The ladies this book represents are getting elderly, although my Mom is still beautiful and very much alive and thriving at 80. I'd like to have this done in time to bind a manuscript for my Mom's Birthday in late June. I don't know if it will all fit here or not, there's only 65 pages so far.



Mary Rose O'Donnell
Love Under Fire, The War Brides


Copyright 2005

Alice C. Bateman




CHAPTER ONE

Hello, my name is Mary Rose O’Donnell, and I live in a small town in Scotland. It is a small seaside resort town on the west coast, very pretty. This is the only place I have ever known, except for short holiday trips as a child.

I am from a family of eight children, the second youngest, only one brother younger than me. Right now I am eighteen years old, the Second World War is raging, and I am in the WACS. I like dressing in my uniform and believing that I am helping in the war effort through my work.

Last night, I went to a dance for the soldiers, as I do every Saturday night. But, last night, I met a Canadian soldier, and I think he likes me. He danced with me alone, all night. I felt nice and safe and secure in his arms, and he made my heart pound.

I never ever tell any of these soldiers where I live, but there is something about this Ted Anderson that I like very much. He is a motorcycle courier, very dangerous work, but also very necessary. I am proud of him that he takes such risks for this war that is not even on the same continent that he lives on. Canada is so very far away... I can't imagine becoming serious about a man who lives across the ocean, but he has remained on my mind every second since we met.

It is now Sunday morning about eleven, and I decided to spend the morning in my room with thoughts of Ted instead of going to the Church with the rest of the family. I finally have my own room, now that my older sister Ellen has moved across the hall to Karen’s room, since Karen got married. It is so nice to finally have some privacy! Dad is home too; sometimes he goes to Church, sometimes not. We are Catholics, and Ted is not, so of course we cannot become serious about each other, but...

He is so very handsome, with his black hair and brown eyes! Me with my own black hair and grey eyes beside him, dancing in his arms, made a beautiful couple. Oh, my God, my heart is suddenly pounding. Now I hear the roar of a motorcycle! Could it be?

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

Oh, my God, I don't believe it!! It's now eight pm, and Ted has just left to be back at the barracks before the evening roll call. I am so astounded, so amazed, so emotional right now that I have already dropped this pen three times, before I got a word written in this journal. I had to get down on my hands and knees and look for it under the bed once.

Where to start saying what happened today? How to tell you, my diary, that my whole universe has changed so suddenly? So completely?

Yes, it was Ted Anderson’s motorcycle I heard. But the funny thing is, my heart began to pound even before I heard the noise of his machine. We are fully connected, and we have known each other for only twenty-four hours, as of right now.

It was very strange, when he entered the dance last night, in his full uniform, so handsome and intense, it was as if all the other people there disappeared, and my girlfriend was tugging on my sleeve for some time she said before she got my attention back.

Apparently, I stopped talking in mid-conversation, and my eyes never left Ted's until he was standing in front of me to take my hand and lead me to the dance floor. He did not even ask. My chum, an English girl called Sandy, only told me of this later as we were in the powder room together for a few minutes.

Speaking of the powder room, I have to tell you that I did not even recognize my own face in the mirror. My skin was glowing, my eyes looked larger than usual, and so very bright, sparkling, the reflection of this face I have lived with for over eighteen years looked astonishingly beautiful, even to me.

Ted barely said a word as we danced, but held me very close, and I could feel our two hearts beating together as one, and then even before the seconddance started, they were both pounding in unison. I was afraid to look into his eyes, in case I totally lost my own identity there. Something stirred inside me that I did not know was there, stirred for only a moment before flaring into full life - a hunger for this man, a need so strong.... Of course, I tried to tell myself this was all just my imagination, but it felt so real, amazingly real.

I truly believe that I have found what I have heard called my soul-mate, the love of my life.

I have goose bumps as I say this, hot chills coursing up and down my body. I have never, ever felt like this before, nor ever imagined that there could be such feelings. I am floating above my body, the fingers only working mechanically to write this down.

Diary, he walked into my house, bold as brass {after politely knocking on the door, of course, I have always found Canadians to be exceedingly polite}, kissed me thoroughly and hugged me tight, right in front of my father. And then, as bold as you please, he walked over to my Da, shook his hand, and said, "Hello, Mr. O’Donnell, my name is Ted Anderson, and I am going to marry your daughter."

I was astounded, speechless, my jaw dropped and my mouth hung open like a gaping fool.

My heart pounded so hard at these words, I thought that my chest would burst right open.

My Dad, my wonderful Dad, just raised his eyebrows slightly, and said, "Aye? Is that so, young man?"

Ted put his arm around my waist and drew me to the chesterfield, where he sat very close beside me. He began to give us a summary of his life before the Service, and a short overview of what he does in his work for the Canadian Army. I could see that my father was impressed, listening intently to every word. Ted told us that he is an only child, and wants very many children as a consequence.

Of course, there is only one way to get children, and the thought of this made me blush a deep crimson, and my entire skin to become hot.

My father, usually dour and serious, grinned a little at the two of us before he realized what he was doing, and resumed his usual demeanor. His next question surprised me totally: "And just when will this wedding take place, my son?"

And then Ted's answer {I'm sorry this is so illegible, but it is very hard to keep my writing neat with my hands shaking so much}: "Two weeks, Sir, when my next weekend furlough is due."

Again, my mouth dropped to my chest. I felt a right fool to be sitting there with my mouth hanging open again, and I didn't even realize what I was doing, until Ted gently put a finger under my chin, and said, "It's alright, Scottie, everything's going to be fine."

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

I feel as if I am in some amazing dream, the dream that every young girl has, of being swept off her feet by her handsome Prince.

Actually, speaking of dreams, as Ted at one point stood by the mantle with his arm spread along the shelf, I recognized this tiny portion of a scene from a dream of a few months ago.

This amazed me, I have never before dreamt of someone that I did not yet know. I don't recall details of this dream, but now that I have recognized this, I recall other dreams of Ted as well. Of dancing, of walking hand in hand, of kissing, of... well, never mind, some things are too private even for you, Diary. Only bits and pieces of these dreams, never a complete memory of even one.

I am laughing, I have laughed so much today, more than in many previous months. This is such a serious time in the world, with the war on, the bombing raids every night. They do not target us of course, we are not important, no air bases or fuel reserves or war machine factories, but we hear the squadrons of airplanes as they return to Germany after their nightly raids on London.

I have tears in my eyes as I write about this, the sadness of these times is overwhelming sometimes. The children displaced by their families because of the danger, so many children sent to Canada to be taken care of there until this madness stops.

And the wounded, such dreadful injuries that many will never recover from, missing limbs, parts of faces blown away, such horror. It took me a very long time to be able to stand at the docks to meet the troop ships returning from Germany with the wounded, to offer what comfort I can.

We WACS {Women's Auxiliary} can only do so much, and there are very many of us who would very much like to pick up combat gear and go to punish these evil people who injure these young men so dreadfully. Already, one of my brothers has been killed in Africa, and we are dreadfully worried about another who is there also right now.

We have not had our usual weekly letter from him for three weeks now.

This time has been a big trial for me, regarding my belief in God. I have a hard time understanding how a kind and loving and good God can allow such things to happen in our beautiful world. But then, I know the evil does not come from God, but from another who shall remain nameless. I know that in the end, God and Good will prevail, although sometimes my thoughts are so dark, with the dreadful planes screaming overhead in the night sky.

Now that I have found Ted, I am even more anxious for this war to be over. My heart is torn to shreds, thinking that one day I may meet yet another troop ship, and it could be my Darling, my Love, lying on one of the endless stretchers. Or worse, the dreaded knock on the door from a uniformed soldier, with a letter in his hand addressed to me, saying that.........

No I cannot say it aloud, I do not believe that God would give me this Love only to abruptly rip it away from me. He is not a cruel God, I don't think, but these days He is taking a lot of blame for a situation that has been engineered by man, and the evil director of so many.

My thoughts have left the euphoria I was feeling as I sat down to write in you, my new Diary. I will go back to this afternoon and supper time with Ted in my house, at our table.

It is not true, of course, but perhaps Ted can help to ease my parent's deep grief over the loss of James, my brother. A new son to grace their lives, to fill a place at our table, as often as he can get away to be here.

I am so sorry that my mother is blind, and cannot see her new son's handsome face. She walked over his strong countenance with her fingertips of course, so she has a sense of what he looks like, but for her to be able to truly see him would be so very wonderful.

Perhaps, like me, she will be able to see him in her dreams. We have made plans for the Wedding, for one week from next Saturday, only thirteen days away. My Mother at first thought this much too sudden, but Ted pleaded with her, saying: "Mother O’Donnell, we are in such terrible times, we do not know what tomorrow may bring, and I love your daughter Mary Rose completely. I need to make her my wife, to give her my child, in case I should one day not come back from a campaign."

