A mother’s wish for the end of winter and war.
Peggy was sick of the war it was 1940 and her husband Alan had been away for over a year. He’d not even seen their son Brian who was now six months old.
She heard her baby cry out in the next room and looked at the alarm clock, it was only five am and still dark, was he ever going to sleep through the night?
“He’s probably cold,” she thought.
Turning on the light she put her feet onto the bare floor and gave an intake of breath.
“I wish we could afford to buy a rug,” she muttered.
Going to the window she moved the curtains aside and peered out into the quiet street. The gas lamps were still lit but she had to scrape patterns of ice from the glass with a fingernail to see their tiny garden enclosed by the red brick wall.
She went into her child’s bedroom; he was sitting up in his cot sucking on the corner of the blanket his face hidden from her. Hearing his mother entering the room he dropped the blanket giving her a gummy smile.
Gathering him up in her arms she took him back into her bed. There was a little of her warmth remaining, she covered them both with the thick eiderdown that her grandmother had given them when she and Alan married.
Eventually though Brian insisted it was time to get up. Peggy held him tightly wrapped in his blanket and went down the stairs into the kitchen.
She shivered and lit the gas stove to warm milk for Brian’s bottle.
“I’m so sick of winter,” she looked at her baby, “just you wait baby boy it will be spring soon the sun will shine, we’ll be warm and your daddy will be home.”