A/N: I didn't realize it had been so long since I last updated this story. This was going to cover several years under the title The War Years but as usual when I started writing I got carried away with this year. Hope everyone is doing well and staying safe.

May 1941

Downton

Mary was lulled asleep by the rhythm of rain drops splashing against her bedroom windows. She woke to the bright light of the early morning pouring through the open curtains and filling her room with of sunshine. Too often her nights were filled with restlessness but last night her sleep had been deep and she woke feeling refreshed. Even sitting at her dressing table and noting the entry Sybil on her leather bound date book she didn't feel that immediate pang of sorrow that usually marked this day.

Her finger lightly touching the inked Sybil she thought of how Tom said this wasn't a day for grief but a day of remembrance of that wonderful vibrant woman. That hadn't always been his way of thinking for she remembered those first years his grief had been palpable and there had been far more tears than smiles. She had thought of his remark these years when she had gone alone to the graveyard for she had so many wonderful memories of her sister. She would be alone there this year for there was too much danger in crossing the Irish Sea what with the Luftwaffe strafing and bombing any manner of ships and the U-Boats patrolling the waters ready to torpedo.

The dampness of the crushed stones of the long gravel drive muted Mary's footsteps as she headed in to the village. With petrol being scarce she usually walked in to the village on those rare occasions she had reason to visit the village. Her arms laden with the large wicker basket holding a selection of colorful blooms from the gardens Mary paused under the massive Lebanon cedar and placed the basket on the wooden bench.

While Edith had that window seat in a nook off the music room and Sybil had … Mary paused but quickly smiled for young Sybil had roamed the grounds and house so much Mary wasn't sure if there was any one place that was so special to her. But to Mary this bench hidden from sight of the house by the wild hedge was her special place. This was the place she came to think, to read quietly, to be alone.

The morning had begun much like most mornings with her and Edith fighting. It wasn't right that nanny… Mary huffed … really at her age did she still need a nanny … that was just another … Mary huffed again before plopping down on the bench. Crossing her arms across her chest which heaved in anger Mary thought of how unfair her life was. That mealy-mouthed Edith …

She was so consumed in her distress that she didn't hear someone approach and only became aware she was no longer alone when the dark purple fabric of a dress that ended mid-calf revealing a pair of black lace-up boots came into the sight of her downcast eyes. Mary didn't need to look up to know it was Sybil for who else would leave the house with boots whose laces had missed a few hooks. That Sybil had been quiet enough to sneak up on her was a miracle in itself.

Without bothering to look up Mary shouted "Go away Sybil."

But instead of doing as she was told (something not surprising) Sybil gently sat down next to Mary. She sat so close they were touching. Offering her stuffed bear to her older sister Sybil quietly spoke. "When I get real mad I find holding my bear or my rabbit helps."

Mary batted away the bear. "I don't need your bear Sybil."

Undeterred Sybil continued "of course that only happens after I've stomped the ground a few times and maybe thrown something … hopefully not something breakable because then I'd be in even more trouble."

Mary emitted what Sybil thought might be a slight chuckle. Taking that as a good sign Sybil once again held out her beloved bear. "He's really soft."

"Actually you need to hold him so I can-" Sybil stood up and rooted around in the deep pocket of her skirt. Her eyes gleamed and her face beamed as she pulled out a white cloth.

"I think these are your favorites" Sybil said as she revealed two soft chocolate biscuits dusted with powdered sugar.

"However did you manage to find those?" Sybil answered by shrugging her shoulders as she tilted her face upwards.

As the two sisters sat on the bench munching on the biscuits Sybil announced "I think eating these are better than stomping on the ground or even hugging my bear."

Mary sighed … maybe the best times weren't when she was alone here. She looked at the colorful array of flowers in her wicker basket and said "Oh darling Sybil."

Before picking up the wicker basket she looked out at the view of the gently rolling hills and woods. She had always loved this view that she thought was so quintessential English and she imagined it had looked much the same for generations of Crawleys. Yet today she could see that the war had thrust itself into Downton although not of course in the same way it had ravaged the continent. Nor had the estate suffered any effects of the bombing raids that were frequent over much of England although there were the occasional sounds of planes rattling over far distant fields. Luckily the house hadn't been requisitioned for housing an evacuated school or maternity ward or a convalescent home as so many of the other great country houses had been.

