Flavour of the Day (15/11)
Title: Veils
Author: lost_spook
Story: Heroes of the Revolution (Divide & Rule)
Flavor(s): Flavor of the Day 15/11/15 - diaphanous ((1) very sheer and light; almost completely transparent or translucent. (2) delicately hazy).
Toppings/Extras: Malt - Ghosts of the Past (1. A child's view of mother/father)
Rating: PG
Word Count: 643
Notes: 1937, 1940, 1949; Julia Graves.
Summary: When everything changes, it’s so hard to see the way ahead.
***
1937
It was too early to be up, but Julia wrapped her dressing gown about her and climbed into the dormitory’s window seat, looking out across the low hills as a West Country morning mist clung to the land, obscuring the view. She reached into her pocket first for the blue chiffon scarf that Mother had left behind, and then for the letter from Mother, telling her that they had arrived safely in Berlin and wishing Julia a good half term. It wouldn’t be too long before they saw her again. She didn’t mention anything about war, but at school they did. Everybody said it was coming and Julia, wrapping and unwrapping the scarf around her hand, found suddenly at fifteen how supremely unknowable the future was. She couldn’t see anything any more.
1940
She shouldn’t have come, Julia knew, as she stopped at the gate. She had no call to be here, and it wasn’t even as if it had been a pleasant walk. It was a windy day, a further gust threatening her hat and blowing the drizzle into her face, half blinding her.
Still there it was: home. She closed her eyes against the sight, filling it in her mind with the people who were missing: Father, Mother, Christy, Rudy, Mr Keynes the gardener, and various maids and governesses in turn. It didn’t really work; she opened her eyes again and wondered who its new occupants were. There was no sign of them, either.
The war was real now and it had changed everything. It was as if, not only had Mother left, but as soon as she had, the world had turned around and renounced all the frivolous things she’d loved so well. Everything these days was about mending what you had, making do, being practical. And Mother - Julia hung her head, not wanting to cry. It had been stupid to come here; to indulge in self-pity, instead of getting on with things. She put her hands up to her scarf to straighten it; what had once been Mother’s blue chiffon scarf and now was hers. She’d just have to accept that she had no way to reach them. Like everyone else, she’d have to do her best and hope the war wouldn’t last very long.
1949
Dresses, fine fabrics, invariably reminded Julia of Mother. She couldn’t help laughing to herself as she worked on altering the dress she’d managed to find for herself. Whatever would Mother say? She’d be delighted at the idea of a wedding of course, if shocked at the concept of mending and making do being applied to the dress for such a day. Julia leant her head back against the sofa, relaxing her hold on the silk and the lace. She wasn’t sure, these days, how much she’d ever known her mother. She was a glamorous, much loved figure in flyaway material; in trim, impeccable daywear, and evening frocks of all shades of the rainbow in silks and satins, chiffon and lace, sequins and rhinestones. What would she say if she knew her daughter was going to marry a man who was almost a complete stranger?
It would be different for Mother, of course: she’d known Edward’s family. She’d probably think it like something out of a novel, or see it as a far more practical solution than trying to work in some low-paid job. Julia, though, couldn’t tell. She couldn’t see her Mother any more, she couldn’t see Edward yet. She had the ring on her finger and this dress on her lap and that was all.
And when she stood on the deck of the ferry, in sea mist and more fine drizzle, the dress packed away in her case somewhere on board and Edward beside her, she thought, with another veil of rain over her face, that she still couldn’t see a thing.
***
Author: lost_spook
Story: Heroes of the Revolution (Divide & Rule)
Flavor(s): Flavor of the Day 15/11/15 - diaphanous ((1) very sheer and light; almost completely transparent or translucent. (2) delicately hazy).
Toppings/Extras: Malt - Ghosts of the Past (1. A child's view of mother/father)
Rating: PG
Word Count: 643
Notes: 1937, 1940, 1949; Julia Graves.
Summary: When everything changes, it’s so hard to see the way ahead.
***
1937
It was too early to be up, but Julia wrapped her dressing gown about her and climbed into the dormitory’s window seat, looking out across the low hills as a West Country morning mist clung to the land, obscuring the view. She reached into her pocket first for the blue chiffon scarf that Mother had left behind, and then for the letter from Mother, telling her that they had arrived safely in Berlin and wishing Julia a good half term. It wouldn’t be too long before they saw her again. She didn’t mention anything about war, but at school they did. Everybody said it was coming and Julia, wrapping and unwrapping the scarf around her hand, found suddenly at fifteen how supremely unknowable the future was. She couldn’t see anything any more.
1940
She shouldn’t have come, Julia knew, as she stopped at the gate. She had no call to be here, and it wasn’t even as if it had been a pleasant walk. It was a windy day, a further gust threatening her hat and blowing the drizzle into her face, half blinding her.
Still there it was: home. She closed her eyes against the sight, filling it in her mind with the people who were missing: Father, Mother, Christy, Rudy, Mr Keynes the gardener, and various maids and governesses in turn. It didn’t really work; she opened her eyes again and wondered who its new occupants were. There was no sign of them, either.
The war was real now and it had changed everything. It was as if, not only had Mother left, but as soon as she had, the world had turned around and renounced all the frivolous things she’d loved so well. Everything these days was about mending what you had, making do, being practical. And Mother - Julia hung her head, not wanting to cry. It had been stupid to come here; to indulge in self-pity, instead of getting on with things. She put her hands up to her scarf to straighten it; what had once been Mother’s blue chiffon scarf and now was hers. She’d just have to accept that she had no way to reach them. Like everyone else, she’d have to do her best and hope the war wouldn’t last very long.
1949
Dresses, fine fabrics, invariably reminded Julia of Mother. She couldn’t help laughing to herself as she worked on altering the dress she’d managed to find for herself. Whatever would Mother say? She’d be delighted at the idea of a wedding of course, if shocked at the concept of mending and making do being applied to the dress for such a day. Julia leant her head back against the sofa, relaxing her hold on the silk and the lace. She wasn’t sure, these days, how much she’d ever known her mother. She was a glamorous, much loved figure in flyaway material; in trim, impeccable daywear, and evening frocks of all shades of the rainbow in silks and satins, chiffon and lace, sequins and rhinestones. What would she say if she knew her daughter was going to marry a man who was almost a complete stranger?
It would be different for Mother, of course: she’d known Edward’s family. She’d probably think it like something out of a novel, or see it as a far more practical solution than trying to work in some low-paid job. Julia, though, couldn’t tell. She couldn’t see her Mother any more, she couldn’t see Edward yet. She had the ring on her finger and this dress on her lap and that was all.
And when she stood on the deck of the ferry, in sea mist and more fine drizzle, the dress packed away in her case somewhere on board and Edward beside her, she thought, with another veil of rain over her face, that she still couldn’t see a thing.
***