hand in hers. "But I know he is happy for us. For you. He always wanted you to have a brother or sister."

"Brother, please." He looked up at her. She laughed lightly at his request.

"I'm afraid I do not get to make that decision. We will have to just wait and see." She looked down at him and then back at the headstone. "I think it's time to go home. Say goodbye."

"Bye Papa." He waved with his free hand. He missed what ever it was that his mother said, just saw her kiss her fingers and then brush them against the stone before leading him down the path into the village. They made it as far as the church gate before he stopped, tugging his hand free from his mother's grasp.

"George..." He heard her say in surprise, but he ignored her as he hurried back to the headstone.

"Miss you, Papa." He said quietly. He then kissed his fingers and brushed them against the stone like his mother did. His fingers traced the M of his name for a moment before he hurried back to his mother's side. She stared at him for a moment before taking a deep breath and reclaiming his hand.

"I feel like getting some sweets. Perhaps some lemon drops?" She squeezed his hand and led him toward the sweets shop.

"But Henry hates lemon drops." He frowned.

"I think this will just be something for you and me." She smiled slightly as she held open the shop's door.

"Can we get licorice? Henry hates licorice." He said solemnly staring at the glass cases with all the sweets. His mother laughed and the store owner greeted them with a smile.

"How can I help you today Master George?" The owner was an older fellow with gray hair and a big smile.

"Some lemon drops and licorice please." He looked up his Mama for permission and she nodded. "And extra for Mama because she is also eating for Baby." He missed the rueful look she threw at the ceiling as the owner began to give his effusive congratulations.

As he enjoyed his sweets on the walk home, his thoughts turned back to his father and the little he knew about him.

"Did Papa like lemon drops?" He asked seemingly out of the blue, kicking at the gravel of the long path towards home.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, they were his favorite. He made me like them too."

"But Henry doesn't." He repeated again. "Just me, you, and Papa."

Age 6

The next time he visited his father, he went alone. Sort of. The whole family was gathered at the church door, waiting for Baby Caroline's Christening when he slipped away. The headstone was much as it was the last time he was there, the grass neatly trimmed around it. He was tempted to sit down, but knew his Mama would be angry if he soiled his clothing before the christening.

"Hi Papa." He traced the letters of the name engraved there. "Mama had the baby." He looked around before continuing. "I had asked for a brother, but got a sister instead. I guess that's alright. She's too small to play with though. I just play with Sybbie and Marigold, when they visit." He stared at the stone, at a loss of what else to say.

"Henry is a good step-father. At least I think so. He plays with me a lot. And lets me see all the cars at work." He shuffled around, uncomfortable in the answering silence. "Mama seems happy. Really happy."

"George, come now, it's starting." He looked up to see Grandmother Isobel waiting for him.

"Goodbye Papa." He said hurriedly, kissing his fingers and then brushing them against the stone before running up to meet his Gran.

"What were you up to down there?" She asked with a smile, taking his hand to lead him into the church.

"Just saying hello to Papa." He shrugged. He saw his mother waving at him to join them up front. "Telling him about Caroline. I have to go Gran." He tugged his hand free and hurried towards his Mama and Henry. He missed the sad smile that traced Isobel's lips.

Age 11

He didn't know how he ended up in the church graveyard. All he could remember was wanting to be alone and this is where he had ended up . He could see the large stone indicating his father's grave clearly from the gate and he found himself standing in front of it almost without thinking.

"Papa." He found himself bowing his head in greeting as he did when he was with his Grandfather and all his friends. Looking down as he was, he noticed that the grass around the base had overgrown a little bit, making it less tidy than he remembered it to be.

"I'm off to Eton in a few days." He paced a few steps back and forth before sitting down in the grass before the headstone. "Everyone seems to think I should be excited. But I'm not. I don't want to go to some school with boys I don't know." He dug his hands into the grass around him, tugging on the blades in his grip.

