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