At these words, of course, my Mother and I both began to cry, and Ted took both of us in his strong arms, soothing us as well as he could. We cried for the loss of James, for the loss of all our young men from here that have been killed, for the many thousands that have died as a result of Hitler's insanity.

I hate this man with my entire being. I do not hate lightly, in fact never before in my life have I hated anyone, but this man is a curse upon this world, an agent of the devil, a dreadfully dangerous fool.

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

We had the priest join us for supper, and explained to him the necessity for this quick marriage. After the Wedding {January 29th}, after only two days and one night together, Ted must leave for an extended campaign in France. We do not know when he will return, the details of this mission are being kept very quiet.

There will be no time for the traditional reading of the banns in Mass for three Sundays, but Father O'Malley undertands that these are certainly not traditional times, and assured us that God will also understand our sense of urgency.

We are so very much in love.

After supper, we went for a walk in the night, the stars shining brightly on us, a walk that was more one step, one kiss, one kiss, one step, much hugging, much pounding of hearts.

Always some part of us was joined, even if only our hands. I still feel the warmth of his skin under my fingers, the sweet taste of his lips on mine, the tang of tobacco in his mouth.

His hands on my back as he held me tightly, so close to his heart. The scent of him lingers in my hair, in my clothing, on my hands. This night, I will not wash my face or hands, and I will sleep in this dress, something I have never before done, but I need to feel him close. I need to reassure myself that this newfound Love is real, and not just another dream conjured up from this romantic eighteen year old soul, that is now living in the midst of such a grim world.

I must go for tonight, my Diary. I want to lie back on my pillows, with my eyes closed, and find Ted in his barracks, also lying on his back with his eyes closed, and thinking of me. He has promised to write to me as often as he possibly can, and I will write to him in care of his Company of the Canadian Armed Forces.

I am so happy, and so worried, and so dreadfully sad over James, that he never lived to find the love that Ted and I now share. My eyes fill with tears again at this thought, but having Ted hold my mother and I while we cried today helped us to release some of this overwhelming grief that we have carried since the dreadful day that we received news of James' death.

Good night, Diary, I will come back to you tomorrow night. I have a busy day tomorrow, early rising to don my WACS uniform and perform my duties as I must. Each small thing each of us does right now helps someone in some way, even if it is just to write a letter home for someone who no longer has arms or hands to do so himself.

There are tears in my eyes again, I must go and find Ted in the Ether. The next time I see Ted, in thirteen long lonely days, it will be January 27th, our Wedding Day. I will no longer be Mary Rose O’Donnell, I will be Mrs. Ted Anderson, Mary Rose Anderson.

Good night, Diary.


CHAPTER TWO

Are you still here
Can you still see me
Or am I alone here
And speak to myself ?


Are you my mirror
The Image of me
And that is why you can
Feel all that I see ?


The Language of Love
Is the tongue of the Heart
And mine speaks to you
That we never will part


For I am your Lady
And You are my King
Together, for always
To see what life brings

Hello, my Diary, are you surprised? This is the first poem I have ever written. Last night, after signing off from you, my friend, I took care of bodily essentials, and looked quickly into my handheld mirror for a moment.

The eyes that flashed back at me were not my own. They were his, Theo's. Yes, Theo, short for Theodore. My Sweetheart is much too special and sweet for the short and abrupt name of 'Ted.' I think of him always as Theo now.

Yes, I swore I could see his brown velvet eyes in the mirror, with the golden flecks. Such as the sacred stone known as Goldstone transforms, so do Theo's eyes when they look at me. They are no longer brown, they are golden, more and more tiny lights appear, as with the Goldstone, until the brown field is crowded with so many Star Lights that it almost disappears.

I can feel his love for me, I can smell it, I can taste it. And my love for him makes me weak at the knees, sometimes at the most awkward moments...

My Love, Love with a capital letter, LOVE in full capital letters.

He is all I can think of, my last thought before sleep, my first thought on waking, and filling my sleep with sweet dreams in between. Such sweet dreams.

Last night, I caught only a fleeting glimpse of his beautiful, café au lait skin, his fingers against the snow white flesh of my thigh. Extremely tantalizing, but that is all I remember. I told Theo of this in the mirror this morning, and I saw the sudden flash of his dazzling smile, his beautiful white teeth.

I Love him so very much.

Theo's family is from Columbia, not Canada at all, and Theo volunteered for service in the Canadian Expeditionary Forces. I was mistaken in assuming that he is Canadian by birth, because he wears the Canadian Uniform.

Theo explained this more throughly at dinner last night. This explains his gentlenesss, his courtliness of manner, his sweet demeanor. And also his lovely Spanish accent, and the words of love and beauty he whispers in my ear in his native tongue.

I have learned that 'Love' = Amor, 'my' = mi, 'and' = y, 'God' = Dios, Go With God = Vaya con Dios, 'o' ending is male, 'a' ending is female, as Esposo = Husband, Esposa = Wife.

I will seek among the soldiers and Red Cross personnel for Spanish words to surprise my Darling on our so very far away and yet so close Wedding Day. To tell him in his own language and mine, just how very much I Love him, how every fiber of my body and soul craves to be with him, every moment, waking and sleeping.

But there is this stupid, insane war to fight, orchestrated by a mad man, and being allowed to continue because the most powerful of the allied nations prefers to deal arms and make money then to take a stand.

Yes, I am only a girl, but I listen to what goes on in this world, and I certainly do not like a lot of it.

While they remain uninvolved, and grow fat from the spoils of war, countless tens of thousands of our young men suffer horribly or die. The ones who die instantly on the fields of battle are considered the lucky ones.

Yes, some of the wounded do or will recover, but many will not, they will need care for the rest of their lives. And these are not grizzled and battle-weary men who are falling, this is our future, these are the cream of our youth that are dying like flies all around us.

These are our little brothers, who only yesterday we teased unmercifully for falling off their bikes, again. The sons that we became angry with for tracking mud on our clean floors, again.

Dead. Dead and dying and hurt beyond repair. A hurting generation, generations, whose pain no one will understand, because they will not experience these years. These sights, these horrible sounds, these smells - fear, sweat, blood, urine, feces.... Tea, perfume, cologne, ether, morphine ----- Death.

Today, at two thirty-three p.m., a young man died right beneath my hands. I felt his heart stop. Mine almost stopped as well.

Young Thomas, barely seventeen, weakly signalled to me, and as I reached his bedside, he clasped my right hand to his chest, closed his eyes, and stopped.

Just stopped, like an old watch, when it stops ticking.

But you can't rewind a boy, a brother, a son. You can't give it a little shake and make it tick again. Humans are much more fragile than the most delicate watch.

I grow tired. Theo cautions me to take care of myself and get good rest, but God drives me, and He doesn't rest very often Himself.

Good night, Diary.




CHAPTER THREE

Hello, Diary. Yes, I know, days have gone by since I put pen to paper, but I have been so exhausted by the time I reach this room at night that I have just fallen into bed, and immediately into dreams of my sweet Theo.

Sometimes, in the day, I question this. Not seriously, but all around me are saying things like "Are you crazy? You don't even know this man!" "Are you nuts! How do you know what he'll be like once you're married?" "For God's sakes, our Mary Rose, please write to him and say that you at least need to see him a few more times, before you commit yourself to marriage!?"

And of course my young brother, Harry, "C'mon, you can't mean you're gonna marry this guy you just met? You're even crazier that I thought you were, Ro." {{Harry never seems to have time to speak my full name, he calls me always 'Mare' or 'Ro.' I have given up on correcting him.}} "Why don't you wait a year? If you're really in love, it'll keep for a year." I reply to all: "I Love Theo. I will Marry him. He Loves me, he is the other half of me, the half that has been missing all my life." Yes, my Diary, I know it is not correct to write these words with capital letters, but that is how I think them.

They: "But, Mary Rose, you have years ahead of you, to rush into this marriage is a big risk! He comes from an entirely different country, for goodness sake!"

Me: "So? I have always wanted to travel, to see the world. My heart has been living on the other side of that ocean for as long as I can remember. I have always waited for what the ocean will bring to me. And now, it has brought me Theo, and a new home to go to. This ocean that I love so much will carry me to his arms, just as soon as this stupid war is over."

Them: "But why not wait, dear {my maiden aunt}, you'll love him even more a year from now."

Me {stamping my foot in impatience}: "And what would you know of Love, Auntie Flo? You have remained alone all your
life. You've never even so much as looked at a man!"

Auntie Flo {small, secret smile, and a sudden glow in her eyes}: "Ah, perhaps not in your memory, my child, but there was a young man once, just before the last war..."

