~Papaveris Bellum is Latin for War Poppy~
~-~-~-~ <3 ~-~-~-~
The soft yet bitter breeze lifted my long, brown (and grey in places) hair and tied it in knots each time a new gust came about. My left hand was clenched tightly around a poppy, shaking slightly from the fiery anger that was burning from inside my heart; a feeling I knew all too well.
My right hand, however, was brushing over the tallest poppies and grass in the field and each time it did, I felt like I was being welcomed by my lost friends.
We grew the poppies here in Southern France in memory of the lost souls' lives that were taken from them in the most brutal way. It reminded us of No Man's Land, and so we raised these poppies like we raise our children. Three poppies for each soldier were planted here, and we raised them like children because sometimes it felt like we were nourishing the reincarnations of our beautiful boys.
I reached a stop after I had passed the tallest of the plants, and my legs were only tickled by the smaller poppies now.
Here, there lay two small boulders that I had engraved exactly 21 years ago today. They marked the six poppies that represented my best friend, and the love of my life.
The wind suddenly became harsh as I fell to the ground before the boulders. I was a very strange sight to behold, never mind to hear.
The wails and screams that emanated from me deemed me human, yet it was a sound so inhuman that I was scared of myself.
"WHY? Dear God, please tell me how much blood must be shed before James and I can be safe? This has happened too many times....too many! Please! Someone, anyone! Why?"
I was screaming so loud it was a wonder that all of Edenne (my beautiful village) didn't hear me.
I was a shaking mess, and tears were streaking down my face as if they were racing to reach the poppies below me and imbue them with enough water to last their entire lives.
I lay down in the red haze and covered my face with my hands, my fists clenching as I did so. Today was the 1st September 1939, the day that my worst nightmares were going to continue from the days of 1914-1918. My beautiful baby boy was called to war like his father and namesakes before him.
Somehow, my precious James Thomas Davis was going to become a killer, though I dreaded to think that he would be killed first.
When would my torment end? I am a survivor of a world war, and now another one is starting. How many more poppies will I have to plant until I am left with no one?
What have I ever done? Am I condemned to outlive all my beloved boys as I watch them be slaughtered by a savage war that nobody wants to fight?
Yes, I thought, biting back more tears.
I had had enough, and my fists pounded against the ground in pure furore and hatred.
My body was wracked with pain from crying, and I was gasping for breath. All my energy was poured into my anger, and all I wanted was to find a one, peaceful place.
I closed my eyes and watched as my memories fluttered in front of me. It wasn't quite a dream, and far from peaceful, but at least I could see my beautiful boys on this far from peaceful day...
~-~-~-~ 1913 ~-~-~-~
I was 19 years old, and standing before Thomas Fellstoker in my ivory wedding dress; my mother's homemade creation.
I had walked down the aisle on my father's arm just moments before, and although everyone in the chapel had their eyes on me, I couldn't help but stare at Thomas.
He and I had been...acquaintances for a time, yet both my father and his found it fitting to see us in a ceremony that would join our families together. It was pre-arranged, although neither me, Thomas nor my mother were too pleased. My mother was lucky enough to actually love my father, whereas Thomas and I would look forward to our personal space.
But still, there was something in his eyes that told me he would care for me and keep me safe and sound all my life. I supposed he'd cared for me enough to begin to love me.
My father nudged me towards him, with one teary smile. I released my grip on his arm and glided towards Thomas. It was amazing that with a few spoken words, an exchanging of rings, a few hymns and prayers and a legal document later I could become Mrs Anna Fellstoker.
We walked outside and around our village of Leighfield, enjoying each other's company and the warm June sunshine. I wasn't sure I'd ever love him, but I could feel that treasured spark of friendship begin between us.
~-~-~-~ 1914 ~-~-~-~
I'd never truly considered a war starting before this point, but then again, I had never believed there would be a war to consider.
But we had all just heard of the news.
And nobody moved a muscle.
We were at war. England was at war...
~-~-~-~ November 1914 ~-~-~-~
Thomas stood before me once again. He looked so very handsome dressed in his uniform. It was tragically beautiful. But more tragic than anything else. My husband had been called to war, and once called, you can't refuse. You just have to fight.
