Suescún Tenorio Daniel, Gone With The War

GONE WITH THE WAR

Written By Daniel Suescún Tenorio

Everyone keeps telling me not to forget what I just lived through four bloody years of insignificant bloodshed, however, my moving mind keeps telling me to burry deep down all those rotten memories. Throughout the war, there was nothing but the feeling of despair, a cold constant dropping of sweat at my back and continuous dreadful breathing, emotions, feelings, which were barely calmed by the wee picture of my mother and sister at dawn; two angelic creatures, with skin so white even in the dark, you could see them shining like a mirror and their hair, yellow as that of daffodils leaves. Not a day passed without me writing them a letter, telling them insignificant things as the weather, the crackers I ate, or the cities I visited, not a single warlike word, just to have them alienated from the nonsense of war. However, I never received an answer.

After I got off the train in Dover, white drops were falling along with a shivering cold wind, I guessed it was Christmas, I’ve forgotten it existed. The train station seemed to be a military compound, full of those of us who survived and were able to breathe a serene wind again. Along with me, was my good ol’ pal Laurence, Colonel of the 14 th infantry brigade, he was my superior. He happened to be from my same hometown, Dover, however, he was more of a top-drawer kid. He lived up in Park Road, while I lived on the outskirts of Dover. He was known to be some sort of, a snobby young man, but he wasn’t that bad. He was two years younger than me, but for some nuisance reason, he referred to me as a son, maybe he was a little annoying. Anyways, we were waiting outside the train station for one of those new taxis everyone was talking about.

“Jamie, I just spoke to a guvnor, he told me our beloved Dover was bombed, we were never told, were we?” Said, Laurence.

“Not a word, good thing those box heads can’t aim” I responded.

“Remember, never underestimate your enemy, son,” Laurence said.

Finally, we were able to grab ourselves a taxi, they were fancy alright, but their grand charm was obscured by the receiving town of Dover. There was a mixture of a gloomy yet happy fervor in the air. Children were running through the windy streets, accompanied by the alluring chant of seagulls; businesses rose from the dust and rubble with their signboards held high because victory was ours. Our beloved red, blue, white, triad was exposed in every single corner, symbolizing promising times, despite the destruction of past years. Leaving behind the downtown roads and chatter; we arrived at Park Road. The trail of the bombings was more than evident, nevertheless, Laurence seems to have forgotten all that and stepped out of the taxi, eager to rejoin with his family. Laurence gave me a Fugate and he left the taxi.

Shortly after that, I arrived home, the cold sweating returned, everything which I used to call home, was gone. The small house was still up, however, my mother and sister were not there, I decided to look for Mr. Wilson, our neighbor to ask him if he knew something about them.

“Mr. Wilson!” I shouted fiercely. He didn’t answer at first

“Mr. Wilson!, it’s me, Jamie, Jamie Williams from number 12, are you home?” I shouted

“What’s all this nuisance son, can’t an old man have some quality kip,” said Mr. Wilson grumbling. He opened a small window next to the door, and he lifted the blinds.

“Mr. Wilson, my mother, my sister, where are they? they are nowhere to be found!”

“Long gone they are I’m afraid, moved north they did, I heard from Mrs. Evans they moved up to Yorkshire, young man”

“Yorkshire?, what on God’s earth are they doing on Bloody Yorkshire?”

As I finished saying this, a young man, with a greenish suit, stepped out of a taxi, it was Laurence.

“Laurence, what are you doing here? I thought you were having a blast with your family, unlike me as I’m...” He interrupted me.

“They are gone, Jamie, they are bloody gone. Maybe the boxhead can aim” he paused. And then he added; “they perished in one of those bombings the guvnor told me down at the station; I found a letter saying that they perished one year ago” He continued, “I’ve lost everything pal, four bloody years for this!, for a dead family and a future all cocked-up-” I interrupted him.

“Don’t give me that nonsense Laurence, you’re not done yet pal, you might have lost your family but you are still a young bloke! cheer up, at least you know what they did to them, I just learned that my mother and sister moved up north without a bloody notice”

“Guess we are both cocked-up, don’t we Jamie?” He said discontentedly

“I tell you what, we are going to look up for my family and you’ll be with me, understand? you’ve lost yours but at least you must have some reason to live and that will be helping your friend”.

