A Soldier Waits – Sally Cronin
David stood beside his comrades as they waited in the village square for the parade to begin. Despite their advancing years, the men stood as tall as possible, often with the aid of a stick. Two of their number were in wheelchairs, and had been guided across the cobble stones by their fellow old soldiers.
It was a typical chilly November morning with dark skies and clouds laden with imminent rain. Whilst inappropriate perhaps for this solemn occasion, the men standing huddled against the cold wind; wished for a few rays of sunshine. Their overcoats were shiny with age but their shoes were burnished to a brilliance thanks to the loving attention the night before. A reminder of a time, when the action of rubbing in polish and then shining the boots for the sergeant’s approval, was used for reflection. A time to remember all the nights many years ago, when comrades would sit on camp beds talking quietly as they prepared their kit for inspection and parades.
Beribboned pins, holding silver and bronze medals, lay proudly against the material on their chests and nobody really noticed the frayed cuffs that peeked out from the sleeves of the worn coats. Their pride was clear to see by all who passed; many of whom smiled in recognition or tipped a hat. They were the old soldiers and heroes of the village and despite their dwindling numbers were respected and honoured. Not just today, but every time they were met in the shops and lanes of this small community that had given up so many of its young men to war.
David didn’t feel the cold and felt content to be part of the camaraderie and fellowship of being amongst those he had served with. He caught little snippets of conversation as he stood, head bowed waiting for the order to form into the parade.
‘My Elsie has had another grandson… Who would have thought it…? I’m a great granddad….’
‘That new doctor looks like he’s just left school… Told me that I had something called heemaroids… Used to call them bloody piles in my day…’
‘I’m sorry that Jack didn’t make it this year… Miss the old codger… We will have to find a replacement for the cribbage night…’
David smiled as he listened to his friends talking about their lives and raised his head as he heard the sound of the local brass band strike up.
He had been part of this ceremony for the last fifty years since the squire had erected the memorial in the centre of the village. Lord Roberts was a good man and had been devastated by the loss of his own son in the last few weeks of the war. Out of respect and loyalty to those other families in the village and surrounding area who had lost fathers, husbands and sons, he had paid for the monument himself.
That first November as the group of survivors had stood in the rain to commemorate the loss of their brothers and friends, many had still relied on crutches, and as today, one or two had been in wheelchairs. It was a far cry from the day that they had stood in this same square waiting for the horse drawn carriages to take them off to basic training.
The call had come, and from the surrounding farms and isolated cottages, men between the ages of eighteen and thirty-eight, who were not exempt because of occupation, health or marital status, walked proudly into the recruitment centre in the village hall. David was just nineteen when war was declared and was swept along by the patriotic message and fervour that swept the nation. There was talk down the pub of places outside of their small community that might be visited.
‘Blimey, a chance to see the other side of the hill lads…’ and ‘Do you think those French girls are as friendly as they say?’
The thought of glory and adventure had been foremost in their young minds. It certainly did not hurt that the girls in the village became very attentive when they arrived back for leave after basic training in their uniforms. The day that they had formed up into a parade to march to the square and climb aboard the transports was frozen in time. Mothers weeping as they clung to their sons and fathers slapping them on the back and proudly straightening their caps. Couples embracing for one last kiss and whispered words of love.
It had been very different when David returned to the village a year later. Although now only twenty he felt that he had aged a lifetime. As he stepped down from the train in the nearby town, carefully favouring his injured right arm and struggling with his kitbag, it was without glory. The sight of his parents waiting from him in the evening sunlight had reduced him to tears and as the horse and cart made its way to the farm; his mother had held him tightly as he sobbed against her best coat.
Over those first few days of calm and peace; David had spent hours alone walking the fields and hills desperately trying to find any meaning behind the senseless carnage and sacrifice he had experienced. He knew that once his injury was fully healed he would have to return and the thought of this kept him awake at night in his room in the rafters of the farmhouse.
Then one day, as the sun shone as he helped his father harvest the wheat, he saw his mother heading towards them swinging a laden lunch basket. Beside her with golden hair that gleamed in the sunlight was a tall and very beautiful young woman.
‘Here you go pet,’ his mother handed off the basket to David. ‘You remember Cathy from the Black’s farm don’t you?’
David looked into bright blue eyes and was then drawn down to the perfectly formed red lips that smiled at him.
Six weeks later they were married in the village church and had walked out into the sunshine to a guard of honour of fellow soldiers home on leave or who had been injured. The reception in the hall in the square had been packed with well-wishers and David and Cathy had danced and celebrated until midnight. Then they had slipped away unnoticed to their room above the pub.
Every year since the memorial was erected David had marched with his comrades and then stood with them as wreaths were laid around the base. And each year his breath would catch in his chest and his heart would skip a beat as he watched his Cathy carry a wreath and lay it amongst the rest. That first year she had also held the hand of a little girl, his daughter who unlike all others somberly dressed, was wearing a beautiful handmade coat of blue. His favourite colour.
He had watched Cathy and his daughter every year since then as they would both walk proudly to the memorial and lay their tribute. But this year his daughter walked with another by her side and there was no sign of his darling wife. He slipped through the ranks of his comrades until he was standing in the front row. He could hear his daughter saying something to the tall young man by her side.
‘You lay the wreath David; your grandmother wanted you to do it for her this year.’
The lad reverently laid it down amongst the others and he stood back by his mother’s side. Together they turned and walked solemnly back towards the waiting villagers where they were greeted with hugs and the boy was patted on the back.
A tear rolled down David’s face with sorrow at the loss of his beautiful Cathy. As he stood bereft at the front of his silent comrades at attention, but with their heads bowed, the clouds parted and rays of sunshine spread across the square. As they did so, his eyes were drawn to a young woman with golden hair and blue eyes who walked over the cobbles to stand by his side. She slipped her cool hand into his and he smiled down at her with joy.
