Life begins when you meet the right person -they make anything possible

Accidental Hero #9: A romance with one foot in the past

---

Images by Engin Akyurt layered over Andrys’ calligraphy image from Pixabay

Previously: Ben and Verity researched the background of Walter Gibbons, curious what act of bravery resulted in his being awarded the medal that turned up in Uncle Colin’s antique shop. Verity went to Sutton in search of the medal’s previous owner.
CW: Mentions of injury, death and grief

Hetty’s Story

Walter’s letters stopped coming in the Autumn of 1916. At first I kidded myself that they weren’t getting through, like when he first landed. Then, the soldiers didn’t receive anything from home for six months. But by the time his mother, Evangeline got an official letter from one of his superior officers, rumours were circulating that the 5th Norfolk Regiment had disappeared in smoke.

I never believed that, it made no sense at all. After the war more facts fell into place; we gradually learned of the terrible losses in that campaign, how the majority of his regiment had been wiped out in one attack. But Walter had not been with those Tommys, advancing on the enemy in a doomed exercise.

It transpired that my dear boy had taken over the post of his fallen comrade, and had stayed to man the radio. His valiant actions kept the chain of command functioning, amidst flying shells while enemy artillery did its worst. Walter hadn’t been trained for it, he had learned his skills on the hoof. His skill with the radio was a direct result of befriending Dan, another brave man who laid down his life.

Sadly, Walter never left the beach at Gallipoli. While he took over Dan’s station, working the radio, he had been bleeding profusely from wounds he sustained in the mortar attack. With all the flies and little medical assistance, his wounds quickly became infected. In his last days, Walter was delirious and feverish, no longer aware of his surroundings, or the great act of bravery that he had undertaken. He was decorated posthumously.

Both his mother and I clipped and saved the notice from the London Gazette, its biannual listing of medals awarded. Its few words explain how Private Walter Gibbons earned his recognition for his bravery.

For conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty in preserving and keeping up communications for his brigade during a critical period under very heavy shell fire at great personal risk. He also carried out a reconnaissance of great value under heavy fire.

Learning of Walter’s death was a bitter blow. One moment I was stringing out hope that my darling would come home, the next I was holding his mother’s hand while she sobbed over notification of his death in service. The official communication took months to get to us. By the time it did, my love was long gone, his spark extinguished.

How did we carry on without him? Well, I shut myself in my bedroom and cried, for weeks I could barely eat or sleep. Nightly I gazed at the stars, with the comfort stripped away that my beloved was looking at the same jewelled sky.

It was a bittersweet shock to receive one last letter from Walter. It was brought to England by a wounded soldier who he had fought alongside. Private William Thirst did not survive his wounds, but I was determined to visit his body, in the cemetery near his home, as a gesture of gratitude.

I stood and wept beside the family plot with its War Grave headstone for William in the churchyard of St Mary’s Suffield. I held a small bunch of flowers, picked from my mother’s garden, which I laid by the headstone. Birdsong from the branches of nearby trees seemed to celebrate the end of the rain.

“Did you know him?”

I was startled out of my solemn reverie by a man’s voice.

A little distance away, the man stood and leaned on a stick. His gentle expression encouraged me, so I told him that I didn’t, but explained why I was grateful to William. The man nodded and invited me to take a turn around the village green with him, walking made it easier to talk. His name was Bert Witherspoon and he was William’s cousin. A year later he became my husband.

We settled in Suffield, where I lived out my days, but I never forgot Walter, my first love. On Walter’s mother’s death, she left me his medal, which I bequeathed to my only child Davina Witherspoon, along with his letters and this journal, which tells our story.

---

Verity was fidgeting with the leather strap of the bag she held on her knee.

“A neighbour saw me knocking at Jason’s mother’s front door. She told me the lady who lived there worked at the village shop. So I went there and hung around until there were no customers, then I fapproached her. She was furious to hear that Jason had sold a precious heirloom. Of course she asked what my interest was, so I explained about our history project.”

Verity licked her lips and continued.

“Jason’s mother, Prudence was keen to help. She said if I could wait until her shift ended there were other things relating to Walter she could show me. So I went to a cafe to kill time.”

Now she looked guiltily at Mum’s mug of tea.

“I’m awash with tea,” she said, setting it down on the desk. “Anyway, Prudence explained that her grandmother Hetty Barnes had been betrothed to Walter. His medal was passed to Hetty after his mother died.”

“Wow! The verger told me the church had no record of Walter getting married. I guess they wouldn’t keep records of everyone who got engaged.”

“Not unless it got as far as their wedding bans being read,” Verity agreed. “Hetty always treasured Walter’s letters. She has passed them, and his medal, down to her daughter Davina.”

“Hetty got married? Who to?”

“Ohh that’s a story itself Ben, I’ll tell you in a minute. Hetty’s husband was called Bert Witherspoon.”

Verity’s cheeks had pinked with excitement. I schooled myself not to interrupt, although I was eager to get to the bottom of the mystery.

