Stories from the Past

Yet again you were to be absolutely correct my Darling - that position is, at least so far as this young woman is concerned, and within my still all-too limited parameters of experience, indeed the very best yet...!!!

Once I had taken myself off to the bathroom and performed the necessary ablutions, you used that 'quiet time' I love so much, to confidentially apprise me of the detail of the subject that, as I said at the opening of this portion of my writings to you, caused - and still causes me concern. But, perhaps to in some way soften the impact of that information, you also gave me this present, that even now I find myself fondly fingering - this locket I will now always wear, the locket containing, as it does, one small, but to be always reverently treasured, lock of your hair...

It was when I said I regretted that I had no such memento to offer you in return that you produced the item that even now, and in spite of all that we have done together, still makes me blush the deepest crimson. I neither wish to know, nor frankly can even imagine, the type of establishment you had to enter to procure it - it must be the most wickedly and naughtily erotic undergarment ever designed, and I prefer not to know what sort of woman would even think of actually wearing it. However, for you my Beloved, anything! I will, as you, for once somewhat bashfully, asked, not only wear it - but, and as you specifically requested, do so when I am having those erotically charged thoughts of you... I deduce that what you actually meant was for me to wear it when I am performing those 'exercises' that I do to relieve a little of the pressure that your absence frequently causes. Just so you understand what a 'wanton woman' you have turned me into, I will admit that my plan is to wear it this night. If the 'little minx' is true to her normal form I will have to relieve her demands at least once or twice and that should leave this very strange garment with an almost overpowering odour of me - and her - clinging to the fine cotton fabric they have been made from. I will then wrap it and return it to you - hastily - on the morrow...!!!

However, the more import information I must also include is the news that your secondary purpose in visiting this week was to enquire as to the possibility of you signing on with the militia, with the full intent of then joining the forces opposing the awful Hun... Whilst my heart quite naturally swells with justified pride that you would do so, it also breaks at the mere thought that you might in the process be injured - or Heaven Forbid! - even worse... However, the fact that you have chosen this militia specifically so that we may still continue to meet whilst you are receiving their training, is hearteningly encouraging for the prospect of us becoming 'one' more formally - which I joyfully gather is your intention for us, eventually...

But for now my Beloved Darling, after a day such as this one has been it is not only my body that is weary but also my poor, quite overwhelmed brain - and although it has until now been my usual practice to record the full extent of our activities together, this night I must leave the detail of our final performances to merely our memories - I must take to my now even more lonely bed, to give myself some relief from the insistent arousal that such writing always induces, and then, in due course, to sleep.

With kisses innumerable, good-night my Beloved... Your, ever Loving, Annabelle.

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Perhaps because of the restrictions and limitations that George's military training imposed on his receipt of mail, the letters written by Annabelle during the subsequent weeks were short, and very much to the point of merely confirming or seeking alterations to the times and places of their infrequent meetings. But the very last letter in the box was just a little longer than those, and was obviously written some three months after the events above.

My Dearest George, How do I begin to write a letter such as this one has to be? It literally breaks my heart to have to do so, and if my words are blurred it is from the tears that stream constantly down from my eyes.

George, I am with child! And with you now gone - and as I write, heading out across the ocean, in transit for France - what am I to do, what could I do, but what I have been all but forced to...

When I first suspected that something could have gone awry with my 'protective practices' I of course first spoke to dear Julia - she was, and has remained, most caringly supportive. She accompanied me to a doctor of her acquaintance, who she assured me, would be totally discrete in such a matter, as he has indeed proved himself to be, and, unfortunately, he soon confirmed it.

Then of course I had the impossibility of facing my parents!!! Again Julia proved herself the truest of friends, staying with me whilst I spoke to Mama, then remaining with me whilst Mama took it upon herself to break the awful news to my father... I will not weary you with the ructions that subsequently swept through our normally tranquil existence, suffice to say that it was Papa himself that, a day or two later, resolved the situation.

George, I am to be married - not to you...!!! - but to a close business friend of my father's - a man, a widower with two children, who has agreed to 'take me on' as his second wife, and as mother to his otherwise motherless children... I understand him to be a kind and God-fearing man who, my father believes, will prove himself, in time, to be not only a good provider and father for my child, but also, perhaps, a loving husband.

Dearest George, how I wish our lives could have been different - and I fear it is only this awful war that has made them the way they are now to be... The most fervent prayer I pray each night is that at least you remain safe, just knowing you are still somewhere 'out there' will, if that remains so, comfort me always. And you may sure that, come what may, I will wear this most sweetest of lockets, and its ever-precious contents, close to my heart - forever!

Your, once Beloved Annabelle

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What sad poignancy was in those letters from the past. Obviously my grandfather, George, survived the war, came home, found somebody else to love, my grandmother Elizabeth - but, the fact that he had always kept those few items secreted away, indicated, at least to me they did, that somewhere in his heart sweet Annabelle was never entirely forgotten.

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