Rather the changes at Downton were caused by the war effort of increasing food production. Many of the newly green pastures now held two or three times more cows and sheep. Her prized pig operation had been expanded although not with her award winning type of pigs. And it seemed as if any arable fields were being plowed and planted particularly with wheat and to a lesser extent oats and barley. Two new barns had been built, one solely for a milking operation. Not that Mary had made these changes, no it was the Army that had taken over much of Downton farmland. While most of the men that had built the barns and restored the old flour mill and the saw mill had left it was a contingent of land girls, some who now occupied the attic quarters that once housed Downton's housemaids, that helped the tenants who had been farming at Downton for ages.

As Mary rounded the corner of the church she spied a man standing in front of Sybil's grave and for just a moment she felt a short burst of joy before realizing he was much too tall to be Tom. She stood still and watched him for a minute or two but as she realized he wasn't moving on she straightened her shoulders and walked determinedly towards him.

He turned at the sound of her footsteps on the stone path. "Brigadier" she uttered in surprise at seeing the military commander who had requisitioned much of the estate's land and, with Isobel becoming frail and Mary insisting she move into Downton, was now ensconced in Crawley House along with a couple of his aides.

"Lady Mary" he smiled as he removed his hat. She hadn't noticed before his smile was quite charming. She wasn't quite sure she'd describe him as handsome. Interesting looking certainly with a dark brown mustache that matched the color of his hair and blue eyes not startling blue like Matthew's but much darker almost like the deep blue of a sky just before a storm.

"I'd be quite happy if you called me Ashley." He nodded at the wicker basket and saying "here let me hold that for you" he reached out to take her wicker basket. "What lovely flowers."

"Luckily our head gardener is too old for the army" Mary sniped.

If he was offended by the tone of her voice or her implication he didn't reveal it. "Since you mentioned him I'd like to meet with the two of you. I've noticed the large greenhouse by your orangery and I've been thinking about how we can possibly use them to expand our growing season. But" noting how she had stiffened her back and had that haughty look that seemed to come so natural to many of her class "you didn't come here today to talk about such things."

"No I didn't" she retorted. Then as if to show him this conversation was finished as far as she was concerned she began sorting through her flowers.

He picked up one of the lilac blooms. "This is an especially lovely color. We had quite a few lilac bushes but I don't think I've seen this color lilac before." Mary was rather impressed he even knew what a lilac was. Most men's knowledge of flowers seemed to stop at roses.

"I've started enjoying the lovely garden at Crawley House often ending my days sitting out there with a cup of tea. It makes me think of home and of" he stopped talking.

He turned and faced Sybil's grave. "Your sister died quite young" he said as he looked at the engraved words on her tombstone.

"Far too young" Mary said as she touched the cold granite stone slab.

"I've seen your father here several times and I was curious as to who-"

"My father has been here" Mary sounded disbelieving "here at Sybil's grave?"

Again the Brigadier nodded his head. "I like to take long walks to sort of clear my head and I gather your father does the same. I've encountered him several times out on the estate and we've talked but here" he looked at the tombstone "here he's seemed deep in thought and I haven't wanted to intrude."

Pointing at the small bouquet of four or five yellow roses whose petals were tipped with shades of red he continued "he brought those roses."

Mary hadn't noticed the roses before the Brigadier pointed them out. "Those were some of Sybil's favorite roses" she whispered.

Instead of commenting on that he asked "Is it her birthday?"

"What?"

He nodded towards Sybil's tombstone. "Your father brought roses and now today you're bringing more flowers."

She shook her head. "Actually today is her wedding anniversary."

"Wedding anniversary! Must say it's rather unusual for a sister or father to remember that."

Mary laughed. "I can assure you my father wasn't celebrating her wedding anniversary."

Now it was the Brigadier's turn to look puzzled.

"My brother-in-law is an Irish republican who worked here as the chauffeur."

"Not exactly the first choice of husband of an Earl for his daughter" his tone held amusement not malice. "Your sister must have been quite interesting."

Mary nodded her head as she rubbed her hand across the stone tomb. "She was …" she paused as she thought how do you describe the wonderful person that had been her youngest sister. "She was the best of us."

"And where is this Irish republican former chauffeur now?"

"He's a journalist in Ireland."

"So why the flowers on their anniversary?"

"After Sybil died Tom moved to Liverpool but he came here to her grave on their wedding anniversary. He said he wanted to remember her on that wonderful day and not the day she-" Mary sighed. "He eventually moved back to Ireland and asked me to sometimes leave flowers on her grave for him. So I've been doing that ever since."

"Actually we, that is he and myself, have become quite good friends. He's given me a lot of good advice about running the estate. He's been back a few times and I even went to Ireland once to visit him and a couple of summers my children and I holidayed with his family in Wales."

