Wendy Jones - The Songbird and the Soldier

She wrote straight back.

Dear Andy,

I was so sad to hear about your tragic childhood. I hope the therapy is doing some good. Sorry to disappoint on the ‘normal’ front, but at least we will always have Marmite! As for our feathered friends? Your secret is safe with me.

I am enclosing photos of two of my best friends. Kate is the blonde one. She is also 24. She’s bubbly and always popular with the boys. Chloe is the one with dark hair. She’s 21 and the more reserved of the two, although the photos may suggest otherwise. The point is they are currently without boyfriends and were wondering if there were any nice single guys out there who would like to write to them. Oh yes, and Kate requested someone with big muscles. I’m sorry, you can’t take her anywhere. Do you think you could help?

Surely any middle name you could come up with couldn’t be worse than mine? I’m intrigued. What are we talking about here? Bartholomew? Alfred? Lesley?

Thank you for your photos. They are up on my desk, looking at me as I write.

What are the children like out there? Are they very different from over here?

What do you miss when you are away?

Write soon,

Love, Sam

Sam looked at the ending: Love Sam. Should she have put that? Was that too much? He might just see it as friendly. She drummed her fingers on the desk. Her stomach tightened and she folded up the letter and walked it down to the post box already anxious about the reply.

Andy was out on patrol. They had been given the task of maintaining a presence at the local bazaar. He walked along the street, alert and vigilant. The enemy, he knew, could be anywhere and anyone. The sun shone down without mercy. Despite this, he felt like this was a good day. The local people seemed relaxed and happy. Children smiled and waved as traders went about their business. Days were not always like this. Some days Andy had been out patrolling the same ground and muted faces had stared back, afraid. Children looked on in silence and people hid away. These were the days when anything could happen. In Afghanistan, people who looked scared always had good reason.

A small group of boys kicking something that looked like a dried up old fruit started to walk along beside him. Andy smiled at them. The patrol stopped and Andy shook their hands, still very much aware of what was going on around him. He got the order to move off again and signalled to his team. One of the boys kicked the makeshift ball out into his path by mistake, and Andy deftly back-heeled it to them as he passed, winking as he did. It was the little things like this that made his day.

Back safe in the compound when the patrol was over and everyone was at ease, Andy was handed his mail. His face struggled hard not to give away his delight, as he removed himself to a shady corner and carefully opened his letter.

He read, too quickly. He should not be so rushed. He read again, word by beautiful word. She had written some more about herself and Andy needed to know. He needed to know everything about her. He remembered little from before. They hadn’t spent much time talking about the past, only the present, their holiday and what they were going to do in the future. He looked at the photos. You stupid girl, he thought fondly to himself. I didn’t want pictures of your mates, I wanted them of you.

He rummaged around in his things for the means to reply.

Dear Sam,

When I asked for pictures, I meant pictures of you! Don’t worry, I have a couple of chaps in mind for your friends and if I’m wrong, it won’t be long before I find some willing volunteers. But I won’t let them see the photos until they agree, or I could have half the platoon wanting to write to them, and a lot of them are married!

You asked about children out here. We frequently come across groups of children and mostly they are very friendly. They smile at us and shake our hands, but the more unsure ones just watch us with big round eyes. I’ve learned a few words from our translator that help to break the ice, but we see little in the way of bad behaviour. Maybe you should try carrying a rifle around at school and see if your kids’ behaviour improves!?!

I like the sound of Humphrey. How long have you had him? Is he yours, or your family’s? Do you think he would like me?

He paused, unsure of how to go on. Should he let on a little of how he felt, or would that just scare her off? Maybe if he was light-hearted about it?

Back to your list of likes and dislikes – Do you have any idea how many letters I receive every week? Maybe you think I have hordes of mail. A good-looking chap like me, of course I do. Actually, no. Apart from my mother’s ramblings once every couple of weeks, telling me just how wonderful my brother is, there is only you. Shocked? I know, it’s unbelievable! Then you must be able to see how dangerous it is to write the words ‘shower’ and ‘fresh linen’ so close together in a letter to a soldier on a six month tour… Beautiful woman, shower, bed… Bagpipes, bagpipes, bagpipes! Okay. I’m all right again now.

Tell me about the kids you teach and about the parks in bloom.

Send me a picture, please.

Your lonely soldier,

Andy

PS Middle name? – Not even close!

Was that too much? Andy almost screwed it up and started again. But he stopped. Faint heart never won fair maid, he thought, and sealed it up and wrote her address carefully on the front.

He wrote the name, age and address of both the girls on the back of their photos and shoved them in his pocket then folded up Sam’s letter, placing it neatly away with the others he had hiding in his things. Deed done.

Sam read Andy’s next letter and blushed. She had never intended to be provocative. It had been an honest mistake. Well, not a mistake, but she had never even thought how her words might make him feel. ‘Beautiful woman’ he had said. Her? He was picturing her. Sam’s stomach clenched. What was this she was feeling? She looked at the photo smiling at her from the back of her desk. But there was Dean. So how should she reply?

Dear Andy,

I’m not sure where the school stands on teachers carrying arms in class, but I shall certainly look into it.

Humphrey is mine. I’ve had him about 18 months and he’s adorable. But would he like you? Probably not. He’s not very good at sharing my attention, but don’t be afraid, he’s not the kind of dog to savage a man. He might lick you to death, but apart from the odd yap, he’s completely harmless.

I bike through a beautiful park on the way to school and back every day. The grass is very green at the moment because we have had quite a bit of rain. The borders are full of colour and the pond is dappled with quacking ducks. A weeping willow hangs lazily on one side and I have to duck down under its branches on my way through. I know I shouldn’t be riding through the park, but there’s no one around at that time of the morning, so don’t tell, okay?

What do you get up to in your time off? Do you get time off? I’m sorry; I’m a bit of an idiot when it comes to knowing anything about the army.

It got up to 22 degrees over here today. How hot is it with you?

I’ve got parents’ evenings coming up this week - ugh! - So long days and lots of work for me. I need my pillow.

Write soon,

Your weary schoolteacher,

Sam

PS gargoyles don’t keep pictures of themselves! I could describe myself if that would do?

PPS Heathcliff?