June 6, 1944
Dear Da,
Mam was right, and I'm glad to have your letter.
I did know May 7 was Uncle Peter's birthday. Granny always had me to tea near his birthday, seeing as I was named for him. She would tell me bits and bobs about him, like how he stuck in at school to get his leaving certificate and I should too. That didn't work out for me, but it was a nice thought.
I usually light a candle for him but we hadn't any to spare so this year I lit 22 matches in a row, one for each year of his life, and watched them burn down. I scorched my fingers a bit, but I didn't mind. Our Colonel caught me at it and asked a few questions, but he didn't press too hard once he was satisfied I hadn't turned into a pyro.
The Colonel is sitting with me as I write this letter because at first I didn't know how to reply, but he said I ought to. He said I shouldn't ask you difficult questions, as you mightn't know how to respond. But I don't think it's wrong to wonder why you were so hard on me if I reminded you of your favorite brother. Why didn't that make you like me more, not less? I always imagined Uncle Peter would have wanted my company at least a bit. I still wonder what it would have been like if one of you had been there to kick a football about with me or teach me how to knot my tie and shave or buy me my first drink at the pub. It hardly matters now, I suppose. I worked it all out on my own.
As for your advice, I bloody well wish I had listened, or at least stopped at France. Germany is not where I hoped to end up, not that I had much to say about it. But here I am and there's nothing to do but muddle through and hope for the best.
I'm trying to stay safe, and a POW camp is a fair place to do that. We play cards and football, but otherwise life is routine. The rations are awful and the lice are worse, but as long as I have enough fags, I'm all right. There's nothing I want more than to get home to my loved ones. Well, there was one other thing I wanted, and that was a Brown Betty so I could have a decent cup of tea. Thankfully Mavis saw to that. She's a marvelous girl, Da, and you should get to know her before she flits off to America or something mad like that.
Do keep yourself out of trouble, as I don't want Mam worrying about you. She's never stopped, you know. And I'm still thinking about that pint. I won't say no, but you have to admit it ended poorly between us last time.
Your son,
Peter
H=H=H=H=H
Author's Ridiculously Long Note: You know how sometimes a story takes a turn that even you, the author, weren't expecting? Or does that only happen to me? Well, that's what happened with this story. It took a sharp turn toward the serious as D-Day approached.
I started writing this chapter more than a month ago, then decided it was all wrong for this story, and resolved to make it part of a D-Day story that I planned to write (and still might.) But I've been tied up in knots and unable to write for weeks now, so I decided today to just start clearing out some chapters (of this story and another one) that have been lying around. The radical act of publishing this chapter gives me the illusion of being an active writer on this site. I think there will have to be a few more chapters in a lighter vein to end this merry romp, but I'm not sure yet. And hopefully life will settle down soon and I'll be able to think and write clearly again. It's all quite overwhelming right now, but I believe things will improve by fall.
As you read the father-son letters, it might help you a little, though it is certainly not necessary, to know the background I've created for Newkirk in In the Name of the Father, which explores the seeds of a very fraught relationship. (Or what we would now call severely dysfunctional.) Also, Newkirk's late uncle, who died in WWI, is borrowed from dust on the wind's superlative Esk Road: The Rest of the Family and has also been mentioned in a couple of my stories.