Hey, remember me? I have returned (I wasn't really gone...just asleep). Accept, I beg you, my humble apologies, along with this little chapter. This chapter is where my little historian's heart began to flutter. I got to research things! I can't really say more without giving the chapter away, so let's proceed...


23 May, 1915

Sunday had come, and Sunday was almost gone. Walter had spent the last two weeks shoring up the courage, and then making plans to enlist. It was all settled now: tomorrow was Monday. He would take the early train to Charlottetown, before he - or Mother - could make his mind up otherwise.

It was all decided now. This time tomorrow, he would be an enlisted man. The thought was both wondrous and terrifying. Walter Blythe - a soldier. No more feathers in his pockets, no more hisses as he walked through Redmond.

He looked at the moon rising over the trees; not quite full - it would be by Friday. Framed by the vines climbing the porch, it hung in the sky, casting light and shadows in equal measure. The rocking chair squeaked a little as he rocked back, the sound mingling with the sounds of twilight. This was what he would leave behind - this was the image of Ingleside he would carry in his heart when he went away. Ingleside, nestled away on its Island, with the spell it cast on all who came.

"Walter?"

The spell was broken. He looked to the door to see Rilla, her girlish form silhouetted by the kitchen light that spilled through the screen door.

"Hello, Rilla-my-Rilla," he held out a hand. "Join me?"

She pushed open the door, crossing the porch to sink down on the floorboards next to his chair, leaning against his leg with a sigh.

"Walter, I've had what Mother calls a Jonah day." Her voice took on the depths-of-despair quality it had when the world was not going the way the youngest Blythe wanted it to. "I have had to eat a slice - no, several pounds - of humble pie."

He bit back a chuckle. He loved Rilla dearly, but he privately wondered if she had tasted quite enough humble pie in her time. Well, he thought philosophically, time enough for that in the years to come. "And whose china did you have to eat it off of?"

Another sigh. "Irene Howard's."

"I thought you two were friends."

A third sigh, this one so deep it might as well have come from her toes. "We were, but then she insulted Jims, and refused to perform for our concert, and flounced out of the room. I don't think I'm prideful, Walter, but I flatly refused to go running after her."

"So what had you asking her today?"

"Mrs. Channing - she was supposed to perform at the concert - has to go to Kingsport to be with her son. Typhoid, I think. So, I was elected to go ask - no, beg - Irene to perform for us."

"And?"

"And I wore a dainty slipper on one foot, and black lisle and a boot on the other. That's what. She wouldn't stop staring at it. Not that I blame her, but to have to go crawling to her and be badly dressed was too much to bear."

He couldn't help it. A chuckle bubbled up, causing Rilla to glare at him. "I'm sorry, Rilla-my-Rilla. You have to admit that to a fly on the wall, it would have been very entertaining. Did she at least agree to sing?"

"She did," Rilla looked over the garden with pursed lips. "And after the trouble I've gone to, I hope she sings like a bird."

A thin wail broke the silence that settled over them. Rilla sighed - Walter didn't remember Rilla sighing this much - and came to her feet. "Duty calls. Good night, Walter."

"Rilla," he asked just as she was pulling the screen door open, "is it all duty?"

Pausing, Rilla looked back at him, and he realized in that moment that she looked very grown-up. "No," she said softly, "I'm really quite fond of Jims."

With that, the door swung shut, leaving him alone on the porch.


Walter hadn't expected a good night's sleep, and wasn't surprised to wake up early the next morning. He washed and dressed mechanically, making his way downstairs quietly to avoid waking anyone.

Early he might have been, but two people were already downstairs: Susan and his father. He could hear the former in her kitchen, muttering something about "that animal," while whisking eggs, and found the latter at the table, calmly spreading jam on a slice of toast, skimming the newspaper propped up against the coffee pot.

"Good morning, Anne-girl," he said absently before looking up. "Oh, Walter. I thought you were Mother."

"Sorry to disappoint," a ghost of a grin flitted across Walter's face. Taking his place a the table, he helped himself to a piece of bread, buttering it before asking Dad to pass the jam, please.

"Gooseberry, or the very last of the cherry?"

"Gooseberry, please."

How normal it all was. Anyone could look in on them, and assume that both would go off and have a perfectly commonplace day. It could have been an oil painting: "Dr. Blythe and son, breakfast at Ingleside, 1915." Dad probably didn't suspect a thing.

"Headed anyplace special?" Dad's tone was light, still buried behind the newspaper. Almost too light, too casual.

Walter nodded, even though his father couldn't see it. "Charlottetown."

From behind his newspaper, Dr. Blythe gave an almost imperceptible, resigned sigh. "I'll drive you to the station. It rained last night; it would be a pity to get those shoes wet."


Walter brought the buggy around for his father. No automobile for Dr. Gilbert Blythe, thank you very much! A buggy had been enough for his Uncle Dave, and it would be enough for him. Besides, you could talk to the horse if you were having a hard day; you couldn't do that with an auto, could you now?

That had been Dad's explanation when Shirley asked him why he didn't get one. Walter preferred buggies over cars, and joined his father in doubting whether the internal combustion engine would last, while Jem and Shirley shook their heads, saying that the horse and buggy were on their way to pasture.

Dad came out of the house, his bag in one hand and hat in the other. Walter knew that in the ten minutes he had been out of the house, Dad had gone back upstairs to kiss mother goodbye for the day. Now he was stepping up into the seat, placing his bag on the floor next to him.