Me: "Auntie? Why have you never told me?"

Auntie Flo: "Because, my sweet, in order to understand being in love, you first have to experience it. Tell me, child, does your heart pound at the mere mention of his name?"

Me: "Oh, yes, so very much!"

Auntie Flo: "Do you get kind of, ummmm, hot all over, inside and out, when he looks at you?"

Me {blushing}: "Yes, Auntie, I feel things I never even imagined before."

Auntie Flo: "And did it make your toes curl, when he kissed you?"

Me: "Auntie! What kind of questions are these to ask your niece?"

Auntie Flo {laughing}: "Ah, I see it did. I am just trying to see if you are truly in love, my girl." Here she patted my head, then stroked my long black hair, and said: "Marry him, Mary Rose. Marry him now. Don't listen to anyone saying that it's too soon, or any other foolish thing that they may say. You have found Love, my sweetie, reach out and grab it!"

And then, our conversation turned in a whole new direction, when she said: "I was foolish, I listened to the ones who said 'wait' and I lost my man. John, John Pike, an Englishman. I loved him so much, and like your Theo, he wanted to marry quickly. But I listened to the 'advice' of those around me, and said to John, no, we must wait. Auntie Flo stopped and picked up her mug of tea. {This conversation took place on Tuesday night, very late, after a frantic day.}

Me {softly}: "What happened, Auntie?"

Auntie Flo: "He was killed in his first action overseas, Mary Rose. And I was already carrying his baby."

Me {astounded, eyes like supper plates}: "You have a baby? Where is he? She? Who is it? Why, they'd have to be...."

Auntie Flo: "No, my dear, I do not have a baby, and no one but my parents and their spinster friend that I was banished to stay with know." A very big smile. "And now you, my lovely Rose."

At these words, Auntie Flo did something that she has never ever done, she tenderly stroked my face with her fingers. She has never made a loving gesture towards anyone, that I can ever remember. And then, her next words amazed me even further.

Auntie Flo: "Mary Rose, thank you for allowing me to unburden my soul to you. This has just given to me the most incredible feeling, speaking this horrible dark secret aloud. It is as if someone pulled the corks out of every pore in my body, and bubbles of light dance within each pore." Here, my Auntie showed to me a smile that I have never seen on her face.

"And what do you think of your Auntie now, my Rose? Am I the wicked shameless hussy that I have been called ever since the dreadful day when I had to tell my parents of my condition?"

Me: "Oh, Auntie!" Here, I jumped up from my chair and flung my arms around her, something I have never done before, either. She has always seemed rather forbidding. "Oh, Auntie, I love you even more! Oh, you poor thing, to have gone through this, and to not be able to talk of it!"

As I hugged her, I felt the shoulder of my uniform blouse grow wet from her tears, and her shoulders shaking a little as she sobbed gently. I slowly withdrew my arms from her, and sat again in my own chair.

Me: "Auntie? What happened to the baby?"

To my chagrin, as I said the word baby again, she burst into full floods of crying. I didn't know what to do, so I got up and refilled her tea from the big brown teapot, then went behind her to rub her shoulders. Finally, her cries again became sobs. The sound of my aunt crying like this broke my heart, because her own broken heart was exposed and raw.

Taking a few gulps of air, then blowing her nose on her hankie, Auntie Flo continued talking. "Rose, that baby, that seed, was the only bond to my John. As I would rub my belly, I'd think of our one long and beautiful night of love together, and picture a little baby boy that would grow to look look just like his father. And I thanked God every moment for giving me this piece of John to keep. When I wasn't raging at Him for taking John himself away from me."

For once, I just sat quietly nodding my head and listening to this woman I'd known all my life tell me her true story. A woman that I thought I had known all about, now revealed as a flesh and blood woman with a history, a painful and romantic history.

Auntie Flo: "That is, until my parents found out. Rose, you would not believe the things your grandparents were capable of saying. They called me, their own daughter who'd never done or said a bad thing in her life, names that I have only heard on the docks. And then, they packed me off to stay with an old friend, way up in the Highlands, where my only friends for months on end were the sheep on the hillsides, and the baby that would not be mine to love, growing in my body.

"Oh, Rose, I cried oceans of tears, rivers flowing from my eyes. To brutally and abruptly lose the man that I loved so very much, and now to carry his child, our son, knowing that I would never be able to keep him, to never even see him. My parents had everything arranged so that when the time came, I would be put to sleep, and the baby would be gone by the time I awakened. I cannot even begin to describe the despair of those long days, Rose."

By now, tears were streaming down my own face. I could not imagine any parents being so unfeeling. "But why, Auntie, why would they take away your baby?"

"Oh, honey, I was not married. A Cardinal Sin in the eyes of parents. I have always found it very strange, if there is a bit of paper, a baby is a wonderful and joyous thing. But if God gives you a baby, forgetting to look at the paperwork first, it is a dreadful and horrible thing. In my eyes, every child is a gift from God, not only the ones who choose to arrive within the boundaries of a marriage. But much of the world does not see it this way....... far too much of the world."

Me: "Oh, Auntie, how have you lived all these years with so much pain? I cannot imagine losing Theo, and if I carried his baby only to have it taken away, I would only want to die too."

"They explained to me at the time that they wouldn't even let me see our son, so that I did not 'grow attached to him.' Don't they realize that you become attached to the baby from the moment you first feel the presence in your womb? Rosie, promise me that when you have children, you will cherish them from the moment you know that they are there, always and forever. And if you should have a daughter that becomes pregnant out of wedlock, support her, help her care for the child."

Tears still streaming down my face, I nodded my agreement, too choked by emotions to talk at the moment.

Auntie Flo: "In fact, my Rose, send her to me, and I will help her through the pregnancy and we will raise the baby together. Please, Rose, will you promise your Auntie this? I am not that old as yet, and still have many long years on this planet."

Me: "Of course, Auntie! Of course! Auntie Flo, would you be Godmother to my firstborn child, and if a boy, may I name him John?"

At this, we both broke down again, and just held each other, while she nodded and nodded her head. Much later, after more tea, we both finally went to bed, to get a couple of hours sleep before the morning. Tears have been streaming down my face again as I write this for you, Diary.

And now it grows very late in the night, and I must say good night, my Diary. There is very much to do in the morning.


CHAPTER FOUR

I hear a disburbance outside my door
Outside the door of my heart
I hear a disburbance outside the door
A knocking, a spreading apart

A feel a disturbance inside my soul
A restlessness brought on by you
To fulfill a deep need to nurture your seed
And build us a child, made of you

Oh, my Theo, I miss you so very much tonight. I yearn for you, I long for you. I looked for you in the Ether and could not find you there, so I looked into the mirror, but your face was again turned away. It has been such a lonely, long and difficult kind of day.

Oh my Darling, how I miss you
How I long for one sweet touch
Of my fingers on your soft sweet lips
Oh, I love you, oh so much

And tonight while you're away from me
And not here in my arms
I pray to God in Heaven
That He keeps you safe from harm

That there'll never be a bullet
That bears your sacred name
That there'll never live one person
That means to cause you pain

That there'll never be a candle
That won't propel its light
To slowly draw you homeward
In deepest darkest night

I Love You, my Beloved
More and more and more
I Love You, my Beloved
You are welcome at my door

One half of me pours my heart out in love and longing for my Theo, while another part mocks me for being so selfish as to be caught up in my own personal world while there is so much at stake in the larger one.

Each moment during my indescribable days, when I catch myself daydreaming about my Theo, I give myself a mental kick, reminding myself to take care of the immediate needs of the young men all suffering and dying around me.

I have heard a few objections because I am going to marry a man whose skin happens to be a little darker than my own. But right now I am very glad of this, because there are very few dark-skinned men in the Allied Forces, so my heart has only stopped beating completely once. Today, when I saw a dark hand lying on top of the blanket in one of the incoming stretchers. The face was completely covered with a bloody bandage, and I was paralyzed by fear for minutes. Finally, the Corporal from Records called out the name from the poor boy's dogtags.

NOT THEO

I thought I would die right then. When my heart started beating again, it did so with an incredible pounding.

NOT MY THEO

For those long moments of paralysis my brain kept saying "I couldn't find him in the mirror, because he's dead, I can't find him in the mirror, because he's dead."

When my heart rushed back into my body, I began shaking uncontrollably, head to toe. My legs collapsed, and someone placed me on a nearby chair. Sandy said later that I turned entirely white, with only two bright spots of colour high on my cheeks.

This episode gave me so much more respect for the women working around me. It made me realize that they must live and have been living with this dread every moment, every day, that the next man to come off the ship, dreadfully wounded, could be their own man. I have no idea how they live with this horrible fear.

Why does this world do this? Why do we send our healthy young men off to war, with deadly weapons, and then wait to see which ones come home alive?