Some part of me knew this could very well be the last time my eyes scanned over him, the last time I shared the same air as him, the last time I could ever tell him I loved him in person.
Actions speak louder than words, and as he embraced me and prepared to bid me farewell, I held onto him and kissed him with every ounce of love I could give him.
He was my best friend, and I suppose I did love him, and what other chance could I have at giving him his last kiss?
Tears stained his uniform as he stepped away from me, with a few spoken words he nodded grimly, and walked out of the door as I fell to my knees and wept.
I wept, and I wept, and I wept.
***
A few weeks later and I had received one letter from France. Thomas had arrived safely, and enclosed a photograph which pictured him standing by the rest of our village's soldiers. A few more emotions stirred inside, but it strangely put a smile on my face. To know he was safe made me feel like I could take on today; my first day as a school teacher.
With the lack of men in our village, (besides the elderly, doctors and a few policemen) women were taking up the old jobs. I wished to teach my students art, and also a little piece of the french language to help them on their way to greatness.
It was a small class with no more than 14 students in it. There were 8 young boys of around 9-12, and 6 girls ranging from ages 6-11.
I took the class register and noticed the children were rather stiff and almost frightened by me. I remembered my school days, and I knew at once how they felt. However, I aspired to be a kind teacher, for I believed that treating them like the young adults they would become would help both them, and myself.
I told them all about what I would be teaching them, and they all seemed eager to learn. I asked if they would like to read a book so we could draw what we imagined scenes to be like, and they all responded with enthusiasm.
That was one of the rare occasions that made me smile, and smiling was something we could all appreciate during these hard times ahead.
A young girl by the name of Molly had confided to us all that she was feeling quite light-headed while we were drawing the main character. I hadn't thought much of it until the poor girl fainted in her seat. I was so panicked and unprepared, that I told the students in a hurry that I was taking her to the clinic and they were permitted to go to lunch.
Molly stirred in my arms as I was walking down the street, the fresh air was helping her overcome unconsciousness. I was determined to make it to the clinic, so I whispered that she could rest. The local clinic was only 2 doors away, so I requested an appointment with Dr Davis as soon as I stepped in the doors.
Molly was soon lifted out of my arms by the doctor as he took her from me and lifted her onto his examination table. I was taken aback by him once I could actually look at him. He was probably only my age, but I wondered how he could work as a doctor at this age instead of going out to fight for our country.
He murmured under his breath, and moved so swiftly his blonde curls were almost windswept when he stopped; a diagnosis was found.
"Thank you for bringing her here, Miss-"
"-Mrs, actually, Mrs Fellstoker. Call me Anna, I insist!" I blurted out awkwardly at him, nodding for him to continue with a shy smile.
"Yes, well thank you, Anna. Molly will perfectly fine, but I request she gets some rest at home.
"Thank you very much, Dr Davis, and thank you for your time."
He nodded to me with a charming smile, and turned back to Molly so he could definitely prescribe her the correct medicine.
There was something quite mesmerising about the way he moved; swiftly, carefully and slightly confidently. I blushed slightly when he turned around to find me gawking at him, but his pale blue eyes merely sparkled with amusement...or perhaps something more?
I mentally shook my head, I was a married woman; I could not be seen taking an interest in Dr Davis!
He cleared his throat and it appeared I had been in a world of my own once again.
"Miss Parkinson will need to be taken home-" he began.
"No worry, I will take her there, Dr Dav-" this time it was I who was cut off.
"Dear, you may call me James, and erm...I feel in this day and age it would be wise for me to accompany you and Miss Parkinson to her home."
I blushed and smiled in response. Within seconds we were out the clinic doors, and I found myself blushing all the more. There was something about him that had captured my heart in only half an hour, but I knew I'd be haunted with guilt if anything were to happen other than a friendly exchange of "Good morning!" every so often.
We made sure Molly was settled in at home before James requested to escort me back to school. Some part of me was screaming to refuse, and yet I grinned broadly and took his arm once again.
Stopping outside the school gates, I bid him farewell. He seemed slightly devastated about our goodbyes, which I couldn't help but secretly feel happy about. If only I wasn't married anymore, perhaps we could be together.
And I regretted those thoughts more than ever 2 years into the war.