Laurence had nothing left to lose, so he accepted to accompany me in my long journey up north to find my dear mother and sister. We stayed that night at my house. In between sobbing and despair, we managed to pass the night, our wandering minds were just reminding us that maybe all we fought for was lost, we were condemned to our memories for eight hours.

The next morning we decided to pack up our troubles in

an old kit bag as the song says, and with a small amount of hope we boarded the first train to London; there, we took a train to Yorkshire. We didn’t have the slightest ideas where my mother and sister were, so the best guess was to arrive at Yorkshire’s capital, the industrialized jungle of York. During our trip, the repetitive landscape, which to me once seemed engaging and wholesome, was becoming overwhelming, as my anxiety towards meeting my family rose. Accompanied by my perturbance; Laurence in a way to overpass his own grief was schooling me about the war of the roses, as we were going up to the land of the white rose; he was truly an intellectual.

After Laurence’s history class, his sorrow returned, his face; that feeble tired face showed nothing but the fear of failure, the expression of lonesome, and the sightseeing of a future all turn down by moments impossible to mend. He might still have money alright but besides that he had nothing. The thing with poor old Laurence was that he was promised the bloody sky, he was destined for greatness along, of course, with the unconditional support from his family. No money, nor status, in God’s alluring earth could replace what the poor chum just lost.

Two hours had passed, and we could barely spot the small twinkles of small city lights coming from the jungle of concrete. When we arrived at York, the city received us with a gloomy charm; orangish tall buildings rose from the street in some sort of dominant posture, and his people hidden in their fedoras and overcoats escaping from the subtle but yet piercing drops of rain. The strong winds from December were mixed with small taints of carbon, exposing the heavily industrialized world we were now condemned to live in.

“What now?” asked Laurence. “Mother was quite a good worker, she used to knit some

lovely socks and sweaters, I bet you she is working in a clothes factory along with Anne, my sister,” I said.

“How is your mother? If you give me her description and the one of Anne we can separate and look faster” Laurence suggested.

“Both of them have this amazing blond hair and reddish cheeks. They are white as a snowflake and their eyes are just the mirrors of their purest soul-” I said.

“Blimey, you do love them, mate” exclaimed Laurence.

About an hour ago, as the sun was setting, smoking factories were closing down for the day; Laurence and I took separate ways to look up for my mother and sister; we decided to ask in different hostels and pensions for them. After an hour and a half, we managed to find a young lady who happened to have helped mother and sister get to a train to a small town a little bit to the south of York, called Doncaster. This young lady gave them a place to sleep and a couple of quids to get off to Doncaster, searching for a more rural life. She told me the look of their faces was of unrest.

“Your mother and sister are quite the runners maybe we’ll never catch them, son,” said Laurence.

“Cheers mate for that lovely support, don’t be that negative, I know they are just looking up for a better future,” I said with a feeling of uncertainty.

That night the amiable young lady offered us a bed for the night, so we gladly accepted the offer. The next morning, we took the first train to Doncaster. Doncaster had a vast difference with York, it’s air was not only refreshing to one’s body but it gave me a feeling of hope. Again, Laurence being the good old chap he was helping me, asking for the girls around town. While walking downtown I gazed through a scarf shop showcase, and I was able to spot those iconic daffodil hairs;

I’ve finally found my mother. I ran towards the shop with incredible speed.

“Mother! Mother! it’s me, Jamie, I’ve come home, mother, your boy has survived” As I said this Laurence entered the shop. “This is Laurence, mother, my superior has been helping me finding you, mother-” She interrupted me.

“That old man, Mr. Williams couldn’t keep a bloody secret could he?” Said mother in disgust.

“I don’t get it, mother, I’m here, that’s what matters, right?” I started to stress out and I added. “I’ve come from Dover mother; to join you and Anne, where is she?”.

“At our home Jamie, My home,” she said biting. “We’ve managed to forget you Jamie, and we’ve done alright by ourselves, and I’ve heard you army men came from France with your minds all cocked-up, and Anne and I don’t need that at all-”. Laurence interrupted her.

“Excuse me Ma’am but we are not insane, your son has done everything he could to join you and commit to his duties as a son-” Said Laurence firmly. A small crowd of people was starting to gather around us.

“You disrespectful young man, don’t talk to an older lady like that-” she said fiercely. “I’ve done everything in my hands to protect my daughter from the bloody conflict fought and promoted by you! stay away! and don’t you ever come back to me, Jamie Wallace!, we are doing just fine without you!” and with tears of anger falling through her cheeks, she kicked her only son out of the store, but most importantly from her life.

