Jack and Julian were sitting on the low stone wall that bordered the lane that led to the fallow fields and the woods beyond<\/p>\n
They were waiting for Martha who was as normal late and idly threw stones into the many puddles that had formed near them<\/p>\n
Both boys soon bored of this and spoke of the challenge they had set each other a few days previously<\/p>\n
They had challenged each other to write a war related poem<\/p>\n
Julian had written his poem in a black notebook and with a hidden pride he pulled the notebook from his canvas jacket pocket<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you want to hear my poem Jack?\u201d he said shyly<\/p>\n
\u201cGo ahead\u201d<\/p>\n
“It is called”<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The Secret Shame of Matthew Thame <\/i><\/b><\/p>\n
He was a slight man<\/i><\/p>\n
Who was often ill<\/i><\/p>\n
And was on no way <\/i><\/p>\n
Qualified to be a soldier<\/i><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
When war broke out <\/i><\/p>\n
He did not remain idle<\/i><\/p>\n
And once even took a pot shot <\/i><\/p>\n
At a Zeppelin passing overhead <\/i><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
But when things got bad <\/i><\/p>\n
Certain men turned on him<\/i><\/p>\n
And suggested he was a coward<\/i><\/p>\n
Without steel in his soul<\/i><\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/i><\/p>\n
He however considered himself lucky <\/i><\/p>\n
That he had never received <\/i><\/p>\n
The dreaded white feather <\/i><\/p>\n
Although many said he deserved one<\/i><\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/i><\/p>\n
When the war ended <\/i><\/p>\n
It took Matthew a number of years <\/i><\/p>\n
To come to terms <\/i><\/p>\n
With the burden of the eleventh <\/i><\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/i><\/p>\n
\u201cWas that about Doctor Thame\u2019s son?\u201d said Jack quietly<\/p>\n
\u201cMore or less\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDid he shoot at a Zeppelin?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe said he did\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell I suppose that anyone would do so given a gun\u201d<\/p>\n
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<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat is your poem called?\u201d said Julian with interest<\/p>\n
Jack ignored the quesion and started reading<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Private Hopland <\/b><\/p>\n
Percy Hopland<\/i><\/p>\n
From the village of Maye<\/i><\/p>\n
Was shot in the head <\/i><\/p>\n
And died today<\/i><\/p>\n
It took an hour <\/i><\/p>\n
For him to die <\/i><\/p>\n
And during this time<\/i><\/p>\n
He learned to fly<\/i><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cYours is just doggerel Jack, but I like it\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt is not as good as yours\u201d<\/p>\n
“Did Private Hopland change into an angel as you suggested at the end of the poem?\u201d Julian enquired<\/p>\n
\u201cDunno I just wrote it as it rhymed\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSeriously I did like it Jack, perhaps I was wrong calling it doggerel, it is quite accomplished\u201d<\/p>\n
Jack looked at his poem and screwed the paper up and threw it into a nearby puddle<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy did you do that?\u201d Julian exclaimed<\/p>\n
\u201cThat is where it belongs\u201d Jack replied but his answer was shortened as Martha came into view running across Baines Meadow towards them<\/p>\n
As soon as she reached the lane the girl who was wearing a cream dress began to wade through the deep puddles<\/p>\n
\u201cYou should use the field Martha\u201d Jack shouted<\/p>\n
\u201cThis be quicker\u201d the girl replied almost stumbling into one of the wider puddles<\/p>\n
Jack threw a stone into a puddle near the girl which further stained her already soiled dress<\/p>\n
\u201cMartha look at you, you shall not go into the village with us in that state\u201d Julian said in haughty manner<\/p>\n
\u201cYou be a pair of sissies sitting there on that wall, a little drop a water hurt anyone\u201d Martha replied retrieving one of her sandals from the cloying mud<\/p>\n
Jack held out his hand and helped the muddied girl onto the wall<\/p>\n
\u201cI will only walk with you if you wash your legs in the river, you are in disgusting state\u201d Julian said as he stood up searching for his balance<\/p>\n
\u201cShe\u2019s okay Julian, everybody knows that she is always dirty living here on the farm\u201d Jack replied as he jumped down into the meadow<\/p>\n
Martha jumped next falling as she did so<\/p>\n
\u201cWell I am not going to hold your hand or look for you if you get lost, and I mean it about washing your legs\u201d<\/p>\n
Both Jack and Martha were running across the meadow and chose not hear Julian’s warning<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd I am not going to wash in the river, Mr Bossy Pants\u201d\u00a0 the girl shouted defiantly as she ran hand in hand with Jack<\/p>\n
Julian looked at Jack\u2019s poem that had been trodden further into the mud by Martha. He then thought of his own work which lay snuggly in his notebook<\/p>\n
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<\/p>\n
He then covered his poem carefully and cemented the stone with moss<\/p>\n
\u201cI will retrieve this work when I am twenty-one and then show it to the world\u201d he said to himself as he prepared to jump into the field and follow the others<\/p>\n
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<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
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<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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 […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1178"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1178"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1178\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1178"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1178"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1178"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}