I have taken to smoking cigarettes, I've just lit one now. I liked the taste of them in Theo's mouth, the smell of the smoke around him. And I've always watched with envy the women who can casually sit down and expertly roll up a cigarette and inhale the smoke. Some of the girls manage to get Canadian cigarettes and Sandy gave me four of those today. Excuse me, Diary, while I have a few puffs and then put this out. There's one thing this war and all the hortages has taught us all, and that is to conserve whatever we have.

I'm also finding that, number one, I have a good ear for languages, and two, that I am beginning to sound different when I speak, to my own ears. It's not only the tone of my voice, which I like the sound of much better since being infused with this wondrous thing called Love, it is also the way I speak.

Being raised by an Irish father and a Scottish mother has given me, shall we say, an 'interesting' accent. And a mixture of the favourite sayings of my mother and father. For instance, if you want to insult or offend a person, use my own Mom's favourite, "You're an Ethopian tumshey-headed ape." Now in our country, Scotland, a tumshey is a turnip, as we all know, Diary, and I don't know why I'm explaining a perfectly ordinary word to you either, Diary. I am growing a little tired.

But I feel Theo active and moving tonight, and so I am restless, my spirit far away, hovering anxiously over him, to thwart any harm that might attempt to befall him. I am even finding small snatches of Theo's lovely soft voice coming out of my own mouth. He truly is my Heart, my Soul. We are entwined, enmeshed, inseparable.

Oh, good, he is finally here with me now. I must put down my pen. I love the Ether Realm.



CHAPTER FIVE

Hello, Diary, it is now Friday night. One week from tonight will be my last night as a single person, as a girl. One week from tomorrow night, I will become a woman, Theo's wife. This thought makes my heart pound so very much, to think of lying in his arms. The arms of my Husband, the other half of my soul.

But at the same time these thoughts overwhelm me, there is an increasing sense of dread and foreboding within me, something I cannot name, but something that has all but taken me over. I can barely move, I am lethargic, depressed, no energy. This is a very heavy feeling that weighs down my shoulders right now, and I cannot see my way out of it. Because I cannot name this. What you cannot name, you cannot change. I will just have to struggle through to see what I shall see at the end, I guess.

Oh, excuse me a moment, Diary, I hear my Mother's soft knock on my door.

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

Oh, now my own mother has filled me with such sadness. All these heavy feelings weighing me down right now..... the strong yearning for my Theo, this unknown fear that gnaws at me, and now my mother!!!!

She tries to persuade me with logic that I should not marry my Theo and move very far away to his country. Because of course we will eventually go to his country, not Canada.

My mother should understand that when Love truly visits two people, there is no logic left in their private universe. An hour together passes like a moment, a minute apart is a century, an hour almost unendurable. A day --- a millenium.
The clock crawls when apart, races like the wind when together.

Now many days without my Theo. Most of the people around me try to give me doubts. Even, sometimes, my own head, but I banish these ugly doubts as soon as they appear. Like right now, I am so empty without him near me, connected to me in some manner, I can barely function. This pen is very heavy,
my hand moves slowly and with difficulty. There have been far too many days this week when I cannot find him anywhere when I seek him. I write to him, only to feel that I am writing to emptiness. That once the words leave me, they will arrive nowhere, be read by no one.

All the songs we danced to last Saturday night replay endlessly in my head. Through the moaning and the cries of the wounded soldiers, my head plays these songs relentlessly, combining with the clamoring thoughts and worries that even I cannot avoid.

For example, do I have the right to have children in a strange country, to be raised away from their own family's roots? Of course, they will be within their Father's world, but mine will cease to be. They will not grow to know the customs and traditions of my home, but of another country,
another continent, far away. There will be other traditional celebrations, other traditional foods.

This is not a bad thing, of course, but a big change. I have never even so much as hopped over to the Continent, as so many of my friends have, and now I am contemplating a very long journey over seas that are unfriendly at best right now. I will have to inquire among the soldiers here as to what happens to the women who marry one of them. Are they left here for now, until the war's end? Do they go to the country of their husband right away? No, I can't see that happening..... I will have to get the facts, and settle my mind on at least this issue.

There is just so much I don't know!!!! It's so very frustrating, I need to talk with this man who will so soon be my husband, but we are not allowed this privilege.

And what of moving to Theo's country, Columbia? Will I be accepted there? I have a different colour of skin, after all. Could there be any animosity towards a woman who comes to marry one of their own, or who is already married to
one of them? But then, this could happen in any country, regardless of skin colour. Many people are always leery of strangers, of foreigners. I will just have to be myself, and be accepted or not accepted as I am.

I have not had either the time or the mental capacity to do any serious study of the Spanish language, and made no progress towards writing something down to say to Theo in his language at our Wedding. I do not yet have even my
Wedding Dress. The veil I will wear needs the veiling part replaced. I feel as if I am already living with Theo in our new home, but this is only on the inside. On the outside there is much to be done.

And outside of my own little world of Theo and me, the war rages on, angrier and nastier than ever. London is being bombed mercilessly, nightly. The drone of the bombers returning from their raids continues overhead right now as I write. It is very late in the night. I cannot sleep, I can barely eat, I am existing on gallons of tea and coffee, and I feel that I will die if there is no word from Theo soon. I pray that tomorrow's post will bring me a word from my Sweetheart.

Diary, I really don't like feeling like this, torn........ torn between love and loyalty to my family and country, and Theo and a new life. And torn to shreds over not being able to find my Love when I seek him anywhere. Love is an amazing emotion, almost an illness that takes you over completely, changes your entire outlook, your entire life. If someone asked me right now if I am glad to have met my Theo, if I am happy to be In Love, I'm not really sure how
I'd answer.

My life was just fine before this man entered it, I had my routines, I could deal with this war on a superficial level almost, it was not too personal... but then my brother was killed, and now I don't know if my Theo is alive or dead. I keep trying to shake off these feelings, but they persist. There is a deep fear inside my soul that Theo is no more. That this great and huge Love will never have the chance to be.

And how can I go back to being just little Mary Rose,
everybody's darling, after this experience? I am not her any more, I am a much more complex being, a woman. All from the influence and attentions of one man, and the
many and diverse paths my life could take from here.

I will come back to you tomorrow night, Diary, and I hope by then my usual sunny self is back with me, not this person who is inhabiting my head right now, with all her worries and doubts and indecisions. Right now, all that was
between myself and Theo feels like a dream, fading with the morning...


CHAPTER SIX

Oh, Diary, I haven't written anything here for weeks now. I don't know where to start, so very many things have happened.

Well, I guess first of all, I should tell you about Theo. On the Saturday following my last entry here, I got a letter from a close friend of his, saying that Theo was injured, and could not write himself, and telling me that he was being kept in a hospice in France.

I was so frantic, the letter did not say anything about how badly he was injured, or where. I immediately joined the Red Cross, and am now writing from a small village where we have a makeshift hospital. We have been told over and over not to write down any place names anywhere, in case our correspondence or notebooks fall into enemy hands, so that's all I can say.

I am choking back tears as I write. Even before I left Scotland, Theo was dead.

I didn't need to wait for the official notification. I felt it when he died. In the few days before he died, we were so very close in spirit, it was as if we were sitting side by side, talking, inside my own head. I'll never know if this was just a product of my own imagination, or whether he was really here with me. I choose to believe it was real.

On the Monday night, I woke up so cold and icy, and Theo was not in my mind at all. There were goosebumps all over my flesh. This was the night before I left for my work with the Red Cross in France. I knew immediately that he was dead.

I screamed and yelled at God, I hated Him for a time, for giving me this love and then tearing it away. I ran to my Auntie Flo's room, and told her that I was afraid my Theo was dead. She held me in her arms for the rest of that night, and soothed me as well as she could. But there was nothing she could do or say during those horrible hours that helped to ease the misery in my heart and soul.

January 17, the day that should have been my Wedding Day, I spent here, in a freezing rain storm, totally numb to the world, surrounded by wounded and dying young men.

Writing about this now, Diary, all the pain comes rushing back. And this is six weeks or so later.... I'm not even sure how long, I have been living in a fog of pain and fear, afraid to feel. Doing what I must, striving with all my might to help the injured soldiers. It kills me when we have struggled and struggled to bring some young man back to a semblance of health, only to have him sent back to the lines. A couple of times we have had one of them back here within a week, more grievously wounded than before.

Sometimes it seems so futile, the work we do. Sometimes it's as if we are killing them with our own hands, patching them up so that they can fight again. It may seem very perverse, but I am always happiest when one of the young men is incapable of returning to fight, and has to be sent home. Missing a limb, or his eyes, or his mind.

