15May2024
Today I set myself down with the same old fountain pen to record the tangled years that have shaped my sister, Ethel, and how the choices made for her have left a quiet lesson in their wake.
Ethel turned thirtynine last winter, and Mum, now a spry sixtytwo, still fretted the moment she learned her daughter was expecting. It isnt too late to have a child, love, she whispered, hands still dusty from tending the garden beds behind our cottage in Littleford, Yorkshire. Give thanks to the Good Lord; may He grant you a sliver of happiness.
Mums garden is her sanctuary; she spends most of her days turning the soil, while Ethel, a geography teacher at the local primary school and deputy head, helps on weekends before heading back to the classroom.
One early Saturday in June, before the heat set in, Ethel went out to weed the rows. The air was already heavy with the promise of a dry summer. Morning, Ethel, called Annie, the neighbour from the next lane, stepping out with a basket of fresh eggs.
Annie had come to this county many years ago, having married Tom, a former soldier whod been stationed in the faroff corners of the world before they settled here. Did you hear? she said, Old Miss Barbaras sons back in town. She was referring to Oliver, a lanky lad whod been Ethels schoolmate.
Ethel straightened, leaning against the picket fence, and asked, Oliver, you say? What brings him back?
Annie laughed. Hes on leave, but hes more than that. He served in the Royal Marines, spent a year in the Far North and another on the Isle of Skye. Hes retired now, almost sixty, and dreams of turning an old farmstead into a series of glasshouses. Hes coming alone; his marriage fell apart years ago, so his ladies are all single lads looking for a fresh start.
The thought prickled Ethels heart. She had once entertained the notion of marrying Oliver, but fate had swung her into Simons arms instead. Simon, a stout, goodnatured lad from the next street, had become her husband by circumstance rather than desire.
The three of themEthel, Simon, and Oliverhad grown up together. Oliver, though a year older, was the smallest of the trio, often teased as little Oliver by Simons boisterous jokes. Yet he never took offence; instead he protected his friends and stood tall as he grew, eventually outstretching Simon in height.
As teenagers theyd roamed the woods, fished in the stream, and later swapped those adventures for evenings at the village hall, dancing to swing bands and watching new releases at the local cinema. Ethel blossomed into a striking young woman, drawing envious glances from other girls whenever she stepped out on the night out with her two mates.
Both suitors were appealing in their own ways: Oliver, the solid, dependable sort, and Simon, the merry prankster with a quick laugh. Oliver left school early, learned to drive, then reenlisted. Simon stayed on the teaching path, eventually taking a promotion at the school.
Letters flew between Oliver and Ethel, with Simon adding his own notes. When Olivers contract was renewed, he promised to write more often, but after a few months the post ceased. Mum, Ethel asked Barbara, Olivers mother, why has Oliver stopped writing? He was supposed to finish his tour soon. Barbara sighed, Hes decided to stay on permanent service; he wont be back for a long while.
Soon after, Simons letters also fell silent. His mother confided that her son had been wounded in a training exercise and was convalescing at a military hospital. He sent a brief note that read, Im fine, love you, will be home soon. Ethel, unaware of the depth of his injury, waited in vain for the words she hoped would tether them together.
When Simon finally returned, he rushed home and declared, Ethel, shall we start sending matchmakers? She shrugged, halfjoking, Our dear friends not coming back, but when Oliver does, perhaps well wait for him. He replied, Hell be here the day after tomorrow for a brief visit, just a couple of days.
The three met again, as they had in the days of youth. That evening Ethel resolved to lay out the truth once and for all. Yet the conversation fell flat; jokes missed their mark, Oliver was unusually quiet, and Simons humour seemed forced. When the others left, Ethel cornered Oliver by the garden gate.
Simon wants to propose to me. He hopes to marry me, she said.
I know, Oliver replied, his voice low.
What do you think of me? she asked.
It matters little now, he said. He plans to wed you; Ill not stand in his way.
Ethel felt a bitter sting. So you all decided for me without asking me? Perhaps I love you, not Simon. She fled home, hoping he would stop her, but the next morning she learned Oliver had left for good.
With a heavy heart, Ethel gave her consent to Simon, and they married. The union, however, faltered. She fell pregnant a few years later but could not carry the child to term, and no further children followed. Simon, sensing her distant affection, turned to drink and volatile arguments. He was forbidden from alcohol after the wound hed suffered, yet ignored the warning. Their lives drifted like neighbours on opposite lanes, and eventually Simon took a posting up north, where he later perished in a tragic road collision.
Years later, as Ethel stood before the upstairs mirror, a tall, dignified man entered the courtyard. It was Oliver, looking healthier and more handsome than she remembered. She smoothed her hair and stepped onto the doorstep.
Good thing Mum is at the shop, she thought, I should invite him in before the whole village starts gossiping. She greeted him curtly, What brings you here?
Oliver, slightly flustered, answered, I wanted to speak, if thats all right. She gestured him inside.
He placed a neatly wrapped parcel on the table. A gift, for you.
This isnt the time we talked about, she said, why now?
I was on my way when Simon intercepted me. He told me that if I didnt marry him, hed no longer live, Oliver confessed. He begged me to leave quickly. I understood; after my injury I could do anything to protect him.
Why was I never considered? she asked.
Ethel, Im sorry. I loved you, and I never wanted to hurt my friend. I still love you, he whispered, pulling her into a firm embrace.
From that moment they stayed together, married, and soon Ethel was expecting again. Their son was born a sturdy little lad, whom they named Simon in honour of the friend who had once been part of their tangled story.
Looking back, I see how the weight of others expectations can drown the quiet voice within. I have learned that even when the world seems to draw its own map for you, you must still pause, listen to your own heart, and chart the course yourself.
