Dear Den...
It was hard hearing your mum’s story about how she lost her first husband in the second world war, how his ship was blown to bits by a German submarine. She never quite believed it did she? She used to say, ‘Perhaps he swam, perhaps he got away. He was such a good swimmer.’
Even at nine, you knew this couldn’t be true. She told you that when she got the telegram, Missing Presumed Killed, that your bother was only nine weeks old. You were such a stoical child, absorbing her grief at such a young age, grief you have carried with you all your life. In later years let me tell you that you will cherish her war letters; read and re-fold them over and over again.
23rd December 1943
My darling wife I do hope you are getting along all right.
I keep thinking of you and our darling baby.I expect you are quite busy washing and feeding him. I wish I were there with you helping with things and getting in your way. I shall do something to the garden next time I am home, as it will be getting towards the good weather again. I hope you have a good Christmas, although it could be better if we were together.
Never mind, we must hope we are together next year …the first Christmas after the war we will have everything. Den, no one knows how much you cried each remembrance Sunday, for your mum’s loss your brother born a war baby.
When you are a mother yourself you will fully understand her loss and the terrible things that war can do. In the Falklands war, on 6th April 1982, the night The Sheffield is sunk, hit by an Exocet Missile, you will be holding your own six-week old son in your arms listening to the radio news.
You will cry because your husband is not a sailor, is safe but think of her sorrow in 1944. You will remember her letters.
December 1943
My Darling Wife and Son
We didn’t have much time together did we darling, never mind, perhaps it will be longer next time.
I had a pretty good journey back; the train was simply packed, they were lying in the corridor. I hope the electric light is on and you are able to have the wireless on, Molly. I expect the baby will wonder what it is.
I don’t expect you will hear from me for quite a while as we are leaving soon. I shall be very glad when leave comes around again. I bet you miss me getting your early morning cup of tea Molly. I miss it as well darling. Never mind the war won’t last forever. It will be well past Xmas time when you read this … With all my love to you both darling. My wife and son Barrie. Your loving husband Ron Just before your mother dies you will honour her grief in a poem entitled The Ring.
The Ring for Ada aged 101
We found it slipped between the sheets, she said as she handed me my mothers’ engagement ring.
It had never left her finger since her sailor beau had proposed seventy seven years ago, kissing her tide of red hair – and I took the delicate band whittled thin with seventy years of widowhood, and carried her grief out into the rain.
Let me tell you, that you will become a Quaker and champion peace and read her story from a lectern.
On armistice days you will wear a white poppy, but always remember the significance of the red, for your mother and brother’s sake.
The untold pain caused by war to widows and children will always remain with you. I can promise you that neither your son or daughter or your husband will ever be drawn to war and that you will have a long and happy marriage. Take my hand Den, hold my hand.
All my love Denise
Written to my nine-year old self. HMS Tweed was torpedoed on 7th January 1944 while on convoy escort duty in the Atlantic and suffered the loss of 83 lives. The Ring was first published by Oversteps Books in a collection entitled Parachute Silk
Written to her 9 year old self by Denise, Havant u3a
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