The thought that you could die tomorrow makes you appreciate life
Accidental Hero - #7 A romance with one foot in the past
Ben and Verity’s Story: Ben’s excited to be paired with his crush Verity, to work on a history project. They’re researching Walter Gibbons, the soldier awarded a medal they found in Verity’s uncle’s antique store. Ben enlists the help of Derek, the verger, to scour the village church records.
Walter’s Story: A young man whose mother depended on him, he had no plans to enlist until he was involved in a fight. Fearing he had killed the other lad, Walter fled and joined up, and was posted to fight overseas in the Great War.
CW: Death and war tragedies
Hello Ben, this is all I’ve unearthed relating toWalter Gibbons.
Your soldier served in the 5th Norfolk Regiment. It seems he signed up in Great Yarmouth, rather than Norwich, which was our local recruiting office.
After basic training, that battalion was shipped out to Gallipoli where all evidence tells us the fighting was fierce and the losses were high.
When his regiment landed at Suvla Bay, they were alongside others such as the 5th Suffolk and the 8th Hants. As I told you briefly on Sunday, they (5th Norfolk) gained the reputation for having disappeared, but a retrospective gathering of accounts points to their numbers being systematically destroyed by superior fire and mis-matched commands.
The unfortunate foot soldiers had orders to advance on a Turkish strong point, Kuchuk Anafarta Ova. It was a terrible time for all the regiments involved. The orders they had received were sketchy and confusing.
Our parish records do not show that Walter Gibbons got married or that he was buried, so perhaps you should assume that he did not make the journey safely home.
His father Edgar died in 1912 and is buried in the churchyard of St Leonards. Evangeline, Walter’s mother is interned alongside; she suffered very ill health. Records show that the vicar made ad hoc visits until she died in 1916. That may coincide with her getting news that Walter had been killed (but that’s pure conjecture on my part).
A next step would be to check archives of the London Gazette for any mention of his heroism ,and the names of the men who died in those ill-fated battles at Gallipoli.
Yours: Derek Reynolds
My Dearest Darling Hetty
By using my green envelope, I am hoping my words will avoid censorship, but if not, at least it won’t be my captain who reads my outpourings.
Beloved, I miss you night and day. Regrets batter me like waves hit rocks on the coast. Our parting — the way it happened, left no time for a loving kiss, a tender embrace, not even a look that says more than mere words. I often recollect our walks in the lanes, or sitting under the trees, and I picture you clearly. The way your beautiful hair escapes its combs and pins, your lashes shadowing your cheeks and the swell of your lips.
Some nights, when I long to sleep, but am disturbed by the crack of gunshot, it’s a struggle to picture your face; that’s when my comfort is torn away. I witness great ugliness and tragedy daily. Thoughts of you, my love, are the only things that keep me sane. You are my focus, reminding me what we are fighting for, the sweetness we must protect.
Dan, who is the radio operator, had been affianced to Frederica for a few months before war broke out. They had made plans for a church wedding and a move into a little house. He is a good man and I believe we could have been friends even without us being thrown together like rats down a sewer.
After this is over (God willing) I’d like you to meet him, and his fiancee Frederica, who sounds like a patient young woman. She works as a schoolteacher in their village.
Is it wrong to dream of children for us, my love? A girl with the same red plaits you used to wear to school, and an older brother to protect her. I’ll leave the names up to you, but I hope they are blessed with your wit and kindness, and a lick more common sense than their father.
I curse the rash action that landed me here, in the blistering heat, with many miles and oceans between us.
My love forever and always — Walter
I phoned the antique shop needing to speak to Verity, but her uncle answered.
“Hi, it’s Ben again. I’m sorry to trouble you, but is Verity there now?”
“No Ben, she hasn’t returned from Suffield, but I will tell her you called.”
“Did she say why she was going to Suffield? Is it to do with our history project?”
“It may be Ben. Shortly after I gave her the address I found concerning that medal you’re researching, she went to catch a bus.”
I thanked her uncle and resigned myself to wait for her return. I had intended to continue online research around the new details Derek Reynolds had discovered, but I suspected that Verity’s lead would have more pertinence.
To pass the time, I messed about with YouTube. A term Patrick had used when we argued kept gnawing at me. Calling Verity a Sunday Girl had sounded like an insult. I decided to look it up to get the context.
I discovered it was the title of a song by Blondie, a popular U.S. band from the 1980s. I watched the video, then looked up the lyrics. I could grudgingly admit they were a fit for people’s perception of Verity.
I know a girl from a lonely street
Cold as ice cream, but still as sweet
Dry your eyes, Sunday Girl
My urge to tell Verity that I was starting to care grew stronger. With everything I was learning about the value of time, it seemed pointless to wait, keeping a lid on my feelings.
If you over-share, you risk driving her away. My inner voice counselled. To tell her you haven’t stopped thinking about her since you began the project; it’s a lot!
My emotional attachment surprised even me. But things had changed. This project was helping me to grow. Finding out about Walter and how he earned his medal felt more real than the exams we had recently sat, and I was keen to chase down the information and uncover his story.
Meanwhile, another part of my brain was pumping the brakes. I wanted to strengthen the bond that was developing with Verity, but my niggling worry was that I needed more time to win her over before I made my move. The chorus of Sunday Girl, “hurry up and wait,” seemed an oxymoron that perfectly expressed how I felt.
A knock at the front door interrupted my internal wranglings. Soft footsteps were followed by a flurry of Binky’s excited barking.
“Ben, Verity’s here to see you,” Mum called.
I stepped onto the landing to look down into the hall. She stood, gilded by the slanting end-of-the-day sunlight, her expression inscrutable. My stomach lurched like five of my lottery numbers had come up and I was watching the sixth one spin.
“Come on up,” I told Verity.
As I watched her ascend the stairs, I realised I was the only one smiling.
Thanks to Steve Smith’s informative blog on Great War Britain. Sunday Girl was written by Christopher Stein, Sunday Girl lyrics © Chrysalis Music, Monster Island Music Publ. Corp. This story is a mixture of researched facts and fiction. It originally appeared on Medium.
I love this series!