Cut Flowers.

**stepives** · 11-11-2012, 10:42 PM

Ruth and Mary Ann, were sat in front of the cottage with their pillows on their laps.........the bobbins were moving faster than the eye could see, as they talked away with slight sadness in their voices.
Although the day was warm and sun drenched, it could not lighten the time of year, nor had it done so for the past few years. They paused their work, as a pitcher of cool blackberry and apple juice was brought out by Ruth’s daughter Hilda. Another chair was pulled up, and they all sat together and sipped the cooling drink with relish.
Hilda could never get the grasp of lace making, but her education had allowed her to work as a shop assistant in the nearby town of Risborough. But she sat and admired their work, and the intricacy of the patterns, which had been handed down for generations. Several pieces had been sold in the shop where she worked, and had given the family that extra little bit of income that was always welcome. Not that it was really needed, but Ruth & Mary Ann enjoyed the pastime that had been a mainstay of income many years past, and they were always of the opinion that idle hands are the devils tools.
Hilda could sew very well, and was in the process of making her bridesmaids dresses for her impending marriage in a few months. The cloth was a pale cream, with a delicate floral pattern of pale yellow roses and small green leaves, all linked together with a thread like vine. Her wedding dress was already made with the same material, but the neckline was slightly different, along with the lace trimmings around them hem and sleeves. The neckline plunged slightly, to show off her string of pearls that her fiancé George had given her on his leave from the army last year.
As Hilda stitched the lace to the cuffs of the sleeves, she could hear footsteps getting slowly closer, and the three women looked up to see Julia, who was heavily pregnant with her third child and was having some bother negotiating the cobbled footpath that ran down the front of the row of cottages. So she carefully stepped onto the narrow road, which wasn’t that much better. Hilda stepped in the cottage, and brought out another chair, and placed a feather pillow on the hard wooden seat. Julia gave her mother a kiss, and her sister Hilda offered her cheek to receive the same, but was given the largest hug instead. Hilda was having none of it, and she kissed both cheeks of the reclining sister.
Mary Ann, her mother in law, seemed miffed for being left out of the greetings, but was soon consoled as she Julia leaned over and pecked her cheeks lovingly. Julia’s other two children had been left with her cousin, who lives next door to her in Risborough, so they were safe and sound. Hilda gently ran her hands over the bulging midriff and could feel the baby moving beneath her finger tips. Her sister smiled at her, as she wiped her brow and sipped her juice at the same time.
A knowing nod between the older women, confirmed the idea that Hilda couldn’t wait to have her own children to love and care for. Hilda and her sister are the best of friends, as well as the best of sisters. After all, Julia had named her daughter after her, and no doubt this next child would be named in a way, that would exalt her love she felt for baby sister.

2
The afternoon wore on as they all chatted away, and worked their magic with their fingers, they failed to notice the messenger boy, who was stood at the front gate with an envelope in his sweaty little hand. He coughed to get their attention, but not loud enough. He coughed again, but louder this time.
Ruth lifted her head, and gazed over to see who to see who was disturbing their afternoon. The blood drained from her cheeks as she saw the letter. Immediately she started to cry, as she could see the colour of the envelope. Julia and Hilda quickly followed her upset, as they realised what it was.
Mary Ann stood up, she went and gently took the envelope from the boys trembling hands as he fought to hold back his own emotions. These two girls were his cousins, and he’d been here before with another envelope.
Mary Ann turned to Ruth, and the tears were rolling down all the faces by then. Ruth held out her shaking hand then slowly opened the envelope.
The borough hospital in Birkenhead had informed her, that her son Frederick had been wounded in France, and had been evacuated, but his condition is serious.
A panic set in, as she couldn’t see how she could get all the way to Liverpool to see her son.
Mary Ann, ran up to the main road, to see Mr. Cummings......he had a pony and trap. He phoned the railway station to ask about the trains that would take Ruth to Liverpool. 3.33.......the next train is arriving at Risborough, it will take you to Crewe, change there for Liverpool, and a ferry across to Birkenhead, came the reply.
Mary Ann, ran back down to the cottage.....ran inside and organised a panic stricken mother. Alfred Cummings was taking her to the Station, and he was paying for the tickets from the Brass Band funds. Hilda ran upstairs, and grabbed the carpet bag, and threw a few things inside it. Not much, just the bare essentials for them both.
Julia was trying to keep as calm as she could, considering her condition. Alfred Cummings would come and collect her, once he had seen Ruth and her daughter off on the train, and take her home.
Alfred brought the trap down to the house, and within minutes was whisking them away to the railway station. He bought the tickets, and gave Ruth a few more pounds for the next ticket, and help with any other expenses that might occur. They sat in the little waiting room, and waited impatiently for the train. Hilda had calmed down somewhat, and was trying to calm her mother a bit more. Mr.Cummings was standing on the platform, looking up down the line, and wishing for the train to come quickly. What seemed like hours, but was only twenty minutes, the train appeared around the curve, and was gently rolling towards the platform.
Hilda held her mothers hand tightly, as they thanked Alfred, and climbed onto the train.

3
The ferry across to Birkenhead wasn’t needed, as there was a train that connected by tunnel. They walked from Hamilton square station, and found a horse drawn cab that took them to the hospital. The cabbie didn’t charge them a penny, considering their plight.
They rushed in to the Hospital, and enquired the whereabouts of Frederick Stevens. A nurse took them to the ward, where he was laying with a host of other war casualties. They slowly walked to his bedside, and Fred raised a slight smile at the sight of his mum and sister. They kissed him gently, and held his hand. The tears flowed from his mums face, and Hilda was the same. Their streaming eyes strayed down over his body, but the sheets obscured any injuries that racked his body.
His tried to talk, but the words were stuck in his throat as he tried to hold back the pain he was feeling, despite the painkilling medication. The smile reappeared on his lips, as his eyes switched between his mother and sister. The smile said it all. He closed his eyes, and slowly drifted into a deep sleep, from which he never woke from.
Later that morning, the doctor tried to explain to Ruth and Hilda that he was absolutely amazed that life had never left Frederick, days before. His injuries were so severe, it was a miracle he survived as long as he did.
Hilda said to the doctor....’He didn’t want to die on foreign soil, and not before he had seen his mother, unlike his brother John, the year before’.
‘All we want to wish for now, is that his younger brother Thomas survives the carnage, and returns to us’.
‘I’m also awaiting the safe return of my fiancé, and my sister Julia’s husband’.
‘Her brother in law was killed last year, and two of his cousins...........how many more of our family have to die in this rotten cruel war’.
‘But I thank you deeply Doctor, for all your efforts in keeping our loved one safe until we arrived’.

4
On Tuesday, five days after Fredericks death in Birkenhead, the funeral at St.Dunstans, in Monks Risborough, was attended by all his friends and relatives. The building was filled to overflowing, with all classes of people who came to pay their last respects to this fallen soldier.
The members of the brass band, to which Fred belonged, were the bearers of his coffin on his final journey.
Yet another flower cut, from the bouquet of a loving family.

Steve.