"He sounds like an interesting character and your friendship is a good story I'd like to hear more. Maybe some evening you'll come to Crawley House and we can sit in the garden, have a cup of tea and talk."

Ireland

Tom set his pen on his desk and leaned back in his chair as he reached for his pocket watch. Instead of immediately opening it he ran his thumb over its intricately etched silver case and soon he was remembering the first time he had held this watch in his hands.

Tom stood at his work bench and looked out the window. Not that there was much to see in the darkness. The thick gnarled bare limbs of the old oak tree stood in dark contrast to the faint whitish-blue of the clouds that covered the evening sky. It had been a long day and he was ready to retire to his cottage.

He felt her entrance by the rush of cool air that suddenly filled the garage. Turning to look at her his heart fluttered as it always did at the first sight of her. Standing just inside the doorway, her hands hidden in the pockets of her dark coat that warded off the coldness of the night air, a sly smile spread across her face and even from this distance he could tell her eyes gleamed making her looking very mischievous.

"You look rather scampish" his words delivered with a lightheartedness.

Instead of replying she walked closer to him while looking around the garage. She stopped close enough to reach out and touch him. Tilting her head she said "I think it might seem strange when we don't have to meet so secretively."

"Once we get to Ireland and you're under my Ma's roof you may wish we have a place like this."

"Well we've have to look for a place to live and you'll have to show me the city and-"

"Already making plans to avoid her watchful eyes" he laughed.

She suddenly turned serious. "It won't be long will it Tom. I mean till we leave for Ireland."

He shrugged his shoulders. "I sent the last of the letters this afternoon. So hopefully I'll hear something soon."

Her smile returned. "I'm sure you will."

He wished he was as optimistic as her but that was her nature. Her kind was used to getting what they wanted.

"Anyway." Her lovely voice caught his attention once again. She took her right hand out of her pocket and he saw she held a small wrapped parcel. Looking at him she lifted her arm. "It's something every proper journalist must have" she said as she handed the parcel to him.

"Sybil" he quietly murmured as he looked at her gift.

"Go on open it."

He slowly unwrapped the flowered printed paper revealing a square box with the finely printed name of a jeweler filling most of the lid. Carefully lifting the lid he once again softly murmured "Sybil" as he looked at the round ornate silver pocket watch.

"It's … it's…" he shook his head as he looked at the most elegant thing he'd ever owned. "It's beautiful" he said as he rolled his thumb over the intricately etched silver casing.

In the newsroom Tom's thumb stopped fingering the silver pocket watch. He took one deep breath before finally opening it and noting the time he realized he needed to leave soon to meet his daughter. He stood up but before snapping the watch closed he looked at the engraving on the inside of the lid. My best time is spent with you. Love Sybil

As Tom walked along the pavement towards the university he was struck by the clip-clop sound of horse hooves on the streets. It was a sound from his childhood that had almost disappeared as motor cars became more affordable. While Ireland was not directly involved in the war, having declared a policy of neutrality in 1939, it had none the less invaded everyday life. The major restrictions Britain had imposed in January on trade with Ireland resulted in a lack of raw materials. As petrol became scare people were turning to horse carts for moving goods and wares.

The university grounds were an oasis in the city with broad lawns between the stately Georgian buildings and manicured strips of flowering plants bordering pavements. Instead of going straight to the library building where he'd meet Sybbie he wandered around the grounds. With the sun shining brightly and a profusion of blossoms in white or shades of pink adorning many of the trees or bushes it seemed much like he remembered from that so long ago time when he and Sybil would spend a warm spring evening strolling around the grounds. Walking pass a magnolia tree with dark waxy leaves the air was filled with the heady scent of its magnificent pink flowers.

This was his day to remember Sybil and as Tom walked he thought of how she had loved to walk among these grand buildings.

Sybil looked wistfully at the two girls, probably not much younger than her, approached them with their arms full of books. As they passed Tom doffed his hat and offered a 'good evening' earning a smile from one and a nod from the other.

"I wonder what they're studying" Sybil quietly remarked. "Just think" she stopped walking and turned to face her husband "when our daughters are their age of all the possibilities that will hopefully be open to them. That it won't be odd for women to be doctors or chemists or solicitor."

"We'll give them that chance won't we Tom" she earnestly remarked.

"And if our daughter would rather be an auto mechanic?" he teasingly asked.

"Well she'll have a grand teacher in you!" Sybil laughingly replied.

As Tom approached the library he saw his daughter sitting on the steps, an open book on her lap and two others lying beside her. He paused for a moment looking at her and thinking of how much she resembled her mother.