"Gran Isobel, your Mama, seems to think I'll be smarter than everyone else. I don't think that's true. I'm not that smart. Gran says I'm like you though. That you were smart so I try to be smarter. So I can be like you. I can see that it makes Gran happy to think that too." He tugged a little harder on the grass and the blades gave way until a bundle of it was in each hand. He let them go and watched the wind carry them away. "Were you smart? I wonder if you were sometimes. When Gran says things like that."

"Henry keeps saying that I'll make new friends and that it is almost as important as learning." He tugged a few new blades of grass free from the ground. "I don't think Henry thinks school is all that important really. All he talks about is the friends he made. The things they did and how much trouble they got into. But I don't like getting into trouble. It makes my stomach hurt."

"And I won't know anybody at all when I get there. The other boys are probably all friends already and don't need anymore." He sniffled and quickly ran his hand over his eyes before speaking again. "What if they don't like me?" He waited, as if expecting a response.

"You probably think I'm being stupid and would tell me to stop blubbering." He wiped at his face again. "Grandfather would surely think so. Henry too." He stood, brushing at the grass that clung to his trousers. "I should probably go before they wonder where I am. Goodbye Papa." He bowed his head formally again and almost found himself bowing. He went to turn away, but stopped mid motion. He found himself brushing a kiss to his fingers and running them over the stone. It was cool despite the warm air and bright sunlight of the later summer day.

"George! There you are!" Henry's voice broke his reverie, and he turned quickly to stare at him standing beyond the church grounds gate. "Come on, mate. Let's go for a drive!" George spared one more glance for the stone before hurrying away towards his awaiting step-father.

Age 17

He was dressed in black and the suit was a little too short. His mother and Aunt Edith stood by the church doors greeting well wishers allowing him to slip away. George found himself standing before his father's head stone, a new grave being prepared not too far away.

"I'm an Earl now." He buried his hands in his pockets. "I didn't know I was going to be one, until I was one." He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the hair product he was coerced into using by his younger siblings. "I don't know why I never wondering about it or considered it. I always knew my last name was Crawley and not Talbot like everyone else. Grandfather always stressed it in company. He was so proud that I was George Crawley, his only grandson. Now I know why."

The sounds of fellow mourners carried on the breeze to where he was standing and made him pause. "What does an Earl even do?" He wanted to tug on his tie that suddenly felt too tight, but resisted. Caroline would have a fit if he showed up even the slightest bit mussed.

"You were supposed to do this before me. You should be here to be the Earl and then tell me how to do it." He felt his frustration bubble beneath his skin.

"I love you, as my Papa, I do, but right now all I want is to ask you so many questions. And I'm angry too. Because this is all too much."

He stewed silently, looking towards the church where he saw more and more people in black gathering. "I love you, Papa. But why did you have to die?"

He didn't wait for the response that was never to come.

Age 18

The sun had only just risen, but George was already dressed and ready for the day. The train was due to leave in thirty minutes, leaving him only a few moments to spare, but he needed to do this now. Just in case.

"Hello Papa." He spoke to the headstone, looking a little more worn than it did in his memories.

"I have this." He held up his old toy stuffed dog, well his mother's old toy stuffed dog. "Mama gave it to my years ago. She told me its story back then too, but it didn't seem all that relevant at the time. Or at least not as relevant as it is now."

He ran his thumb over the seams darkened with age, tugging on a thread that had come loose. "I'm not going into combat. At least not yet. It should be easy to make sure it returns home without a scratch given that I've been assigned a desk job."

"I know that it makes Mama happy. My job that is." He looked around at the quiet village and the car waiting for him beyond the gate. "I'm lucky, when so many others won't be, because it turns out I'm smarter than you are Papa." He laughed under his breath. "Gran Isobel said as much when my decision to study German at Eton instead of Latin became the deciding factor of me seeing combat or not. Seems a mite unfair to call a decision I made as an act of rebellion against Mama's love of Classics a smart one, but here we are."

He kissed his fingers and brushed them against the stone and then pocketed the old toy. "I hope I have your courage, Papa."