Shell shock. A phrase that has been bandied about among the doctors here recently. It refers to those who come to us with their minds vacant, deep inside themselves, retreated totally from the insanity around them. Sometimes after a few days, these boys come back to reality. And when they do, they're screaming out their agony at seeing those around them die. The buddies that they travelled thousands of miles with, their best friend who enlisted on the same day they did, blown to bits in front of their eyes. More than one of these boys has told me of the crushing guilt they feel, to be left alive when so many others are dead.

I've become harder. I've had to, or my heart would be broken a hundred times a day. I've had to lock my compassion and hurt for the suffering young men deep inside myself, buried deep with my own pain. Now, it seems like a dream, the time I spent with my Theo, poor dead Theo.

A couple of weeks after I came over here to France, I finally found out exactly what happened to my Love. He stepped on a landmine on the beach where his Company landed during one a landing on a beach on the coast of France, and half his body was blown away. One arm gone, one leg gone, part of his handsome face. He was unconscious, thankfully, and died while still unconscious.

It hurts so very much to talk of this, to think of him in this way. I am so very grateful that I didn't manage to see him, so that I can remember him as he was when he walked into that dance, when he walked into my home that Sunday morning that seems so far away and so unreal now. Seems almost like somebody else's memories and not my own.

I have to say that I'm glad I knew him, that I had the chance to experience this phenomenon called Love. I hope that he was not, as I had thought, the love of my life, because I do not want to live the rest of my life alone.

There is a doctor here that kind of stirs my soul, as much as I hate to admit this after losing Theo so recently, but it is so. Daniel Reese, from the United States, North Carolina. He also has a lovely voice with a sweet and pleasant accent. I feel like a traitor to Theo's memory each time I see Daniel and my heart beats a little faster. I'm not ready to think about or say that I'm in love,
but he is always giving me lingering looks, and I find him on my mind just before sleep, or first thing in the morning. He has also been present in a few dreams that I can remember, but only dreams of working with him here.

We have talked over hurried meals a few times, and I will continue to talk with him when I have the opportunity, but I will do my best not to become so immersed in him as I was with Theo. I am open-minded again, open to the possibility of someone new in my life, but the pain of losing Theo is still much too fresh and raw to think of becoming anywhere near 'serious' with someone else right away. A friendly cup of coffee, or a shared meal, does not mean that we'll be running off to get married.

I keep thinking of Auntie Flo, and of how her young man was killed, and of how she was carrying his child. Wondering if I would be happier or sadder if Theo if I was pregnant with Theo's baby. Something I won't think about.

Oh, excuse me, Diary, I must go, I have to run to the compound. I hear jeeps coming in, and jeeps usually mean more wounded to deal with. One of my duties is to be there when the men are loaded off the jeeps, to offer any who can eat and drink some coffee or tea and chocolate, to talk to them calmly, to find out where they're hurt {this is usually all too obvious} and give them whatever small comfort I can.

Besides these 'welcoming' duties, I also help with bathing the patients, writing letters for them, cleaning the bedpans, changing linens, and sometimes assist in changing dressings or other simple procedures. I have had no formal training as a nurse, so just lend a hand with whatever I can when my other duties are caught up. People comment on the fact that I never stop working, stop moving, but it is the only way I can get through the days. If I am not busy every single moment, thoughts of Theo and what could have been rush into my head, driving me crazy.

One thing this war has drummed into all our heads, no matter what personal tragedy we have to endure, there is always someone with a worse and more heartbreaking tale to tell. There are always new casualties, of the heart and soul, and of far too many physical bodies. Too many young women suddenly left alone to face the world with small children to raise, and no husband and father left to help them. In this respect, I have tried to tell myself that I am lucky that Theo and I did not have much time to spend together. Our love was still new and didn't have the chance to grow so large and deep that I would have died if
I'd lost him.

A chum of mine here has a friend who had three small boys under five, and when her husband was killed, she killed herself. She left her boys to an uncertain future because she felt she could not live without her husband. Even in the depths of the pain I felt when I knew that Theo was dead, it did not cross my mind once that I should kill myself to be with him. There's too much work to be done in this world to kill one's self. This is the most selfish act I can imagine. There are enough enemies out to kill us all
that we do not have to do this to ourselves! God alone knows how long any of us have on this earth, but whatever time He gives us, we should cherish, and not take our own lives.

Here I am, still writing and writing, when I MUST get out to the compound, Diary. More later...



CHAPTER SEVEN

It's dark, I'm writing by the light of the full moon.

I never thought I could be so dreadfully homesick! What I'd give right now to walk in the back door, the one that gives off the kitchen, and smell Auntie Flo's Irish Stew and dumplings! And hear my Mother calling, "Is that you, our Mary Rose?" To be wrapped in that warm, sweet-smelling
embrace... Even amid the foul odors of this place, I can still sometimes imagine a faint whiff of the lilac dusting powder Mother always uses. And to think I'd sometimes be impatient with her dear sweet hugs! Oh, what I'd give for a cup of hot sweet 'home' tea, and just a quick squeeze.

Sorry for the little delay, Diary, I had to blink the tears out of my eyes, it's hard enough to see with the total blackout in effect at night. Thank God there's a full moon tonight, because I don't often get time to write during the busy days.

I didn't tell you the other day how worried I was about getting accepted by the Red Cross, having no formal training as a nurse or anything. But after being here for so long now, I've realized that no one could possibly be
'trained' to deal with a war. Nothing in any school or hospital could possibly prepare anyone for the horrors we have to face every single day.

The word 'face' just made my stomach turn. Every time another boy comes in here with his face shattered, I can only think of Theo, of how he must have looked. In less time than it takes to write it down, though, I banish
these thoughts. But in the quiet moments, those few minutes after you close your eyes and before you go to sleep, these faces float past my awareness. Much too often, with the remaining parts of Theo's handsome and beloved face, instead of any of the boys we treated.

Maybe it would have been better if I had seen him, damaged as he was. It might have been better than my restless imaginings!

The young doctor I mentioned the other day ---- I've been looking away from him every time he glances at me. Theo is still much too present, much too alive, within my heart. He said yesterday he is being 'moved up,' closer to the lines. He had a pleading look in his eyes as he said it, but I just remained aloof and only mildly interested. I have the feeling that he was a little hurt, but I need time to sort out how I feel.

I want to write down here what it's like where we are, a little. No geographical stuff, of course, in case our papers should 'fall into the hands of the enemy.' Sometimes pronouncements like this make me want to cover my mouth with both hands and giggle like a schoolgirl. After a year and more of this war, I sometimes still think it must be a horrible nightmare, and I'll wake up in my own room at home. Sweating and screaming, but safe.

God only knows what possessed me to come over to the Continent, closer to the fighting. {Theo, of course, I know.} I said earlier that it's dark - but that's not really true. Explosions in the distance light the sky, flames leave a reddish glow we can see for miles. Nor is it quiet - the planes are always droning overhead, night and day, from one direction or the other.

One day last week there was a tremendous fight between two of the airplanes, right overhead. They were both separated from their patrols I guess, spotted each other, and started firing. They chased each other for what seemed like a long time, around in circles, one then the other in the lead.

Then the German plane finally burst into flames, and the British one limped off to the west. We all cheered! A small victory, but every one of the enemy that is killed is one less that can attack us.

You know, it's getting harder and harder to remember what 'normal' life was like. This is becoming normal to me, and to far too many other young people. 'Normal' to hate another race so intensely that I want to kill every one of them, just to make sure that I get the ones who killed my brother, and my Theo.

A horrible way to think, to feel. Already I'm worried that I won't be able to just abruptly stop these feelings when this war is over. Am I going to look at every German person, for the rest of my life, as the enemy? I've told myself over and over that it's not the people, it's their leader. But, when a German prisoner of war is brought here for medical help, I seriously have to force my lips into something resembling a smile.

We're all under orders to treat the prisoners the same as any other patient, but that's next to impossible when you know this very soldier could have fired the bullets that caused at least one of our own boys to die! Or worse!

Maybe I'd better stop talking, Diary, I'm getting really angry, as much with myself as with this situation!

I used to be a law-abiding, God-fearing Catholic girl, and now all I can think of is killing. Well, not only killing, dying too. About how it must feel to be these boys, torn apart, torn from their lives at a time when they are just reaching manhood, as I am just becoming a woman. So many young lives, cut down before they even have a chance to experience anything!

What kind of monster is this Hitler with his stupid little mustache and his even more stupid straight-armed salute! How can he live with himself, with so many thousands dying because of him? His own people, too, not just the ones he considers his enemies!

To think that war is a 'natural' state for the human race... or so it seems, at least! There have been wars througout history, throughout the world, and this - not world domination or anything real or lasting - is the result.