"And off we go." He gave a flick of the reins, and Hippocrates the horse began moving forward. As they reached the road, Walter looked back at Ingleside. "Susan's left the flag up."

"Italy declared war," Dad turned the buggy toward town. "It's her way of supporting them, I think."

They were quiet for some time, the only sounds coming from Hippocrates' hooves and the buggy's wheels as it splashed through the red puddles. Walter got the feeling that his father was biding his time, waiting for the right moment.

Until he finally spoke. "I take it you aren't going to Charlottetown to pick up some books."

"No, sir."

"Well, a father can always hope. Do you need any identification papers?"

"I'm told they just take you at your word."

Dad nodded. "How nice. A man's word isn't worth what it used to be."

Silence fell between them again, with only the horse's hooves to break it. Then,

"Mother isn't going to like this. She knew you were going, but -"

"She knew?"

"Walt," Dad gave a chuckle, "we may be old, but we aren't blind. I've known for some time, and your mother knew before that."

Walter blinked. "I've only known for a couple of weeks, myself."

"Out of all six of you children, Mother probably understands you most easily. You're all books, open to varying degrees, but you and Mother are closest in temperament. She knew you were going, probably before you yourself did. She's a wise woman, you know."

They could see the station now, and Dad slowed the buggy. They came to a stop, and as Walter climbed out of the buggy, his father put out a hand to stay him.

Walter turned, looking up at his father, a position he hadn't found himself in since meeting his father's height at sixteen. With the sun behind him, Dad looked...not old, but very serious, haloed like the saints in Kingsport's Catholic church.

"Walter," Dad's voice took on an urgent quality it hadn't had during their drive, "once you've joined up, there's no going back. Do you understand? From that moment on, your life is no longer your own, and there's a very real chance it never again will be. You will have to do things that go against your very nature; you will have to kill in order not to be killed. Are you willing to do that? Because if you aren't, there's no shame in staying behind, no matter what those pigeon livers of the White Feather say…"

During his father's speech, a strange calm settled over Walter. The drone of the bagpipes, which until now had followed him almost constantly, quieted down. "Yes," he said, "I'm sure." And he was - surer than he had been before. "Dad," he said, "I'm not doing this because I hate the Germans, or because I've received more white feathers that I can bear. Do you remember the Piper, Dad, when we were young? He called to me, just as I said he would. I have to follow him - we all do."

Dad seemed to accept that statement. With a quick nod, he reached down to shake Walter's hand. "All right, then. Best of luck, son."

Gilbert Blythe watched his son walk towards the station door, turning back just before entering. And then, with a quick smile backwards, he stepped in, the door swinging shut behind him.


ATTESTATION PAPER

CANADIAN OVER-SEAS EXPEDITIONARY FORCE

QUESTIONS TO BE PUT BEFORE ATTESTATION

1. What is your name?

Walter Cuthbert Blythe

2. In what Town, Township or Parish, and in what Country were you born?

Glen St. Mary, PEI, Canada

3. What is the name of your next-of-kin?

Dr. Gilbert Blythe

4. What is the address of your next-of-kin?

Ingleside, Glen St. Mary, PEI

5. What is the date of your birth?

12th August, 1893

6. What is your Trade or Calling?

Student

7. Are you married?

No

8. Are you willing to be vaccinated or re-vaccinated?

Yes

9. Do you now belong to the Active Militia?

No

10. Have you ever served in any military force? If so, state the particulars of former Service.

No

11. Do you understand the nature and terms of your engagement?

Yes

12. Are you willing to be attested to serve in the Canadian Over-Seas Expeditionary Force?

Yes.

DECLARATION TO BE MADE BY MAN ON ATTESTATION

I, Walter Blythe, do solemnly declare that the above answers made by me to the above questions are true, and that I am willing to fulfil the engagements by me now made, and I hereby engage and agree to serve in the CANADIAN OVER-SEAS EXPEDITIONARY FORCE, and to be attached to any arm of the service therein, for the term of one year, or during the war now existing between Great Britain and Germany should that war last longer than one year, and for six months after the termination of that war provided His Majesty should so long require my services, or until legally discharged.

Signature of Recruit: Walter C. Blythe

Signature of Witness: L. James

Date: May 24 1915

OATH TO BE TAKEN BY MAN ON ATTESTATION

I, Walter Blythe, do make Oath, that I will be faithful and bear true allegiance to His Majesty King George the Fifth, His Heirs and Successors, and that I will as in duty bound honestly and faithfully defend His Majesty, His Heirs and Successors, in Person, Crown and Dignity, against all enemies, and will observe and obey all orders of His Majesty, His Heirs and Successors, and of all the Generals and Officers set over me. So help me God.


No quotes, unless you count the attestation papers. The version I'm using was in use until June 1915, so we're right at the tail end of things. But I was so very pleased to find the version of the papers that Walter would have filled out and signed; combining history with fiction (even if it's sad) makes me happy.

This chapter's title is taken from the song, "I Vow to Thee, My Country" (Text by Sir Cecil Spring Rice, 1908 or 1912, set to Gustav Holst's "Jupiter" in 1921). Sir Cecil was the British ambassador to the United States, and convinced Wilson to abandon neutrality and enter the war. The hymn has been associated with Remembrance Day since its first performance in 1921, and I first heard it at one a few years ago. It was also a favorite of Princess Diana's, sung at her wedding, funeral, and tenth year memorial service.

Trivia, trivia...you are the salvation of my A/N's.

Love,

Anne