Jack and Julian were sitting on the low stone wall that bordered the lane that led to the fallow fields and the woods beyond
They were waiting for Martha who was as normal late and idly threw stones into the many puddles that had formed near them
Both boys soon bored of this and spoke of the challenge they had set each other a few days previously
They had challenged each other to write a war related poem
Julian had written his poem in a black notebook and with a hidden pride he pulled the notebook from his canvas jacket pocket
“Do you want to hear my poem Jack?” he said shyly
“Go ahead”
“It is called”
The Secret Shame of Matthew Thame
He was a slight man
Who was often ill
And was on no way
Qualified to be a soldier
When war broke out
He did not remain idle
And once even took a pot shot
At a Zeppelin passing overhead
But when things got bad
Certain men turned on him
And suggested he was a coward
Without steel in his soul
He however considered himself lucky
That he had never received
The dreaded white feather
Although many said he deserved one
When the war ended
It took Matthew a number of years
To come to terms
With the burden of the eleventh
“Was that about Doctor Thame’s son?” said Jack quietly
“More or less”
“Did he shoot at a Zeppelin?”
“He said he did”
“Well I suppose that anyone would do so given a gun”
Both boys looked up the lane towards the farmhouse but Martha was not in sight. Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper
“What is your poem called?” said Julian with interest
Jack ignored the quesion and started reading
Private Hopland
Percy Hopland
From the village of Maye
Was shot in the head
And died today
It took an hour
For him to die
And during this time
He learned to fly
“Yours is just doggerel Jack, but I like it”
“It is not as good as yours”
“Did Private Hopland change into an angel as you suggested at the end of the poem?” Julian enquired
“Dunno I just wrote it as it rhymed”
“Seriously I did like it Jack, perhaps I was wrong calling it doggerel, it is quite accomplished”
Jack looked at his poem and screwed the paper up and threw it into a nearby puddle
“Why did you do that?” Julian exclaimed
“That is where it belongs” Jack replied but his answer was shortened as Martha came into view running across Baines Meadow towards them
As soon as she reached the lane the girl who was wearing a cream dress began to wade through the deep puddles
“You should use the field Martha” Jack shouted
“This be quicker” the girl replied almost stumbling into one of the wider puddles
Jack threw a stone into a puddle near the girl which further stained her already soiled dress
“Martha look at you, you shall not go into the village with us in that state” Julian said in haughty manner
“You be a pair of sissies sitting there on that wall, a little drop a water hurt anyone” Martha replied retrieving one of her sandals from the cloying mud
Jack held out his hand and helped the muddied girl onto the wall
“I will only walk with you if you wash your legs in the river, you are in disgusting state” Julian said as he stood up searching for his balance
“She’s okay Julian, everybody knows that she is always dirty living here on the farm” Jack replied as he jumped down into the meadow
Martha jumped next falling as she did so
“Well I am not going to hold your hand or look for you if you get lost, and I mean it about washing your legs”
Both Jack and Martha were running across the meadow and chose not hear Julian’s warning
“And I am not going to wash in the river, Mr Bossy Pants” the girl shouted defiantly as she ran hand in hand with Jack
Julian looked at Jack’s poem that had been trodden further into the mud by Martha. He then thought of his own work which lay snuggly in his notebook
He wanted to preserve it for posterity so he crouched down and removed one of the uppermost stones in the wall and placed his notebook into the hollow
He then covered his poem carefully and cemented the stone with moss
“I will retrieve this work when I am twenty-one and then show it to the world” he said to himself as he prepared to jump into the field and follow the others
Seven years later Julian was flying a Spitfire when he noticed beneath him the farm where Martha had lived and for a second as he flew over the muddy lane he thought of his poem secreted in the wall awaiting his return