“They had one daughter Davina, who married, and she had two girls, Jeanette and Prudence. It was Prudence I met this afternoon; she’s been married twice. She had a daughter, Gail by her first marriage and two more children, Pippa and Jason, with her second husband.”

“Prudence inherited the medal and Walter’s correspondence. She was livid with Jason for taking the medal and selling it. I promised once we’ve presented this project, that I’ll return the medal to her. Uncle Colin will understand. And I have the letters here.” Verity touched her bag.

“She let you borrow the letters? You must have really charmed her!” I could not curb my astonishment.

“Yes and no. That’s not the only surprise I got this afternoon.”

Verity’s eyes were unnaturally bright.

“Hetty’s granddaughter, Davina’s younger daughter Jeanette, married a man called Tony Brookridge.”

The hairs on my arm prickled to attention. “Your surname is Brookridge.”

“Yes, and my mother’s name was Jeanette.”

“So you’re related to Hetty?” I nearly choked.

“Yes,” Verity’s happiness shone. “She’s my great grandmother, and I’ve got cousins and an aunt and uncle I didn’t know about!”

“And your Uncle Colin didn’t either?”

“She and my mother weren’t close. Prudence didn’t hear that my mother had died.” Some of Verity’s joy leached away when she touched this painful topic, “Prudence assumes Uncle couldn’t track her down because, when she remarried, her surname changed from Leadbetter to Darnell.

“I wouldn’t have wanted to be brought up by anyone but Uncle Colin anyway.” Verity maintained her brittle shell, to ward off the hurts of the world. I would do anything to banish her need for it forever.

“Have you read the letters?”

“I have,” she dipped a hand into her bag and lifted the bundle out carefully. “They’re beautiful, they make Walter and Hetty real.”

“So your great-grandmother is part of our story?”

“Absolutely. See for yourself.”

She passed over Walter’s precious letters, in which the lonely soldier had shared his hopes and dreams, his love and fears. They were fragile to the point of tearing where they had been folded and re-read, but they provided a link between the past and the present more strongly than we could have hoped.

While Verity used the cloakroom, I got lost reading the poignant words of Walter, the accidental soldier who became a hero. Walter’s one rash action did not make him a bad guy in my eyes, so I steeled myself to share my truth with Verity.

“I’m guessing you heard I had a fight with Patrick at school.”

Verity nodded with a tight expression.

“I wasn’t fighting your battle, but rather making my own stand. I’ll admit that hearing Patrick took liberties with you made me mad, which made me determined to turn the tables on him. My major motivation was to tell him enough is enough, that he and I can no longer be friends precisely because he needed to be shown, rather than knowing, that his actions were morally wrong.

“I hope you understand, I was setting my boundaries, not diminishing your power.”

Verity tilted her head, considering me. Could she see I’m a better man?

“I’ve changed so much in less than two weeks.” In the time I’d come to know her.

“Researching WWI and the lives of those young soldiers has woken me up. Time is too precious to waste, actions need to be taken, and choices have to be made. Missing an opportunity through inertia is something I can no longer swallow.”

When I took Verity’s hand in mine, there was a pulse of electricity.

“You’ve brought me to this place.” I told her. “I want to be more like you, standing up for my values rather than moving with the crowd.”

I sense her shield is lowering. Seal the deal.

But Verity spoke before I could kiss her. “In seeking the right person you need someone with all the right similarities, yet all the right differences: Someone to read your mind instinctively, yet cover your weaknesses.”

“That’s sound reasoning — am I that person?”

“I think so,” a half smile quirked her lips, which I longed to kiss, instead I squeezed her hand.

“You’re definitely that person for me,” I raised her knuckles to my lips.

When Verity smiled widely, I could have leapt tall buildings in a single bound.

“Supper’s ready.” Mum’s voice floated upstairs.

“If that was a movie quote, I shall need to watch that movie.”

“It was. And we will,” Verity grinned as we went to eat.

---

Our history project on Walter Gibbons, the Accidental War Hero, won us fifty house points and was featured in the local newspaper. The reporter was particularly interested that our investigations led Verity to discover an unknown branch of her family.

Serendipitously, Verity found Hetty’s journal from those wartime years. It was stored in a trunk with her mother’s effects. Uncle Colin had been waiting until she was twenty-one to let her open it but he realised, as I had, it’s sometimes pointless holding back.

I will miss Verity while she’s in Hong Kong on a buying trip with her Uncle Colin this summer, but I expect I’ll be occupied applying for internships as a research assistant. In the evenings, I have Verity’s list of classic films to work through.

• [The End]

Local lad William Thirst is buried in the churchyard of St Mary’s Suffield. Awarded the Military Medal for ‘Bravery in the Field’, he was wounded in action, and evacuated back to Cardiff Hospital, where unfortunately he died. He has a commonwealth War Graves Headstone Commision alongside his family plot. [The Little Book of Norfolk — Neil R Storey]. Quote from the London Gazette relates to the medal awarded to my Grandfather. He came home to his family but sadly his life was shortened by exposure to mustard gas experienced in the trenches. Movie quote: ‘Martha, meet Frank, Daniel and Laurence’.

---

Did you miss any earlier episodes? Visit my list: