In Memoriam

by Alice Winn

“Is it morning?” he mumbled. “Mhm,” said Gaunt. “Appalling development,” said Ellwood into his pillow.

“I love you,” he said. Self-reproach clouded Ellwood’s lovely face. “Henry, I…you know that I…I…” Gaunt knew Ellwood would probably never love him again. He had accepted it long ago. “It’s fine, Elly,” he said. “I understand.” Ellwood grimaced and shook his head, clearly frustrated. “No, Henry, I,” he said, “I—‘I cannot heave my heart into my mouth.’ ” Gaunt stared at him. Ellwood looked just as shocked as he was. “Shakespeare,” said Ellwood. “King Lear.” Gaunt put his arm around Ellwood’s shoulders and drew him close, his chest swelling greedily with joy, with hope. He kissed the top of Ellwood’s head. “There,” he said. “It’s a start.”

Only one thought can comfort, and that is that he died, not for war, but for peace. After the calamity of the past four years, we look to the future with hope, determined to make Cyril’s sacrifice, and that of a thousand others, count towards a lasting harmony in Europe. Let us, like the soldiers of Waterloo, have our century of peace and prosperity, for we have paid for it in blood.

My father has supported me in my writing with a tenacious belief that is as touching as it is irrational. But what a kindness to believe in a child unconditionally!