• • •
Evienne clutched the picture to her heart, a tear slipping down her cheeks. Five decades later, she still remembered it like it was yesterday. She could still hear it, all the laughter and the tears when all the men returned from the battlefield. She was happy that day. Then followed sorrow. And lastly, longing.
“Nonna?” A child, not older than ten, walked inside the room, dressed in her Sunday’s Best and with a bundle of assorted flowers in her hand. A white hyacinth, a red rose, and a bouquet of dandelions.
“What is it, dear?” She held on to the child, letting her sit on her lap.
“Who’s that?” The child asked, eyes now gazing at the monochrome photograph.
“This? It’s me and your grandfather when we were very young.”
“Like mama?”
She chuckled, oh how innocent her granddaughter was, “Yes.”
“I wanna hear the story. Please...! Can you? Can you?” The child pleaded, lightly jumping on her grandmother’s lap.
“Alright, alright...” Beside her lay an opened box full of letters that dated back to August of 1940. She pulled it closer, a longing look in her eyes, “Before we met, your grandfather and I had known each other for four years. We’ve been exchanging letters during the war, said it helped with the mental health of the military during that time. It was something so random, one day receiving a letter addressed to no one on my doorstep. I had the same issue with a few people but, I replied back. Our first exchange. It was exciting, replying to a stranger who sat in the middle of the sea with his crew and life on the line.
“Were you the first person grandpa sent a letter to?”
“Oh no, no, because when I first got his letter, it was already January of the next year. See here, he wrote this one back on August 13, 1940,” Evienne showed the letter’s date to her granddaughter, “I didn’t think that he’d respond to it at first, he did too; considering how many people it went through before me. It was spontaneous. But he was glad. He told me so in his letter. He said he was happy that they were given that chance, even if he didn’t know who I was, and never did he regret it. I asked him; ‘why me?’ and he told me; ‘why not? I don’t have anyone left. War took the lives of everyone closest to my heart but here I am, opening it yet again and taking down my walls, so I could learn to see that not everything in my life is about loss and bloodshed.’”
“Will you read one to me? Daddy says that I have to ask for permission first but-but I want you to read it because…” She pursed her lips, brows furrowed as if she was thinking, “Because it’s special to you and grandpa!”
She nuzzled the little one’s nose, making her giggle, “Of course, dear.”
Evienne fished a letter dated August 13, 1940—the very first one—clearing her throat as she opened her mouth to speak.
’13th of August, 1940
To whom this letter may find its way to,
I don’t know who you are and it’s obvious that you don’t know who I am but, I want to lay this one out as soon as possible. My name is Emrys Owain Brenin. I am seventeen (not an old man. I feel like I need to clear this one out because frankly after rereading this, it all feels suspicious.) and a recruit in the military. Too young? Perhaps, but you could say that I have a high sense of justice for my country. Oh and, I’m not quite sure if I’m allowed to say that though, I didn’t say which squad or platoon it was so I guess it’s fine? (If not, if someone asks, please hide it for me).
Now, you might be wondering why I’m sending a complete stranger a letter. Well, that’s because it’s been suggested by ‘the higher ups’ (they didn’t specifically tell us who so, it might be confidential?) and I entertained the idea, along with convincing my friends to give it a try (I told you this all feels suspicious and I’m the one writing).
Anyway, though you are not obligated, I’d also like to know something about you, anything at all as long as you’re comfortable with it. Hoping for the best and for your safety. Will be waiting for your response, no matter how long.
Yours truly,
Emrys.’