~-~-~-~ February 1916 ~-~-~-~
It was Valentine's Day, and although everybody's spirits were low from stories of yet more killings in France, Leighfield was certainly feeling romantic. In the village convenience store, the countertops were lined with shades of pink and red. It was all very pretty for anybody other than me.
The fateful, remorseful knocking upon my door came in the early morning.
I remember crying my heart out before I had even read the letter. The man delivering it was one I recognised; Charlie Tale. He was back in the village due to injury I had heard. But as it turned out, the battered soldier was here for something else.
I don't even remember him saying anything, I just remember nearly falling into darkness before he caught me and proceeded to comfort me. When I finally got myself together (barely) I opened the letter with shaking hands. Eyes scanning over the page, I found what I had been told immediately.
Thomas was dead.
Those Huns had the nerve to kill my best friend in a terrible and cruel way. He was killed in a gas attack, and for almost the first time I was truly livid.
A war that nobody wanted had taken my Tom, had choked the life out of him and left him on a battlefield. I just couldn't contain my anger and threw my wedding ring to the floor; to be left just like the soldiers had left my husband.
I had nowhere to go, but I stormed out of my house in angry tears. I stood in the park without any defense, and just cried without stopping for almost an entire hour.
Something overcame me and I just writhed in the grass in anger, and pure pain. I reached into the soil and tore out the grass as if they were the non-existant hearts of the enemies that took Tom away from me.
Surely, I had awoken the villagers from their sleep? Not one of them. It was terrible, but they had all learned by now that we should leave our mourners be.
Only one of them came running to me: James Davis.
In two years I'd quickly discovered he could possibly be the one that could make my life complete. I felt more terrible about it than ever right now.
I continued to wail, but he simply lay down next to me and held me until I stopped.
He was wearing his work clothes, but he took his jacket off just so he could keep me warm and make me feel even the slightest bit better.
My heart was burning with pain, but he swept me up once I was drifting off to sleep and carried me to his home.
A voice similar to Tom's seemed to echo in my mind...
Be happy.
Another tear streaked down my cheek as James placed me gently on his bed so I could rest. Something happened in my insane state, and I found myself reaching up to kiss him at long last.
~-~-~-~ May 1918 ~-~-~-~
As this memory fluttered in front of my eyelids, I could pretend for a moment that I was happy again. Happier than I'd ever been in my life.
I was 2 months pregnant with James and I's first child. Today was our first wedding anniversary, and life was perfect in every respect -besides the war that was still going on.
The day had passed in a swirl of dancing, smiling and cuddling on our old, worn sofa.
If 'perfect' ever had a picture underneath it in the dictionary, I was certain that a picture of today would have been there.
As I had seen in life before:
Whenever I am happy, heart-breaking volumes of pain, sadness and anger are sure to follow.
Just over a fortnight later, we walked together through the streets of Leighfield.
We soon stopped in the town centre; where lines and lines of women were glaring at James and I. I hated it, I hated flaunting the fact I was happy with the man I loved when these women had just lost their loved ones.
James felt me shift uncomfortably beside him, and ushered me to continue walking past the groups of women.
Julia Wellson suddenly yelled out from the crowd, causing James and I to fault in our steps.
"How does HE get to stay here!? HE SHOULD BE FIGHTING! We've had to lose people, even SHE has! But even when our army is dwindling, he gets to stay!"
I couldn't help but shout back at her in defense of James.
"James gets to stay here because he is a doctor and we need him! I have lost a man just like we all have, but please don't take James away from me!America has joined us, the war will be over soon! Surely, it will!"
I was sure I was making up excuses and nonsense, but I couldn't let them take James from me.
Some girls were understanding of me, and were happy to at least see one person happy in the village. Others were so blinded by their losses, they were desperate to see everyone else suffer along with them.
James stepped away from me, and I felt the familiar tears well up within me. He said nothing, but walked to where the army was recruiting. With a strangled cry from me, he signed his fate.
I remember fainting just after I reached the park bench, and all the women suddenly realised what they had done and tried to help me and convince the army men to resign James.
~-~-~-~ August 1918 ~-~-~-~
Edenne was a beautiful village, to be in a country where such ugly things were happening.
