6th March 1941

Bert leaned his head against the window of the train and watched the landscape: They drove through a dense forest, with nothing but bare trees. Due to the thick clouds and the rain everything was in different shades of grey and you could not guess the right time. He did not know how long he was already on the way. Maybe an hour, maybe three. Yet it felt like half an eternity.

His thoughts circled. Where would he be sent after the training camp? What kind of injuries would he suffer? Would he even survive all this? The only thing that was clear was which division he was assigned to, but where all this led to something unknown.

Bert looked away and looked at the backpack, which stood between his feet. It contained only bare essentials: something to eat and drink, a sketchbook, paper and pencils. On the one hand he regretted that he had nothing of Mary with him, but on the other hand he did not want anything to be lost or even destroyed. He looked out the window again and saw that they were approaching a train station. The stone wall was covered with withered ivy and behind the chimney you could guess the sun. He inspected the building with a raised eyebrow again before taking his sketchbook and pencil out of his backpack. Fortunately, the train stopped at a perfect angle to the wall, so Bert quickly made a rough sketch.

"Excuse me, can I sit down?", It came to the ear of the artist and he looked to the source: In front of him stood a young man, about 20 years old, in uniform and with a well packed backpack.

"Of course," Bert waited until the stranger dropped his things and sat down before offering his hand, "Bert ... Bert Alfred."

"Hi," the stranger took his hand and shook it, "John Andrews. But everyone calls me Johnny. "

"'ey Johnny."

"Where are you going?" The young man asked, wiggling his legs.

"Northern Ireland ... and you?"

"Yes me too."

As the train started the conversation was over. John probably realised that despite the politeness and the friendly smile, Bert was not in the mood to speak.

During the drive, Bert noticed one thing:
Johnny tapped the tip of his foot nervously the whole time and straightened his uniform. He seemed nervous. Bert flipped to the next page in his sketchbook and drew the young soldier sitting across from him. He also made a few notes about his behaviour. 'I fall back into the old pattern as soon as I'm wearing a uniform…', he thought and shook his head slightly.

It was already dark when Johnny, who was reading, closed his book and turned to Bert, "Are you going to war now or are you on the road?"

"I was drafted today... And you?"

"Yeah... Me too... I've just turned 20. My brother left home a year ago... "

20... Bert shivered. The boy was just three years older than Elizabeth and just as old as Matthew!
Matthew ... Was he soldier as well? Or is he still with his "family"? Even though Bert has not seen the orphan for a while, he often thought of him and worried.

Bert tightened his grip on the pen to reduce his aggression, which slowly rose. This damn war brought nothing but death and sorrow! He looked again at Johnny: a young man who still has his whole life to live was torn from his usual environment - and before that, his family was already split. The artist just hoped that this hell would end very soon.

With circling thoughts he looked out of the window and listened to the typical sound of the train.

In London Mary knitted something in the evening. Like 25 years ago, Bert handed her his flat. Of course, she accepted this offer - after all, his home should not be neglected.

But this time, the nanny was not alone: Elizabeth, who had recently been living there, sat in front of the fireplace and looked at the flames in it. But it was not a normal fire- no, there were little figures dancing in it. Three to be exact. But then one was torn away from the others.

After the little fire play was over Liz got up and threw her cap on the clothes rack. Her eyes stopped at a painting in the corner. Frowning, she headed for the canvas and pulled it out of hiding.

What she saw made her speechless: it was an oil painting of her when she was about 16 years old. But it was not a normal portrait. Elizabeth wore the typical hospital clothes and in the background you could see a fire, the roofs and the stars - just everything that made her look. Most likely, it was painted at the time it started in the hospital.

"Did ya know about that?" She asked without taking her eyes off the painting.

Mary looked up: "Excuse me?"

Liz walked over to the sofa and showed her the oil painting, which Mary gently took. She let her blue eyes glide over every brushstroke and was speechless. It was one of the best pictures he ever made! You could really recognise the pride of it!

"No," she said with a slight shake of the head, "I've never seen it before."

Mary was about to start a new sentence when she realised something. For what reason would you paint such a painting with such pride? Of course only if there is something about the person. And this was a picture a proud father would paint of his daughter.
With a sad smile she touched Bert's signature in the lower left corner of the picture. Without him, Elizabeth would never have matured into such a neat young lady. And all of this was due to his education.

After the two women had eaten, they sat on the sofa for a while and talked. Among other things, it was about the apartment and they quickly agreed that they would leave everything the same. Of course, if Mary were not in London, Elizabeth would take care of the flat. After all, she already lived there.

Another aspect that was addressed was Elizabeth's work. She wanted to go to the hospital the next day to work there - but not just as a temporary help. Incidentally, the Auxiliary Territorial Service was no opinion for her.

But mostly it was about Bert. Both were afraid and Elizabeth said she would switch places with him if she could.

Elizabeth... It seemed even worse to her than to Mary. The young woman was much quieter than usual and occasionally Mary could see small tears in her eyes.
The sight broke the nanny's heart. Liz always seemed so untouchable-but now she was utterly broken.

By midnight, they were getting ready for bed, and Elizabeth fell asleep instantly but got a restless sleep and was plagued by nightmares.

Mary, on the other hand, lay on the bed all night, and could not sleep. She stared at the ceiling, her hands on her stomach.
She felt the nausea rise. Her thoughts circled and again and again she asked herself the question: Should she have confessed the one thing that had been on her mind for quite some time to him?

I finally wrote a new chapter xD

Nothing special, because it is again a typical transitional chapter.

Nevertheless, I am happy about reviews :D