Imperial Force. But the courier announced the parcel was addressed to Mama – Mrs Charlotte Flynn. Papa watched carefully as Mama signed.
‘Find your sister,’ said Papa to Tiney. ‘We must open this all together. These are your brother’s possessions sent from France.’
In the parlour, Mama laid the parcel on the cedar table and the family sat in a circle as she cut the strings.
The first thing that she took out was a small pouch. She pressed it against her face and smelt the fabric, as if it might still hold the scent of Louis. Then she laid it back down on the brown paper and gently touched the rest of the contents with the tips of her fingers.
‘Five years of his life,’ she said. ‘So little for five years.’
Tiney picked up one of the photos. It was of all four sisters. Louis had carried a picture of them to the trenches. She blinked back tears.
Papa opened up one of the accompanying letters. It was an inventory of Louis’ effects.
‘The diary, discs, photos, pouch, purse, pipe-lighter, watch chain and his medals and medal ribbons were with him at the front,’ he said. ‘It says they were “received from the field”. The second set of things is from his kitbag held in store.’
Thea took the letter from Papa, looked at it, and then began separating the items into two piles: the ones that were with him when he died and the ones that had been in his kitbag. She glanced at Tiney and smiled as she picked up three pairs of socks. They were ones that each of his sisters had knitted for him. Only the socks that Minna had knitted were missing. Tiney wished Minna was there with them at that moment. To know that her socks were the ones he wore on his last day.
In the pile of things from his kitbag there was a gift tin that Mama had sent him, his unit colours, some badges, a small stack of letters and a single photo of a woman with long dark hair holding a tiny baby. Thea handed the photo to Papa, who in turn handed it to Mama. She studied it closely. ‘Who could this be?’
They were all thinking the same thought at the same time, but no one seemed to want to say it out loud.
‘Does the baby look like Louis?’ asked Tiney.
Thea put one hand up, as if to admonish her sister. ‘Louis would have told us if he had married.’
‘I would know,’ said Mama. ‘I would know in my heart if Louis did such a thing.’
Tiney didn’t want to remind Mama that she hadn’t known that Nette was pregnant for three months before she wrote, or that Minna had been planning to run away until they found her note. When Tiney was little, she’d imagined Mama and Papa knew every thought inside her head. Now, she knew how fallible they were.
Papa snatched the photo from Mama’s hands. ‘You mustn’t jump to wild conclusions. This woman could be anyone. Someone he helped, the wife of one of his comrades. If she meant something to him, he would have carried the photo into battle. But it was among his things in the kitbag.’ He turned the photo over. ‘There’s a date in pencil, here on the back: May 1915 . Our Louis was in hospital in Malta in May of that year. He would have written to tell me if she were anyone important.’
As if that meant there was to be no more discussion, Papa gathered up the letters from the parcel and Louis’ diary and retreated to his study.
Tiney couldn’t understand why he and Mama should want to dismiss the possibility that the photo might be of someone important to Louis. She went to her room and drew out her writing folio. Inside was a letter from the Thomas Cook Agency about their tours of the battlefields, costings of travel to England and France, and a letter from the Prime Minister’s office saying there would be no assistance for families of the bereaved to visit the battlefields of Europe. Then she drew out a fresh sheet of paper and began to write a letter to Nette congratulating her on the news of the baby and telling her of the arrival of Louis’ possessions. As she
‘Find your sister,’ said Papa to Tiney. ‘We must open this all together. These are your brother’s possessions sent from France.’
In the parlour, Mama laid the parcel on the cedar table and the family sat in a circle as she cut the strings.
The first thing that she took out was a small pouch. She pressed it against her face and smelt the fabric, as if it might still hold the scent of Louis. Then she laid it back down on the brown paper and gently touched the rest of the contents with the tips of her fingers.
‘Five years of his life,’ she said. ‘So little for five years.’
Tiney picked up one of the photos. It was of all four sisters. Louis had carried a picture of them to the trenches. She blinked back tears.
Papa opened up one of the accompanying letters. It was an inventory of Louis’ effects.
‘The diary, discs, photos, pouch, purse, pipe-lighter, watch chain and his medals and medal ribbons were with him at the front,’ he said. ‘It says they were “received from the field”. The second set of things is from his kitbag held in store.’
Thea took the letter from Papa, looked at it, and then began separating the items into two piles: the ones that were with him when he died and the ones that had been in his kitbag. She glanced at Tiney and smiled as she picked up three pairs of socks. They were ones that each of his sisters had knitted for him. Only the socks that Minna had knitted were missing. Tiney wished Minna was there with them at that moment. To know that her socks were the ones he wore on his last day.
In the pile of things from his kitbag there was a gift tin that Mama had sent him, his unit colours, some badges, a small stack of letters and a single photo of a woman with long dark hair holding a tiny baby. Thea handed the photo to Papa, who in turn handed it to Mama. She studied it closely. ‘Who could this be?’
They were all thinking the same thought at the same time, but no one seemed to want to say it out loud.
‘Does the baby look like Louis?’ asked Tiney.
Thea put one hand up, as if to admonish her sister. ‘Louis would have told us if he had married.’
‘I would know,’ said Mama. ‘I would know in my heart if Louis did such a thing.’
Tiney didn’t want to remind Mama that she hadn’t known that Nette was pregnant for three months before she wrote, or that Minna had been planning to run away until they found her note. When Tiney was little, she’d imagined Mama and Papa knew every thought inside her head. Now, she knew how fallible they were.
Papa snatched the photo from Mama’s hands. ‘You mustn’t jump to wild conclusions. This woman could be anyone. Someone he helped, the wife of one of his comrades. If she meant something to him, he would have carried the photo into battle. But it was among his things in the kitbag.’ He turned the photo over. ‘There’s a date in pencil, here on the back: May 1915 . Our Louis was in hospital in Malta in May of that year. He would have written to tell me if she were anyone important.’
As if that meant there was to be no more discussion, Papa gathered up the letters from the parcel and Louis’ diary and retreated to his study.
Tiney couldn’t understand why he and Mama should want to dismiss the possibility that the photo might be of someone important to Louis. She went to her room and drew out her writing folio. Inside was a letter from the Thomas Cook Agency about their tours of the battlefields, costings of travel to England and France, and a letter from the Prime Minister’s office saying there would be no assistance for families of the bereaved to visit the battlefields of Europe. Then she drew out a fresh sheet of paper and began to write a letter to Nette congratulating her on the news of the baby and telling her of the arrival of Louis’ possessions. As she
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