It was in Southern France, away from most of the fighting. I was labelled an idiot for moving to France when I was 5 months pregnant in the middle of a war. I didn't care.
I had to be where James was.
He was already at war, and thankfully in an area where not much fighting happened. For now he simply acted as a guard for villages, in case the Huns were to attack. There had been rumours of them pillaging villages and violating women; rumours which no one knew if they could believe them or not.
He was located somewhere up North -but even more thankfully for me- he would be able to gradually migrate down to the South and look after the women of Edenne.
Experts had predicted the war would end in a matter of months, and all we would have to do is wait.
~-~-~-~ October 28th 1918 ~-~-~-~
This was the date that would be etched permanently into my mind.
James was near! He would be near Edenne in the evening of today! He'd sent me letters saying that he was now actually in the conflict, and he couldn't remain a village guard anymore. Yet still, he was allowed to fight in Southern France if we had any conflicts. There were rumours that there were plans to attack, and so James was sent here!
I could almost feel him in the distance; and that was enough for me.
He'd joked about sneaking away on a night to come and find me, and it was a joke only because you could be shot for desertion just by doing that. I was terrified he would actually do it, but I knew he wouldn't be that stupid, and as he was respected it would mean he would receive a chance to explain himself. I personally thought that seeing your heavily pregnant wife for the first time in 5 months was a perfectly valid reason!
Never-the-less, I went to bed feeling a bit more light-hearted than usual.
Strangely, I awoke a few hours later at around 3am to a serious of knocks on the door. My heart rate increased intensely, and I placed a hand over my abdomen. Who could be knocking on my door this late at night? Perhaps it was a German...yet wouldn't he have just barged right in?
Keeping my hand on my protruding stomach, I carefully looked out the window and felt my heart stop.
No. No, No, No, No, NO!
My mind flashed back to the last time I saw a similar scene, and I couldn't help but slide down the wall until I reached the floor. I couldn't comprehend this pain. I was never able to deal with it before, and I couldn't deal with it now. I reached for James' jacket and wrapped myself in it.
The leader of the firing squad heard me, and quietly opened the door. It was an aged man with a look of complete sorrow on his face. He noticed my bulging abdomen and looked close to tears himself.
He simply handed me a letter; James' last letter and explained to me the horror of what had happened.
"Mrs Davis, I am a man among men who hate their job in the firing squad. But we are forced into doing it. All this section of the army cares about is winning the war, and getting rid of 'rebels' in the most cruel way. We lose so many men to the Germans every single day, and they bloody make a squad to shoot the rest of them! Your husband was the best soldier and man I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. The general caught him as he tried to sneak away to find you, and didn't even listen to his explanation. He was convinced that such an inspiring person was up to something suspicious. He was convinced that James would be the fall of the army. Ridiculous as it is, I'm afraid the general has become insane from his 4 years of this war. He doesn't listen to reason, and became paranoid. He ordered us to kill your husband. I refused to shoot, like the rest of the squad. The general shot him himself. I am so incredibly sorry for your loss, and I will promise you this war will be won in his honour."
I was numb.
I couldn't feel anything except pain. And anger that was so vivid, I begged God to curse the general. I was so angry and pained that I was so close to ending my baby and I's lives right there. When I could finally speak, I was cut off straight away by the soldier delivering the message.
"I thought you would appreciate knowing that he saved his last breath to whisper your name..."
That just made my tears fall harder. I was in physical agony. I couldn't breathe, and I was so furious I didn't know what I could say, or do. Life just felt different without him, and my hate for this war grew to be what felt like the epitome of hatred.
Instead, I found the energy to open the envelope. Enclosed was a simple note with 3 words on it. Just 3 words, 8 scrawled letters, and one heart-breaking meaning behind it.
I love you.
~-~-~-~ 1st September 1939 ~-~-~-~
My son was now 21 years old. He was being taken from me just like Thomas and James were taken from me.
All my energy was spent due to crying and my throat burned from screaming. I didn't know what else I could do but sleep, and as I did so I was sure I was wrapped in James' blanket once again, being cuddled by him like we did in 1916. I was also imagining feeling my hand in Tom's, and for that split-second before I fell asleep, I was more content than I had been in a while.