Unseen by all those who had gathered to remember him and all the others who had not returned; they slipped away hand in hand. The long wait for them both was over.
©sallycronin 2014
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Beautiful story Sally! Glad David was able to finally be with his Cathy again.
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Thank you Ash.. hugs..x
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You are welcome! 🙂 🙂 Hugs back to you too! 🙂 🙂
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Reblogged this on Sue Vincent's Daily Echo.
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Thank you for sharing Sue and for your beautiful haiku this morning.. xx
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My pleasure, Sally…especially today. xx
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It is 5:27a.m. and I am crying. The reason? This most endearing post of remembrance, valor, love, death and honor. My tears are for all of those that have given their life for their country, They sacrificed their youth, their families and their futures for freedom for you and for me, Many lost their lives at the beginning of their youth, some made it home but they were never the same bright eyed boys that left,
Thank you for sharing this most beautiful story Sally. I am sure David and his comrades all over the world will be at each and every ceremony watching as we honor the soldiers that have given the ultimate for freedom for all of us.
A absolutely beautiful written and well deserved tribute for all that have paid the ultimate price for their country. They are all hero’s.
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They are Patricia.. off to glory in honour of their countries little knowing they were actually fighting for men who had little regard for their youth or their safety. Little has changed unfortunately.. I hope one day it does. thank you very much for sharing and your lovely words.. sorry I made you cry.. hugs ♥
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A sweet story, Sally. Mega hugs.
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Thank you Teagan.. hugs xx
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Reblogged this on Legends of Windemere.
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Thank you for sharing Charles.. hugs xx
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You’re welcome.
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Oh, so lovely. This is how I think, that we shall all be united with our loved ones in time.
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I hope so.. and thank you..x
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Thanks for sharing this Jacqui! It’s a beautiful story!
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Thank you Andy.. that is very kind of you.
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You’re very welcome Sally!
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What a beautiful and touching story, Sally. I loved the ending too. 🙂
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Thank you Tracy one of my new short story collection.. hugs xx
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Incredibly beautiful and poignant, Sally. To all who have served…amen.
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Thank you Terri.. hugs
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So beautiful to read this again. Heart string tugging and heartwarming all at the same time. You are truly a gifted weaver of words into stories that not only pull us in, but make us a part of them. Brava! ❤
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Thank you so much Annette. I hoped nobody minded me using again.. the collection of stories has morphed into two of 13 each.. Just have to come up with a title for the two volumes.. hugs xx
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Exciting! Good stories are always a hit at any party. It’s like connecting with a dear friend.
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♥♥
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Beautiful! Thank you.
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Thank you Jennie.
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You are welcome!
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This is such a moving and beautiful story, it brought a lump to my throat. xxx
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It was difficult to write.. a box of tissues to hand.. thank you Judy.. xxx
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A perfect ending, Sally. Made for a touching tale.
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Thank you John. hugs xx
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Thank you for the powerful, moving, heartwarming story. I’m reblogging it.
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Thank you Russ.. I appreciate that very much.
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Reblogged this on Imaginings of a Grateful Man and commented:
Fellow blogger Sally Cronin wrote this story. It touched me as I believe it will touch you.
With Love,
Russ
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You know how to get to the heart Sal. A most beautiful tale of love and war. ❤ xo
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Thank you Debby.. Just in the final editing of the first collection. Just have to find a title… perhaps The Kleenex Collection! xxx
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Well that would certainly indicate what the reader is in for! 🙂 xo
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♥
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Wow. I’ve been reduced to soggy Kleenex. Wonderful story, superlatively told. 🙂 ❤ ❤
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Thank you Tess…sorry about the kleenex.. you know I have shares! ♥♥
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You do? I should know that. 🙂
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Wonderful and touching, Sally! Thank you for sharing! ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ xo
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Thank you Janice.. A sombre day but one of memories too.. I hope you are settled back in after your trip and you had a wonderful time.. hugs xxx
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Thank you, Sally, yes we did. Takes a little while to get into things again. Different way of life back home; no more lounging on the beach and reading and swimming all day! Sigh! ❤️
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Still will have done you both the power of good..love and hugs xx
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Ahhh yes it did! ❤️ xo
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Reblogged this on TINA FRISCO and commented:
Sometimes we wish we were somewhere else or someone else, doing something other than plugging away to make a living, doing something we loved and regarded highly. Sometimes we wish our lives away, not giving a second thought to those who lost theirs too young or in service to others. In Sally Cronin’s moving short story, A Soldier Waits, we see life through the eyes of a young man who served his country and who now attends the annual memorial for the old soldiers and heroes of his village. The service is always conducted with great love and respect. While reading this story, I was reminded that where there is love, there is hope; and where there is hope, there is the promise of tomorrow. Take a few minutes to read this superb tribute to our fallen heroes…
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Beautifully put and thank you Tina for describing the story so beautifully.
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Welcome, Sally. This one was easy. The heart…. ❤
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An exceptional story, an enjoyable read. Thank you.
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I appreciate thank you Allan.. Enjoy your weekend.
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Reblogged this on newauthoronline.
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Thank you for sharing Kevin.. hugs
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Beautiful tale. It gave me goosebumps but the good kind.
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Thank you Adele.. that means a lot hugs
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My pleasure Sally x
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I remembered this story. Not one easy to forget for sure. Lovely to read it again and so appropriate. Thanks, Sally!
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Thanks Olga.. xx
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Another remarkable and lovely story full of humanity and tenderness. Isn’t it just amazing what you find on these Websites!
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Thank you Paul.. one from the new collection.. testing the waters.. xx
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Can’t wait to read the rest!
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