The Reunion

The story of Molly and Jack Windsor, and the trials and tribulations the two of them endured throughout The Second World War in Britain.

{Story written for English GCSE coursework; year 10, 2015, for which I received an A*}


1. The Reunion

Her dark, luscious hair blew in the wind as she stood in front of her son on the platform that would separate the two forever. Or at least until the bombing in London came to an end. Or God forbid, until the war was over - she wasn't sure how long that would be, but she hoped it would only last for so-much longer. She missed her soldier, her husband. And now, now she would miss her little George for a short while.


'Georgie, don't cry! Mumma's only a short while away! She'll come and visit. And you can spend time with your Grandparents.' she tried to reassure him. She wasn't too sure it worked. His small, elegant features glinted in the early morning sun, and over the fuss on the station, she could see his sapphire eyes glint with worry. And fear. They hadn't been a day apart from each other since the day he was born. His small, woollen cardigan was freeing from his body and his grandmother pulled him close to her legs, bundling him up once again. The woman smiled down at her daughter by law, but the woman beneath her realised it was because the train was making its final call. The woman pulled her son close to her chest and stroked his sun-kissed blonde head. 'Rwy'n dy garu di am byth' her Welsh seemed slightly rusty but her pronunciation was spot on. Her eyes begged to cry, but she knew she couldn't. She had to assure him everything would be ok. Her young son stared pools into her eyes before repeating to her 'Rwy'n dy garu di am byth'. His chubby cheeks and slight speech impediment made her realise just how much she'd miss the toddler.


'Molly, the train's making its final call.' the whistles blew and her eyes travelled back up to the woman standing in front of her.

'Okay, Georgie' she gulped and sniffed 'You go on the train and sit in that carriage, okay? Nana will be there in a moment.' she promised him, placing one last kiss on his forehead.

'I am doing the right thing, aren't I?' she questioned her almost-mother, her son waddling to his carriage.

'Of course you are, Molly. There was no other way; the bombings from Germany were getting too unsafe.' she promised. But the woman across from her still looked uneasy.

'Molly Windsor! I have known you since you were six years old. I realise when you're doing something wrong. This is exactly the right decision. Your putting your son's needs ahead of your own. That is exactly the right call.' she reassured her. Her nod of appreciation spoke volumes at that time. She gave the elderly woman a quick kiss on the cheek and as the train started to slowly move, she followed.

'Please look after my son.' she shouted over the thundering of the rails clashing. The train started speeding with momentum.

'You just look after mine'. And then they were gone, the train sped off the station and she stood there, hovering. Hoping they would come back.


*             *             *


It had been four years since they'd married. That glorious day in amongst the flowers and friends. With the wind blowing her veil into her face, with his pristine suit. The colours of spring bloomed around them, every flower highlighting their love for each other.


It had been almost three years since she'd been to the doctors. Since she found out that they'd be having a child of their own. They were over the moon, the nursery was ready within weeks. The childhood loves, the fairy tale couple would have children of their own.


It had been two and a half years since the news broke of war with Germany. That the war would rage on, yet again. Mimicking almost 21 years on. It had been two and a half years since he was forced to enlist, since he was sent away.


It had been two years since she'd given birth to their child. Without him. Two years since the kiss left on her bump every day blossomed into a bouncing baby boy. Two years since the tables were turned and she was forced to raise a child she so longed for with her husband - without her husband. In the midst of a war.


*             *             *


The days were as if they were getting longer, each one demanding something new - something possibly too far out of her reach. The nights were worse. The air-raids were growing ever louder, and she felt as though she saw the inside of the Anderson shelter more than she saw the inside of her own home. She missed her son, and she missed her husband just the same.


She reached the make-shift hospital directly to the right of the real hospital (they'd ran out of room a few weeks ago). There were too many attacks, too many bombs and not nearly enough to contain them. It was manslaughter, waiting for a high quality of people, and attacking them in a pack. She sometimes wished she were doing some other job, one that might not mean she dealt with so much emotion. It was a daily struggle, deciding whether she loved her job, or hated it. But she often reminded herself that her job meant she was saving lives, looking out for those who had no one. To her, that was possibly the best thing about her job.


The call came in at five past twelve, on the dark, rain-filled-sky day that was May the 27th. There would be men - some barely alive - coming to them. Her orders were clear - stay way from looking for loved ones; treat the patient you were assigned to. That barely restricted her emotions. They were running rampant throughout her chest. What if that's him? What if he's a part of that? If it were him, she wasn't sure she'd be able to stick to the rules. But for there and then, it was time to concentrate.