She must have sensed his presence for she looked up and spotting him smiled broadly as she snapped her book closed.

"Sorry I've kept you waiting" he said as he neared the steps.

In response she shook her head. "Actually it was nice sitting here in the sunshine."

"I know" he said as he nodded. "I took advantage of it and walked around a bit."

He sat down beside her. "You mother and I lived not far from here and we often came here for an evening stroll around the grounds. We'd often guess what the students were learning in the various buildings." He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "She'd be so proud of you Sybbie."

"It's rather weird that her family wouldn't let her go to school" Sybbie remarked. "I mean not just university but to regular school too."

"Back then families like the Crawleys were only concerned with their daughters learning social graces like where to seat people around a dinner table or planning tea parties."

"But Aunt Mary is running Downton."

"Aye she is. For a long time her father didn't think that was right. Even though Mary owned half of Downton he thought he should be in charge."

"So what changed his mind?"

Tom laughed. "You've met your Aunt Mary and know she is quite forceful and she just charged ahead."

He stood up and reached out his hand to help Sybbie stand up. "It's funny Daddy cause it's due to Mummy's grandmother's that I have the money to go to university."

Tom chuckled. "Although she probably wouldn't admit it I bet old lady Grantham is smiling down on you just as proud as your mother."

As father and daughter began walking Tom said "With things being the way they are I thought we'd do something different this year to remember your mother."

His destination wasn't far but it had been a long time since he had been there. He often walked nearby but somehow always seem to avoid, consciously or not, that particular street. His first thought was that everything looked the same on that short block with various shops and businesses occupying the ground floor and flats taking up the upper stories. It was only as he stood across the street staring at that one particular shop he noted the display of hats that once filled the shop's picture window now contained shelves displaying an array of colorful yarns and ribbons and boxes of spools of thread. Next to the picture window the once bright yellow door that led to the flats above had been painted deep green. His eyes searched for the windows on the second floor that had been their flat.

He stood on the sidewalk across the street staring at the two narrow windows of what had been their sitting room. "That" he pointed out to Sybbie "is where your mother and I lived."

"It looks so small" Sybbie remarked.

"Aye" replied Tom "but it didn't seem so to us. She made it a warm and cozy home for us."

"Was it hard for her … I mean coming from Downton?"

"There were adjustments that she hadn't really thought of but those were outweighed by the freedom she felt she had here. Your mother felt trapped at Downton. It wasn't just the Great War that brought on those feelings, she was restless before that. But then she worked so hard to become a nurse. Sometimes I'd be at the hospital and I'd watch her with the patients. She was kind and caring and stern if she had to be. But after the war her father wouldn't allow her to continue with her nursing."

Tom turned his head to face his daughter. "I won't lie that everything was fine here. There was a lot of resentment of the English then and even some of my family didn't accept Sybil. But here" he swept his arm "and around the university being English was more acceptable."

"I've always been so curious as to what she was like but I've never really thought about what life was like for her here" a solemn Sybbie stated.

They had started to leave when Tom stopped and turned around and stared once again at the place he and Sybil had called home. He had so many memories of her and their life there. Taking once last look he smiled as he thought You made me so happy in that little place. I loved you so much Sybil.

There was a small church near the flat and Tom and Sybbie went there to light candles and say a prayer. Although it was their tradition to go to tea, as they exited the church Tom asked "What if this year we do something different, something else that your mother loved?" to which Sybbie vigorously agreed.

"Mummy had never had fish and chips before she came here?" an incredulous Sybbie asked causing Tom to laugh.

"You've been to Downton where would she would have had fish and chips?

Sybbie shrugged her shoulders.

"George says they have great fish and chips in Aberdeen."

"George?"

"You know Daddy ... George ... my cousin ... Aunt Mary's son!"

Ignoring his daughter's comment Tom asked "when or rather why did you talk to George about fish and chips in Aberdeen?"

"He's in university in Aberdeen and he writes to me. We compare university stuff."

Tom chuckled. "Oh yes I can see how fish and chips would be a major subject of university stuff." At which Sybbie gave her father a playful jab.

"Any other gems you'd like to share with me?"

"No. There are some things that are just between cousins."

"Well when you write back to George tell him after this war he has to come back to Dublin to have the best fish and chips."

"Or maybe Daddy we could go to Scotland and try the fish and chips there. George might be right."

"And you call yourself Irish!" Tom clutched his hand to his chest as he feigned indignation.

"Well technically I'm only half-Irish."

Tom sighed as he looked up to the sky. "Is this what I get for having a daughter at university?"