The War Garden
Bright sunlight streamed unrestricted through the window that Willy had neglected to cover with a curtain the night before. Rolling out of bed, he grimaced to find that it was already midmorning and he had wasted nearly half of his day. Exactly what he had been planning to fill the empty hours with he did not know, but he felt a pronounced sense of regret at being unable to suitably use the time. He jumped aimlessly down the darkly carpeted stairs knocking against the wall, much like water takes its dynamic course down a waterfall, looking up when he reached the bottom to find both his Grandfather and Basil, the butler, glancing at him in concern. Managing an embarrassed smile at his antics he said good morning to both and helped himself to the breakfast left on the table.

Grandfather gently put down the book he had been reading on the once-crimson tablecloth covering the mahogany table and inquired, “so Willy, what is it you plan to do today?”

Willy paused in his eating and considered, tilting his head slightly so that his brown hair hung over his forehead. There was not much that one as young as he was could occupy oneself with at Grandfather’s countryside estate in Northern England, particularly in the turbulent times that the war had brought to the region. “I think I will go outside and practice cricket some more,” Willy answered, certain he wanted to take advantage of the sunshine. Back at his home with his parents in London it was rarely anything but overcast. Often the days of good weather had been taken by school and chores. For the past three years, ever since Willy had first evacuated London because of the German bombings, he had a private tutor who came only twice a week, and only on Grandfather’s insistence. Currently, the tutor was taking the month of June off to visit his family in York leaving Willy free to spend his days however he pleased. Willy spent his hours playing cricket and wandering the forested area surrounding Grandfather’s manor. The trees comprised his woods on a Midsummer Night, a quieting place to which he could escape to and be alone with his thoughts and imagination. Although he dreamt not of fairies and potions his freedom to be a pilot soaring above the clouds was limitless.

Grandfather nodded and observed complacently as his grandchild finished his meal, sped out the front doors, nearly falling on the dark worn wood floors of the front entryway, and leaving the front door still partially open on the equally worn red doormat. Willy slowed his pace when he reached the grassy field to the left of the house. Looking back he saw the old brick house, shaded by tall, majestic in his opinion, trees full of green leaves and felt a wave of affection for the place. Chipped brick smoothed the corners of the building giving it the appearance of just peeping out of the woods. Shingles crowded over one another to reach the roofline first and wind beaten red shutters tidily tucked themselves away next to clouded windows. The house as a whole had the air of mystery that accompanied the woods but was also innately inviting to the boy. It was home and it invoked such a happy feeling in him that he was nearly able to escape his constant fears for his family in London. Just to the side of the front drive was the garden, Basil’s ongoing project. It was the best, most beautiful and productive garden the boy had ever known, providing them with fresh produce for many of the summer months. Willy especially loved the brightly colored peppers the garden yielded, although more to look at than to consume. Basil’s only foible was to cook them to almost unrecognizable states and to remain blissfully ignorant about Willy’s and Grandfather’s dislike of the situation. Given, he did not know many gardens being from a densely populated area of London, but he was nevertheless sure the garden was one of England’s finest.
Willy loved his upstairs room, despite its cramped area and worn furniture. He loved the little bed with blue covers, tucked neatly under the window and the small wood desk that had once belonged to his father. His view from the window of the front lawn and the gravel path leading up to the house made him feel as high up in the air as the clouds themselves. Sometimes he pretended his window the front of an airplane and that he was a pilot in the RAF helping do his part to keep England safe from the German. Having reached the yard he bent to pick up his cricket bat lying at an angle in the lush green grass and began to practice his swings.
After several hours – gauging by the sun’s position in the sky Willy suspected it was nearing tea time – a post boy from Kingston on Hull, the nearest city to Grandfather’s estate, rode up on his bicycle carrying a satchel full of letters. Willy dropped his cricket bat and hurried towards the house, hoping to intercept the post boy and be the one to deliver the messages to Grandfather, as Willy always wished to please him and inspire his pride. However, despite Willy’s efforts, the boy reached the front door on his bicycle and delivered the letter to Basil after employing the elaborate brass knocker on the door. Willy watched as Basil read the information on the front of the envelope, paled and seemed to lose strength, faintly thanking the boy for delivering the letter. The boy nodded, said something in return and climbed onto his bicycle with the air of a drafted soldier going off to war. Willy looked towards Basil in concern, but the butler had already turned and disappeared into the house, closing the door tightly behind him. After returning his cricket supplies to their proper place, Willy entered the house and peeked in the sitting room for his Grandfather. He saw him sitting in his favorite chair, a well-kept blue-cushioned chair that had belonged to Willy’s grandmother holding the crisp white paper from inside the envelope as though it were extremely delicate. The look on his face was that of one who has been told that the sun has just gone out, but as soon as he saw Willy he attempted a pleased nod.