Death, blood, gore, screams of the wounded and dying, screams of an airplane going down, one of our own, while you frantically pray for the crew to bail out. And swallow your pain when no parachutes open.... and go on to tend the next boy that can merely be patched up - certainly not
healed, not cured.

I've seen the doctors close to tears in their frustration. There are never enough drugs. Amputations and surgeries too often have to be done with nothing to cushion the boy from the pain. Infections take some lives that we thought we had already saved. I've heard them talking, the four doctors,
about how they sometimes feel more like butchers in a slaughterhouse than healers. And the 'bedside manner' that they've been trained to believe is so crucial? The most words they exchange with these patients are, "I'm sorry, son, but we had to remove that leg......" or whatever other part of the young man's anatomy is gone.

And then the doctor rapidly turns away to leave me or one of the other girls to try to help the boy adjust to their new reality. Which as often as not means holding him while he screams or cries, physically putting ourselves between the boy's eyes and the missing limb.

We learned to do this after one young man, early on, started pounding on what little was left of his leg with his fists, and caused severe hemorhaging. He died, we couldn't stop all the blood that spurted out of him, so fast, getting on everything, including my own uniform. That was one of the times I had to stop myself from screaming.

There has to be a firm guard dog on my own emotions and reactions, because we have to always try to be 'nice' for the soldiers. Less than human, and more than human at the
same time. A very difficult balance some days!

Diary, I must go. The moon has moved far in the sky, and the soldiers' waking moans come very early.



CHAPTER EIGHT

Once again, it has been a few weeks since I've found an opportunity to sit down and write in you, Diary. The days fly by in a haze of blood and damaged young men. I am still at the same field hospital as before, and have learned that I can't even write down bare descriptions of the landscape or the layout of this place. There are so many restrictions on us, to maintain the secrecy of our operations here. When I write letters home, I can't say anything about anything, just basically hello, it's Mary Rose, I'm fine, don't worry about me.

But I'm not fine. Some days I'm sorry that I joined the Red Cross. Getting the boys right off the battle fields is so much more horrible than the work I did at home. At home, we were getting the ones who'd already been patched up at a place like this, and only those who were still alive. Here,
we have a high percentage of ones who die almost immediately, if not on the transport. I try to keep my emotions and my heart out of my involvment here, but it's nearly impossible some days.

I don't want to talk about this place today. I want to remember quieter, peaceful times. I want to go back in my mind to the smell of the wild heather on the hillsides, to the gentle lapping of the ocean against the pier as the sun slowly sets in the ocean. To the times when the only lights in the sky were the sun, moon, stars and rainbows. When the only explosions were thunder.

God, how I wish this war had never happened. How I wish that I had not had to live in these years of heartbreak and death all around. How I wish I could erase all the sounds and smells of my daily exisence!

Oh, sometimes I am just so selfish! I am here, I am healthy and alive, when so many are dead or worse, still living, with only half a body, or half a mind. And I whine about how little I can write in a letter. At least I still
have two hands and two arms to write my letters home, no matter how limited I am in what I can say.

I'm really annoyed with myself, Diary. There's another young man who likes me, and I like him too. And I don't want to feel this way. He's a soldier, a Canadian soldier, really from Canada this time. A farm in rural Ontario. We've heard such wonderful stories about Canada, the land of opportunity, wide open spaces, huge fertile farms. All the young men are very nice, thoughtful and polite. But Robert is very special.

He's here recovering from a large and nasty gash in his thigh, been here for two weeks or so already. He was hit by a flying piece of metal when a jeep he had just gotten out of exploded. Twenty-one years old, blue eyed, and blonde curly hair.

He's so adorable, like an Angel in the midst of hell. I want him to stay here, not go back to the fighting, but
he's already been up on crutches, so it won't be long until he gets sent back. At first, he was deaf from the concussion of the explosion, but his hearing returned after a couple of days.

Robert seemed so helpless when he first arrived, I just wanted to put my arms around him and hold him. There was something about the bewildered expression on his face when he woke up and couldn't hear anything, he just touched my heart in a very special way. We've gone for a few walks together, not very far of course, just to the woods behind us - him on his crutches, me on my two good sturdy legs.

I know now why some of the young men feel guilty when they are still alive and most of their platoon is dead. That's how I've been feeling too - guilty that I'm still healthy and whole, and angry because I can't go to fight, just
because I'm a woman! Who made that rule anyway, that women can't fight?

I know the logic behind it, of course. They keep saying that they need the women to 'keep the home fires burning,' and lots of women are working at jobs now that were always done by men before. So we're getting a little more freedom, but I hate this war so much, I want to fight, and so do lots of other women. Maybe we could help end this quicker if we had more personnel, and there are a lot of girls my age and a little older that would be very happy to pick up a gun.

Robert scares me to death. The feelings I have for him terrify me. We were sitting in a little glade under a tree yesterday, freezing of course because it's still winter, but not really feeling the cold too much when we were
beside each other. He reached over and took my hand in his, and gave me such a loving look with his big blue eyes, my heart just melted on the spot.

Then he sort of leaned toward me as if to kiss me, but I drew away. When he saw the tears in my eyes, he put his arm around my shoulder and asked me what was wrong, and said he was sorry, but he thought I liked him.

I told him, I do like you, that's the big problem. And you could go back to the front any time now, and the next time I see you, you could be a corpse.

That was an awful thing for me to say to him. He turned completely white, then recovered himself and held me in his arms while I cried, and told him about Theo. He kept patting my back and saying "It's OK, Mary Rose, it's
OK, I promise you I won't die, I promise."

Robert wants me to become engaged to him before he goes back to his unit. I'm in an agony of indecision. I don't know what to tell him, and I only have a few days to decide before he has to go back. He makes my heart pound whenever I glance at him, or someone says his name. But how can I
feel like this, when it hasn't been such a long time since Theo was killed? I feel like a traitor to Theo.

I've talked to Vivian, another of the girls here, about this. She just keeps reminding me that Theo is gone, and I'm still here, and have to live my life. She's said maybe Theo was just for awakening me to womanhood, to bring my feelings to the surface, and now that I've felt what it's like to love, I can give that love to someone else. I just don't know!!!!!

I wish I could talk to my mother or my sisters. Even though I've never really been close with my sisters, there are times when family is all that you want. I've never been separated from my family before, I always took it for granted that life would continue as it was, that they'd always be there for me when I needed them..... and now it's me that's not there.

And the ocean! I had no idea how much I would miss the ocean. It was always just there, like my family. Amazing how we don't appreciate things until they're taken away from us, or we remove ourselves from them. On days like today, it seems like I'll never see my home or my family again.

None of this is helping me to decide what to do about Robert. At least we'd still be in the same country for now, so I could see him when he got leave even for a day. He's a jeep driver, so he gets the use of one sometimes when he's on leave. But I'm so afraid of losing him! Is it better to just let him go, and live without love, or to say yes, and pray that we'll both live out the war? There's a chaplain here, of course, he could marry us whenever we wanted, but that's certainly not the kind of wedding I've always pictured for myself.

Somehow I have to convince myself that these are the times I'm living in, and I have to accept circumstances as they are, and not to be always wishing and daydreaming for something that cannot be right now. This is so very difficult, and everything seems much more insurmountable when you're exhausted, as I am right now. We have been so intensely busy over the last several weeks, it seems there are more and more wounded and dead every day! And yet, we seem to be making no real progress towards ending this war.

There's even talk that we'll have to push back our hospital, because the German's are advancing. I hope this is just a rumour. I can't imagine that God would let the Germans win this, with their insane leader!

I might as well stop writing for now, Diary. I have no idea when I'll get time to open you again, either. We're only being allowed one afternoon off per week right now, and usually I have to spend this taking care of my uniforms and sleeping! There is never enough sleep, never enough warmth...... Oh, I'm just going to say goodbye to you for now, I hate myself when all I can do is whine!



CHAPTER NINE

Diary, with this young man's permission, I am going to copy down a letter here. Reading these letters to the soldiers always breaks my heart. I have to somehow try to remove my emotions from this life at present, and just live and do my duty.

We no longer hear the beauty
We no longer see the noise
We're too caught up in the duty
To recognize the joys

Solitude, a thing I crave
With every indrawn breath
Solitude, the quiet grave
The loveliness of death

Death is not a harmful thing
Not to the one who goes
They are about to find their wings
Just beyond death's throes

I do not wish to leave this world
Just to escape the pain
To find my corner of the world
To find my self again

No, that wasn't the young man's letter. Funny, many times in my previous journal {the one from when I turned sixteen}, I'd sit down to write one thing, and end up having something entirely different come out of my pen.
It just happened again. I sat down to copy the letter, and a poem came out.