They started pouring in soon after the call, hundreds and dozens and then in thousands. They had too many men and not nearly enough nurses. Not nearly enough to cover half. She saw the glimmer of small May sunlight glint upon something. Although it were a small light beam, it illuminated the item. She realised it was a ring. Exactly identical to the one her husband wore, exactly like the one she sported. Her eyes glanced up at the face, hoping she could possibly recognise it. There were too many people, too much chaos. Not enough opportunity for her to see him, see whether it was her man; her Jack.

'Nurse Windsor.' the Matron shouted for her. 'Please take this man. Assist Doctor Martin in surgery'.

'But Matron-' she protested.

'Nurse Windsor, this man is dying. NOW.' and she left.

The surgery was full. There were three men, all being worked on at the same time, in the makeshift operating room/tent. The man in front of her almost bled out. Twice. But she wasn't paying attention. She was looking for her husband in the sea of crimson men. She saw nothing but the curtain flapping back and forth, hiding the contents of the tent.


She rushed past dozens of nurses looking, searching. Hoping. Her frantic glances around the field were sorely watched by the thousands admitted. As she ran through yet another line full, dodging the limbs and blood pools covering the floor, she got caught. She thought it may be possible that she had gotten caught in a bed in some way, but as she turned her hand was covered with another. She wanted to let go, to go searching - but it was her job to save these men. For the sake of the country. She crouched over the soldier, hovering slightly, enough to be able to get up if needed. She didn't look at the soldier's facial features for a moment - she waited, making sure she would be able to get up without any fuss. But as she searched the iris' of his eyes, she collapsed. For this, this was her soldier. Her husband.


*             *             *


The cool breeze of the May air was ripe as she sat by his side.

'So, you're a nurse?' he asked, his words sounded concerned.

'Yes. Why? You always said I would make an exquisite nurse.' she replied. Her tone sounded plain - but, having known her so long, he knew it was fake.

'I always used to say that to humour you.' her mock surprise made him chuckle slightly. 'I never imagined you'd ever really do such a thing.' he told her in disbelief. The two were comfortable in each other's company it was as if nothing had happened - as if the war had never even affected their relationship.

'Mol?' he asked her cautiously.

'Hm?' she wondered. She was slightly concerned with his tone.

'Rwy'n dy garu di am byth' his smile made her eyes turn to waterfalls, ready to explode at any point necessary. She simply reciprocated with a light peck being placed on his lips.

'And Mol?' he asked her, breaking the sweet kiss they shared.

'Yes?' she smiled.

'How's the baby?' her smile disappeared for a moment, which made his face cover in concern. She quickly placed a reassuring smile upon her lips.

'He's not a baby anymore. He's three in two days.' She told him. Her eyes were lathered in sorrow.

'We have a son?' was his excited nature. His eyes hadn't caught her drastically different expression.

'Yes' she answered him. His eyes averted back to hers. The realisation had been made.

'And I've missed it all.' he whispered lightly. He looked over at her again, this time he saw her looking at him through her tears.

'Yes' was her only response.


*             *            *


'But, but... where is he?' he asked. His concern bled through.

'He's safe. He's with your mother, they left as evacuees. To Wales, to my parents'. she reassured him. She felt as though it was her job to forgive him, to remind him it wasn't his fault. But she couldn't. The ever-apparent reminder that he didn't even know his son was slowly eating away at her. And she felt angry. Maybe not at him, but at Hitler, at Chamberlain, at everyone who took him away and kept him from their son.


'Molly, I'm sorry. But I couldn't have prevented it. I'm sorry, but I couldn't.' he pleaded.

'You could have stayed with us.' she whispered. She wasn't sure whether she would hear her, but she didn't care. He could have met his son, but he didn't. She searched his eyes for any indication that he was even slightly apologetic.

'And what, Molly?! Been a coward? You know damn right what they do to cowards.' a harsh warning came, vowing them to whisper.

'It would have been better than the alternative. This.' she begged. They were both too passionate, both too stubborn to have this argument. She felt like she, too was on the battlefield. She raised to her feet and stalked off, she spotted a man calling for help in a countering field. She heard his sharp shouts of her name but she didn't want it. She didn't want the fight. Not now. Not like this.


The dim light of dusk illuminated the field, the lights glimmering on the small drops of rain embedded between the panes of grass. The Matron's cries were highlighted by the fallen silence of the moment.

'Bomb! Bomb headed this way!' The sullen words were lost amidst the grave looks of fear.

They would die.

Germany would take its revenge yet again.


*             *           *


The brisk morning air searched for a victim, but all he found was dead. Death had beaten him to the punch. And in his wake he left dozens - those who had not made it to the shelters.


And two, perished within the arms of each other. A fight forgotten.


Their love ever-lasting.


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