“Have a good bout of cricket practice?” he asked, too cheerfully. Then, glancing at the note in his hand, he said, “Some news has arrived. You remember your cousin Jane, don’t you?”
Willy nodded, pretending he remembered the girl he had met only a few times before when he must have been only a toddler. He faintly recalled a warm, golden in his memory, Christmas Eve many years ago in which his parents and aunt and uncle were the focal points around him as he sat on the striped red rug of their front room underneath the stockings carefully hung on the wall with new shiny nails. Jane was only a foggy afterthought of the memory. She lived in London also but her parents were much too busy with their jobs with the government to visit his parents often. Even on Christmas day they were incredibly devoted to their jobs, to the extent that a ride to the other side of the city would be impossible. He did not know if she had been evacuated from London or if her parents had allowed her to stay. He would guess the former, but had never been told either way.
“Well,” Grandfather continued, and his composure trembled like Willy’s had when he had fallen on a rosebush and was trying not to cry “she will be coming to stay with us.”
And his words became reality when, within the week, Jane appeared carrying a little bag clutched close to her in the rain pouring from the sky. She was only a little taller than Willy and slightly built with straight brown hair and light eyes. She moved into the room across the hall from Willy’s and kept mostly to herself. Apart from the occasional meeting in Basil’s prize garden the only indication of her presence within the house was the sound of her opening door in the mornings just after dawn’s first light peeked over the horizon. Willy was an early riser but his habits were pale in comparison to his cousin’s. He was very curious to learn what she was like but was subtly engaged in other activities by Basil when he was most intent upon speaking with her to the point that he did not even realize he was being dissuaded until several hours later.
As time passed after Jane’s arrival Willy’s curiosity waned and he fell back into his routine of spending as many waking hours as he could in the plot of land around the manor. His only other regular activity was to sit, bursting with anticipation but not very much fearful, and listen to the radio of accounts of the war. But now Grandfather had been limiting even his time allowed doing that. Had he not been so swept up in the excitement of summer and the country atmosphere he would have noticed that something was peculiar with his Grandfather’s aversion to all subjects’ war related.
June came and went more or less uneventful both at the country house but not so in the tide of war. The Allies’ invasion of France occurred in Normandy, and although Willy swore that was where he suspected it would be, only weeks before he had been promising Grandfather they would march the shores of Calais. Even the clamor caused by their invasion could not long hold Willy’s attention. He was chronically restless; for what he did not know.
And with one thing and another, July had soon taken its leave, closely followed by August. Willy’s tutor returned and soon his days were filled with geography and mathematics. In his time not taken up by the studies he again fell into playing cricket with a passion. On one such day he was in his own world, consisting of himself, the bat and the departing ball when Jane approached hesitantly.
“Hi Willy” she ventured tentatively and he was awakened from his reverie.
“Oh, hello” he replied, unsure of her intention.
“Do you think you could teach me how to play?” Jane asked in the same hesitant voice and hurried to continue when Willy looked at her blankly. “I mean, you don’t have to, but, you see, I’ve never learned and you look like you have been having so much fun –“
“Oh, sure I can” Willy replied, comprehension dawning on his face. “So you have two teams and the first is at bat while the opposite team bowls, or tries to get the batsman out. There are some more complicated rules but you should start with that.” Willy reveled in teaching his favorite pastime and soon Jane seemed to have forgotten her worries and was bowling balls to Willy while laughing gaily.
Willy’s new partner came along quickly and soon she could hit the ball out of any side of the cricket pitch. She began waiting for him at the breakfast table and he would proceed to explain the minute details involved in the game. Time for Willy passed amiably and his sense of disquiet diminished.
Then one day in September came, a day Willy would remember forever. He woke up to find Jane solemn and gray, her hunched shoulders whispering to him to play alone today. He knew she had left her perch at the radio early and suddenly the night before during the report. He had not understood what they spoke of when saying concentration camps. He recalled something being said about liberation in Belgium but he had not understood what was examined during the report. Grandfather had appeared increasingly uncomfortable sent Willy quickly to bed after Jane had departed.