The letter: {I had to read this aloud to this boy, barely eighteen years old. His head is covered in bandaging, and one leg was removed above the knee.}

Dear Timmy:

I hope this letter finds you well, and not in danger. I'm fine, been working in the factory in XXXXXXX {removed by the censors} for about six months now, ever since I decided that I just couldn't go back to school when there's work to be done, and money to be made.

I've taken a room in a boarding house on XXXXXXX {censored} so I can walk to work every day. Only takes about twenty minutes, and people think that's a long way. I used to walk a sight more than that every day, just to go round up the cows!

Life sure is different here in the city, Timmy, I don't rightly know how to even describe it. People are kind of cold, unfriendly, kinda scared and suspicious all at the same time. And when I smiled at them, I got the feeling
that half of them thought I'm plumb crazy!

Why, whatever could be wrong with smiling at people, I thought at first.

But you know what? Now I've just stopped smiling too, Timmy, and that makes me sad. Oh sure, I still smile at the people I work with sometimes, and of course at Brian when we go out together ------- oh no, oh Timmy, I didn't mean to say it like that!

Timmy, I didn't think I'd ever hurt you, and I meant it very much when I said I loved you, but everything's changed now. You've been gone for so long, and I'm not the little country girl you used to know. I am a grown up woman now, I smoke, I make my own money - and I've been dating a couple of the men from work.

Of course you're probably thinking right now that all the real men are over fighting where you are, but there are still some here. Brian's almost blind, he wears real thick glasses, but underneath his eyes are real nice.

I'm sorry, Timmy, I shouldn't talk about him to you --- but you've been my best friend for years, and I really did want to marry you when I said yes the weekend before you left. But something inside me changed. I learned that there's more to life than cooking and cleaning and milking cows. There's life outside the farm, Timmy, and I like it. If I married you, I'd have to go back to the country and stay there. I like it too much right here - I'm staying.

So I guess this means goodbye. Timmy, I'm sorry, but this is what I have to do.

Linda

Tears have been streaming down my face as I've been copying this letter into here. This is only one of the letters I've had to read to heartbroken young soldiers over these past months. I wanted to write it in here to remind me how monstrously cruel this life is.

It's really hard for me to maintain my belief in a just and kind God right now. None of the platitudes comfort me. And yet, judging by the peom that flowed out a short time ago, I still believe in angels at least. I've had to hold these young men as they cry more often than I care to remember. It's so cruel of these girls to send a letter such as this when their beaus are over here fighting, but maybe that's better than going home again to find their girls with someone else. I just don't know.

Sometimes, if there is a letter such as this for a boy I know is going to die anyway, I don't read any of the parts about the girl saying goodbye. Why should I let them die with a broken heart if I can avoid it? I know this isn't
really very honest of me, but my job is to make these soldiers more comfortable, and I think that part of that is to protect them from some things that they don't really need to know.

The young men that pass through here call me an angel all the time. But I am much too prey to human emotions, to revulsion and horror, to be an angel. And right now, too angry with the God that I've worshipped and loved all my life.

I still have no idea what to tell Robert, and he's leaving tomorrow. I think I love him, but everything is so uncertain right now! I did let him kiss me last night, and it did feel wonderful... He'd like an answer before he leaves in the morning, but I just can't give him one yet. I'm still too frightened. I don't think I could survive if I let myself become so attached to Robert, to promise to marry him, and have him die too. I'm just so confused, I don't even know what to think anymore!

Good night, Diary. More when I can.


CHAPTER TEN

Hello, Diary. I know it’s been a very long time since I’ve sat down to write in you. Six months at least… It’s late fall again now, the summer came and went in a haze of blood and gore. It felt funny to see Robert’s name in here – I let him go. Told him there was no point in waiting around for me to make up my mind, and he must have been transferred, because he hasn’t even been back for a visit since. I substitute the word transferred, because I refuse to think that he’s dead, although I know very well that is highly possible.

We’re still in the same position that we were in before, our little field hospital, but there are rumors that Hitler is getting closer, and we might have to fall back, maybe leave France entirely.

I’ve come back to you tonight, sitting under the cold stars and a full moon, to tell you that I think I’ve found THE man for me. I know, I’ve already talked about a few men, but there’s something very special about this one.

His name’s Nathan, he’s the new radio operator, came here about three weeks ago. Ironically, after all the men I’ve pushed away, Nathan doesn’t seem very interested in me. But oh Diary, I just can’t stop thinking of him. He’s on my mind first thing in the morning, last thing at night, all during the nights that I just can’t sleep, all day, every moment.

I try to catch his eye, and he just smiles and looks away. Goes back to his work. He’s always tinkering with his equipment, taking it apart and rebuilding it. A couple of times I’ve looked up and caught him giving me a considering glance, but not nearly as much or as often as I’d like him to.

He makes me feel physical sensations I’ve never experienced before. Not a sexual longing like the ones Theo brought to life inside me, but sort of like, when I say Nathan inside my head, it seems to set up a resonance inside me, beginning in my heart and radiating from there through my whole torso.

Sometimes I say his name over and over inside my head, to keep experiencing this delightful sensation. The closest thing I can think of to describe it is as if there are thousands of tiny butterflies living in my heart, and one sight of Nathan, or just hearing his voice, can bring them all to fluttering life. Or just repeating his name inside my head, like I already said.

This excites me very much and scares me to death at the same time…. All I want from life is a man to love, a home to live in, and a family. When I think of having these things with Nathan, my whole being comes alive.

And he doesn’t seem to be interested! I’ve lost track of the young men since Robert who have shown a decided interest in me, but Nathan, the first one to grab my heart with no anticipation or encouragement, seldom exchanges more than a few words with me.

I don’t know what to do, Diary. I really feel that Nathan is the one… How on earth can I let him know how I feel, if he’s not interested? But how can I possibly keep this to myself for much longer, either? Every time Sarah {a chum here} accuses me of being stuck on Nathan, I stick my tongue out at her and tell her to shut up, especially if he’s anywhere within hearing range! While my heart pounds with the strength of the love I feel for him.

Yes, that dreaded word Love again rears its head… How can anyone ever know for sure what love is, what it means? If it’s not love I feel for Nathan, then I don’t know what it could possibly be. The times I have caught him looking at me, I’ve blushed furiously, and had to turn away to hide my red face from him.

I know I’m finally over Theo. And that was the most painful thing I’ve ever had to live through in my eighteen years. Oh, I just turned nineteen at the end of August! I feel like an old woman half the time, and like an innocent
girl the rest. Even with what I felt for Theo, and with the attentions of the men who pass through here, I’m still a virgin, waiting for my wedding night.

There are so many passionate and short-lived affairs here, and every month one or the other of the girls seems to be afraid she’s pregnant. One girl actually was, and was sent home when she began to show her condition. I so often think of that conversation with Auntie Flo about her baby, and wonder what will befall any of the girls that do get pregnant with no marriage documents. I pray that Ellen’s family understood her situation.

There is a pervading feeling that we could all be dead tomorrow, so what’s the use of saving ourselves? But I’m a very old-fashioned girl, and I couldn’t have sex with some man that I had no serious intentions towards. I want to do things right. I haven’t even let any other man hold my hand or hug me or kiss me since Robert was here six months or so ago. But oh, how I’d so dearly love to hug and kiss Nathan… If only he could see it, and feel the same way about me...

My head is saying to me "patience, patience..." and I’m saying back, how can I be patient when I know that the world as we know it could change in a moment? When Nathan could get new orders tomorrow, and be sent to another country?

Now the Voice in my head is saying, "Be still, Mary Rose, all things will be as they should be, don’t worry so."

"Yes," I answer the Voice, "but will it be as I’d like it?"

No response this time. I’ve still been struggling with my beliefs in God, but my foundation is built on a oneness with Him, so it’s not something that I can lightly throw down. I know He has His Purpose for everything that
happens, but I just cannot see why people have to go to war, to kill so many, to horrifically wound and shatter so many more. What could be the Divine purpose in this?

Yes, of course, to eliminate the insanity and evil of Hitler and his troops, but how in God’s world could someone like Hitler gain so much power? I don’t understand this at all, and all the praying I’ve done about it hasn’t brought me any answers, either.

The only answer, which I am forced to accept for lack of any other, is that mankind was given free will. Free to
attack and hate and kill each other. Free to terrorize whole countries, intimidate and slaughter tens of thousands of people.

If I was God, and if this is what free will leads to, I think I’d be tempted to take it away again. But of course I’m not, and have to endure what this world throws at me. I am simply a humble soul stuck in a horrible time and place. Why does life have to be like this? It certainly is not anywhere close to what I pictured when I was a little girl!

In all the stories, as soon as the young woman meets the handsome prince, they both know they’re meant to be together for the rest of their lives. Why isn’t it that way in real life? Nathan certainly does not look like he feels anything for me that I feel for him! What am I going to do about this? Be bold and tell him the effect he has on me? Maybe I’ll have to, life is too short and uncertain to keep this bottled up inside me much longer.

