Feathers Ch. 03

I had to agree.

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I heard that both Rowan and Gwenda both passed to shadow not long after our meeting at the reunion, and indeed Alta passed herself later that next spring. I somehow willed myself to continue, for the happiness of the rest of my wives, but a huge part of me was now missing. Each season, another of my life companions passes and I become more alone, but each day I resolve to live on, to live in happiness and joy with my remaining hours or months of life.

Once I was dead inside, living in shadow in a world of pain and loss, but those days are long since gone, buried in the good soil of my lands, and in the smiles of my wives, children and grandchildren. I haven't once had a dream of the night-terrors since I held my first grandchild in my arms. My soul is comforted with feathers, the warm feathers of our bed filled with joy and happiness, and I sleep, soon perhaps for forever, but with contentment.

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Author's Afterward

This story was originally written into my note files about four years ago, and concerned a British soldier, a veteran of the Pal's Battalions of 1915. These so called Pal's or 'Chums' units allowed men and young lads from the same community to join up and serve together in the same unit together in combat, next to each other. The intention was that the camaraderie of fighting next to ones friends, neighbors, and even relatives would increase morale and bravery, not to mention the peer pressure of being the only lad in your village or town that didn't volunteer to serve, with the rest of the men of the community. Instead, in many cases, a hard battle with often disproportionate and excessive losses in combat could, and did, annihilate most of the young men from an entire neighborhood or district, leaving their widows, sweethearts and sisters in areas that came to be called 'lands without men'. After the horrific casualties of the Somme, the survivors of the Pal's Battalions were distributed amongst other regular army units, and also the introduction of mass conscription in early 1916 also did away with the need for using peer pressure to enlist volunteers for military service.

The white feather itself was a brand of cowardice, and of one of the very worst sort. For an apparently healthy young man to receive such a feather from a woman was considered a severe insult to his bravery and manhood, and abhorrent to everything he was taught in school, either public or private. Entire hordes of patriotic and excitable women, especially Pankhurst supporters and lesbian organizations, encouraged the giving of the white feather to every single man they saw not in uniform. Eager to see every single man on the island in khaki and possibly slaughtered in battle, the white feather movement was everywhere and relentless. The harassment became so violent in late 1915 that war industry workers and men who had failed the army physical demanded a pin or badge that they could wear to prove to these 'Jingo-Women' that they were not dodging the war!

As a whole, the elder generation of British men quietly condoned and approved of the white feather movement. After all, duty, honor and country came before all else! More sensible young women, seeing all of their male lovers, friends, relations and casual acquaintances slowly being ground up in the war of attrition, were less approving, despite the increasing propaganda which hinted otherwise, such as this recruiting poster below.

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For many survivors of the Pal's battalions, as a rather belated and unexpected reward, if one would dare to call it that, they returned home to discover that there were often many young women available for each returning soldier, and potential husband. Competition, in economics is a very good thing. In romance, it's sometimes even better!

This is just that sort of perverse and oddly weird romance!

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