Willy wandered into the parlor and sat in the blue chair next to the radio. He had never met his grandmother. Contemplating the difference another presence could have made in his situation he peered up at the mantle above the fireplace. Frowning slightly, he noticed a crumpled paper peeking out from under the photograph of Grandfather and his grandmother. Without realizing he was doing so he had already pulled the paper out from underneath the frame and found that it was a letter, the letter, that had started Jane’s migration to Grandfather’s house, wondering if Grandfather had lost it. He did not even consider that he could have meant to hide it. Willy was not a bad child, but sometimes his curiosity was insatiable. He simply had to see why she had come. The feeling of guilt tightened in his abdomen but he slid out the crisp sheets and looked upon the words. At first he did not understand them, but hours with his tutor served him well and he found that the evenly spaced letters spelling deceased next to his aunt and uncle’s names was something he could understand. And suddenly the events of the past couple months clicked into place inside his head and he understood Jane’s reclusiveness, and quiet demeanor. He regretted his unkind thoughts of her silence. But through his regret he felt confusion, then anger, at the hiding of their deaths. He was young and the word death was still just that to him, a word. But secrets he understood. Turning swiftly he sought Grandfather. Pounding out of the front door he stomped down the steps, his anger sweeping him along like the winds of a cyclone. Glancing towards Basil’s garden, he saw Grandfather sitting on a bench with Jane. Basil was wearing gardening gloves and clipping some of the last blooms of the garden.
“How could you?” Willy burst out when he was within range of their hearing, waving the letter in the air for emphasis. He saw Grandfather grimace and rise slowly.
“Now before you say another word Willy, you must let me tell you several things.” Willy glared but permitted him to continue. “Thank you. Now Willy, I know you are angry and I knew this day would one day come” Willy harrumphed. “I know you are angry” Grandfather repeated “but I did not tell you and made Jane not tell you and Basil not tell you to protect you. War is a bitter thing Willy. I know. I saw it in my time during the military. It pained me and I always sought escape. I know that you think what I did was wrong, but protecting you from the pain that I suffered was the only thing I knew how to do. The evil of man is overwhelming and by only letting you hear of the good, I though perhaps you would remain innocent and not jaded by cynicism of the human race. I suppose there is only one thing I can do now Willy and that is to apologize to you and to wish that you will forgive me for doing what I thought was best. I am sorry”
Willy felt suddenly ashamed for reaction so fiercely, and, feeling a lump rising in his throat he nodded quickly and saw that he was understood. Jane pushed around Grandfather and engulfed Willy in a loving hug.
“I’m sorry Willy” she whispered into his ear. At that moment a humming sound tore across the sky and a monstrous noise, like a clap of thunder directly above one’s head rolled across the ground. In an explosion of color and heat Willy was thrown backwards and lost his grip on Jane. All was black.
Willy awoke and judging by the sunlight it was not long after the explosion. Lying on his back, he refrained from trying to get up, feeling winded. Trying to call for Jane he coughed weakly and found that his throat was coated in dust. Placing his head carefully back on the ground he faded out of consciousness once more.
The second time that Willy awoke was with the touch of a stranger. He saw a woman in a brown coat leaning over him. Lifting her head she called for another stretcher and Willy felt himself being lifted onto the fabric and moved out of the wreckage as the woman whispered soothing words to him.
Willy awoke once again in a clean, sterile hospital room. His first thought was that the bed was comfortable. His second was concern that morphed soon into panic when he realized what had happened. As he was trying to get up the door opened and Basil walked in, his arm bandaged and tied securely to his side. Willy immediately began peppering him with questions.
“Hush, calm Willy, they are all fine. And now your head will be all right also.”
“What happened?” Willy croaked.
“The Germans” Basil smiled grimly. “A bomb hit the house. Reduced it to rubble, they did. It’s a miracle we were all outside when it hit.”
Willy felt sick and knew then what his grandfather meant by the evil of man is overwhelming. The next few hours passed in a blur. He was reunited with Grandfather and Jane and relieved for he was secretly suspecting they had been hurt and no one would tell him. He was discharged from the hospital and they moved into the flat that Grandfather had rented for them. Willy recovered slowly and as he was doing so Grandfather allowed him unimpeded access to the radio, evidently deciding that Willy had already discovered as much as he was trying to hide.
What with one thing and another the months passed again until May 8th 1945 when the Germans surrendered. Willy was overjoyed and he and Jane poured into the streets to celebrate with the other members of Kingston on Hull. Soon after that he, Jane, Grandfather and Basil boarded a train to return to London and move in with Willy’s parents who had both survived the war. He had not seen them since he was evacuated. Sitting quietly next to Jane on the train he decided that wherever they were as long as he was with them, he was home.