I’m yawning now, it’s getting very late, and morning comes too early. I’m always exhausted, never get enough sleep, and now I’m sitting here spending valuable time when I could be in bed writing in you, Diary.

I’ll try to get back to you sooner next time, and let you know if and when anything happens between myself and Nathan. I hope and pray that it does. Good-night, Diary.


CHAPTER ELEVEN

In rural Canada, Jenny sits alone at the kitchen table, chin in hand, missing Johnnie. That seems to be all she does these days, miss Johnnie.

They were childhood sweethearts, played together every day, and the deep affection between them had turned to love as they’d blossomed together to maturity.

She’d let him touch her and kiss and cuddle her when they were dating, but she’d saved her virginity until her wedding night. The wedding that took place two short weeks before War was declared, and Johnnie was suddenly gone! Jenny hadn’t been able to believe it at first, but finally had to stop pretending that he’d come walking down the lane of their farm any minute.

The time they’d spent together as man and wife began to seem like a distant dream, but she still wakes up every day in their own house, not her parent's, so she knows it must have been real.

He’d been gone for eight and a half months by now, and the child growing inside Jenny is getting very close to making his appearance. Jenny is convinced it will be a boy, a darling baby to give her someone to hold onto while Johnnie is gone.

Johnnie has to come back! Jenny won’t won’t won’t think of of him dying, of herself getting one of those dreadfully horrible letters! Her sweetheart, brown wavy hair, freckles, big green eyes; just a big dumb farm boy, but
she loves him with her whole heart and soul. If anything were to happen to him, she knows she’d die.

The waiting is so hard. Too many weeks had just gone by without even a letter. And then finally one that said, "I was wounded, Honey, but I’m OK now." No word about what kind of wound! Jenny didn’t know if he’d gotten a scratch or lost a limb. But of course, if he’d done that, they would have sent him home. She already had one friend who’d come home missing an arm. And George, chubby, lovable George, who’d always had a crush on her, was dead.

The screen door slammed and Jenny’s fourteen-year-old brother came in, making straight for the jug of cool apple cider on the counter. Pouring a jar full, Zach turned to his sister and said, "Aw, come on, Jenny! You mopin’ again?"

Zach had moved over to Jenny’s place a couple of months ago, when the baby began to make it difficult for Jenny to keep up with all the chores around the small farm, and still get enough rest. He doesn’t mind helping her out in the least, or staying here away from the teasing of his two older brothers, and the noise of the three little kids. It’s nice and peaceful here at Jenny’s, and she doesn’t nag him.

Shortly after he'd moved over here, Zach and Jenny had sat down, made a list of the chores to be done, and divided them up. The schedule allows Zach plenty of time to pursue his own interests, now that the gardens are mostly harvested.

Zach is so envious of Johnnie! Why did this war have to happen while he’s too young to go and fight? It just isn’t fair! And probably by the time he’s old enough, it will be over! His frustration spills over into an impatience
with Jenny.

"Jenny, come on, all you ever do anymore is sit around and cry! Knock it off! You used to be so much fun, you know? Now you just drive me nuts, and I’m getting pretty darned tired of hanging around here if all you’re gonna do is whine!"

Immediately, the increased volume of Jenny’s distress makes Zach feel like a monster. He really does love Jenny, and is happy to be here to take care of her, but he just doesn’t know what to do for her! He feels helpless in the face of her emotions.

Zach put down the pint sized Mason jar of cider, went to Jenny and began to awkwardly pat her back. "Come on, Jenn, come on, please quiet down and relax. You’re make that little baby inside you cry too."

"Oh, Zach, I’m just so scared!" Jenny wails.

"What are you scared of, Jenn? Johnnie’s going to be just fine, I know it!"

"And what about me and this little baby? What are we supposed to do with no husband, no daddy for this little one?"

"Well, you’ve got me here to take care of things for you, Jenny. I’ll love the little guy, and I’ll be his uncle, ain’t that close enough for now?"

"Oh, it’s just not the same!" Jenny continues wailing, not in the mood to be consoled.

"Oh, for God’s sakes Jenn! Whine and wail if you want to, then, I’m goin’ back outside! Call me if there’s anything I can do for you, or if you decide to get some supper made."

Jenny just doesn’t know what to do with herself. A baby coming in two weeks or so, so much she wanted to get done first, and absolutely no ambition to do anything but sit around and miss Johnnie. She sniffles and raises her head, looking around at the bright yellow walls of the big farm
kitchen.

She’d painted most of the rooms in the first month after Johnnie was gone, and put up pretty wallpaper with pink roses on one wall in the sitting room. She loves her house, and thanks God every day that she and Johnnie had seen it and arranged to buy it when it came on the market six
months before their marriage. Johnnie had used an inheritance from his grandfather and bought it outright, moved in before they’d gotten married to fix up the place a bit before bringing his bride home.

The house itself is large and rambling, weathered red brick, with a deep verandah around three sides. Jenny had loved the house on sight, the columns rising to hold the roof that covered it, ivy twining up some of the front columns. Morning glories climb up trellises on the south side of the house, and there is a huge shade maple about thirty feet from the north wall. Jenny has always pictured putting up a swing there, and will just as soon as she’s recovered from delivering this baby. As long as the weather
holds nice. If it turns too quick to winter, that’s something that can wait until the spring.

The discomfort of the baby and her sadness over missing Johnnie hadn’t stopped Jenny from doing all the fall preserving, and Jenny likes having all the bins in the basement filled with potatoes, carrots and turnips. No need
to worry about going hungry. The basement shelves are filled with row upon row of shiny Mason jars, containing everything from yellow mustard pickles to strawberry jam. The only things still in the gardens are the squash and pumpkins, spreading out in all their glory now that they have the whole garden to themselves.

Jenny’s Mom and Dad had slaughtered a cow and a pig for meat for the winter, and given Jenny a generous portion of both. They keep telling her to eat better. She really hasn’t had a very good appetite since Johnnie left, but she does try to eat three good meals a day, and drink lots of the fresh milk Zach brings into the house.

Jenny did the milking herself for months, but her belly had been getting in the way for the last several weeks, so she had turned that task over to Zach. She could still bend over to collect the eggs the chickens insisted on hiding around the yard, but even that is getting more difficult by the day.

Sniffling, Jenny pulls her embroidered handkerchief from the pocket of her pale blue hand knit cardigan. Sitting here feeling sorry for herself isn’t getting supper on the table, and the baby she’s carrying and Zach are always
hungry.

Standing up heavily, Jenny tries to push her dreadful longing for Johnnie to the back of her mind. Much easier said than done! Almost every time she looks in the icebox to decide what to cook, she wonders what Johnnie might like tonight.

For five years, until their families had considered them old enough to marry, Jenny had loved her beau, wanting so desperately to be with him every day, to cook his meals, to take care of him. She’d come over to their farm twice a week to cook his supper before they’d gotten married, on the condition that she be back at her parent’s house by nine, which she always was.

Johnnie respected her wish to wait for their wedding night, and although they’d come very close to giving in to temptation a few times when they’d been alone in this house before marriage, they’d both been strong and waited. Judging from the fact that she’d gotten pregnant right away, it was a good thing they had.

‘Oh well,’ Jenny sighs as she washes her hands at the pump before starting to prepare a meal, ‘this is my life now. I have to get used to the fact that Johnnie’s gone, and I have to carry on alone for now.’

I feel as though I lived it but through my parents. They didn't talk about it much but I was always facinated.

Such low dire tragedy, such high explosive romance, so many losses, so many finds, such loneliness, such comradeship and on and on.

Of course this is from a British perspective, in the righteous mood of defence. Hey! We all want to defend our rights if we are OK with them!!

I am fortunate enough to have read the beginnings of Rosie O'Donnell and I must say that Magical Alice has had her way again. Such a beautiful, (maybe published), but nevertheless unsung author.

May your time with us stretch beyond bounds so that we may know the limits of your mind. Not forgetting the Mother, Nurse, Drudge, Fighter for Rights, Joker, Prankster, and last but not least Jogger lover ..........

Need I say more ..........

and you switch my mind on .........

Rusty, one of these days you'll turn your mind to novel writing too, and we'll get to explore your creative depths even further.

Mary Rose will eventually encompass four girls' lives, and I've not quite decided where to take the book from the point this is left at. Probably continue with Jenny in Canada for a while, can't bring an American girl into it for a while yet, since the States wasn't involved in the first few years of WWII.

Thanks for taking time to comment, Rusty. Feedback is always appreciated. I hope my book is reflecting some of the intensity of the times.

Love and Hugs,

Alice