Laurence and I walked crestfallen; my mind could only be compared with the hesitated breathing from a kid whose mother is lost. My thoughts stabbed me and I was left alone with my own demons. From the people around us, we could listen to words of comfort, as well, words of reprehension. Not a single instant of war could compare to what just happened;

the bloodshed from a piercing Howitzer round hurt less than the betrayal of one dearest mother. Laurence gave me a small pat on the back to comfort me, it was pointless. Laurence’s family was buried away, there was no turning back; however, mine was still living but desiring I was gone.

“How could she son? you’ve done everything for her and yet she looked down on your effort. This is bloody nonsense! Jamie, you don’t need this trumpery” He said madly. “I tell you what, we are going to leave this bloody town and we’ll move down to London, we can fix a business there, I know we can handle it” He added.

“I don’t know Laurence, my mind is just jumbled up, and, you only have a couple of quids on your name and some fancy clothes,” I said wistfully. “I guess we can do something about it, for the time being, let’s just grab a train to London, this town is hunting my mind,” My voice was soft, almost fragile as if my heart would break any minute. Perhaps my heart was already broken.

We managed to get ourselves tickets for the last train heading to York. When we arrived in York Laurence told me that he needed to pick up a couple of personal objects he left in his old house, down in Dover before we get to London; so we headed south to our hometown. When we arrived at Dover, its promising winds and allurement seemed to have vanished as dandelions seeds during a hefty gale. We arrived in Park Road, were Laurence’s state laid. The wide brick wall building, was rather imposing and marvelous, showing that it once housed the family of a promising young man. As we entered in, everything was as my wandering mind once thought, charming, sophisticated, alluring; which seemed rather bizarre as the house was supposed to have been demolished by the German bombing. On the floor, unopened correspondence laid, but a letter called my attention as it was from the ETC, it was

a telegram for Laurence. He picked up the letter and after a small gaze at it, he shouted:

“They are alive, Jamie, they are bloody alive!”

“Alive? you’re mental Laurence, you told me they died on the bombings” I answered.

“All of us were just victims from an awful fraud, Jamie, a merciless soul tried to steal our family’s money! here’s a letter from mother, saying that they were cheated to move to the capital” He exclaimed merrily.

“Good thing we are moving to London!” I responded with Hope.

The next morning we took the first train to London. As if winter faded miraculously, sky’s mightiest and yellowish king accompanied us with its delightful sizzling tones along with it’s frothy white yet a bit gloomy sidekicks. Dover’s hopeful winds returned, and Laurence’s face showed nothing but thorough ecstasy. It took us around two hours to arrive in Britain’s greatest metropolis; despite its evident mighty factories and its people alienated from humanity’s essential concept of amiability, I managed to let myself blend into its enticing greatness. The telegram Laurence found had an address from downtown London; his family was staying there.

Laurence’s encounter with his family was sublime and grand. A young man who seemed lost in between despair and grief had one of the rarest and most divine gifts of all; a second chance. I stayed outside while Laurence rejoined with his loved ones. I waited outside to the inevitable fact that Laurence will stay with his family and he’ll leave me alone in my ailing solitude. Thereafter, the door of the house where Laurence’s family stayed, opened and it was him; he looked vivid again.

“Oh Jamie, I made it, I’m home again boy!” He said blissfully. “I’ve talked with my father, they are alright, he would

kindly lend us some money for our business, well, after the fraud problem is solved. It was a bloody insurance scheme, would you believe it?” He said eagerly.

I doubted at first; now I wasn’t sure about working with Laurence, all and all he was back on the tracks with his family and I would only be a bloody nuisance. I gave it a thought and after all, we’ve become brothers not only during this journey but during the war, we couldn’t be separated. I couldn’t help myself and I accepted his offer, and promptly his family welcomed me as one of them. After a few months, we mounted a library together located in downtown London, and it turned out to be quite known. Little by little life started to taint itself from hope and peace, as my memories from the bloodshed I experienced started to vanish as the feeling of company and brotherhood grew into me. I couldn’t manage to live the life I once thought I will live along with my mother and sister; from which now I know little about, but now, like Laurence, I’ve received the most divine gift of all, a second chance, but in this case to be in a place I could call home.