Page 121 of Strangers in Time

Charlie handed her the envelope.

She tore it open, glancing anxiously over his shoulder, and started to read.

“Will there be a reply, ma’am?” asked Charlie.

Drews screamed and threw the message at Charlie; then she started to slap and punch him. His pillbox hat came off with the flurry of blows and he fell back, lost his balance, and nearly toppled off the porch.

She struck him on the cheek, knocking him down, and Charlie could feel his skin start to swell. Drews staggered back and stared down horrified at the bruised and battered Charlie. Her eyes fluttered, then she let out a low moan and fainted in her doorway.

Charlie, breathing hard, rose and looked down at her, unable to process what had just taken place.

“Ma’am?” He knelt down and nudged her arm. “Ma’am. Are you okay?” He looked inside the open doorway. “Hullo, is anybody in there? Hullo, we need some help here. Help!”

He could hear the sounds of footsteps rushing toward him and an older woman came into view inside Drews’s home.

“Ellie!” she exclaimed.

She ran forward, knelt down, and gripped the other woman’s hand. She looked sternly at Charlie. “What happened? What did you do to her, boy?”

A frightened Charlie backed up and said, “I ain’t done nothin’. I just give her a telegram and she started hittin’ me.”

She focused on his messenger uniform and gasped. She looked around and saw the paper where Drews had dropped it. She snatched it up, read off the few lines, and dropped it again, her face pale and her limbs trembling.

“Josh?” She called back into the house. “Josh! Come quickly.”

A man about her age came hurrying to the doorway, a pipe in hand. “What is—Oh my God. Ellie.”

He rushed to the woman’s aid. “What’s happened?”

“Message came,” said the older woman, indicating Charlie. “I’m afraid it’s Bill. The worst.”

“Oh dear Lord.”

Drews was coming around by this point, and they helped her upand led her back inside, leaving the door open behind them. They apparently had forgotten that Charlie was even there.

He stooped, retrieved his pillbox hat, and picked up the crumpled message.

FROM AIR MINISTRY 77 OXFORD ST W 1 PC 687

DEEPLY REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT ACCORDING TO INFORMATION RECEIVED THROUGH INTERNATIONAL RED CROSS CHANNELS YOUR HUSBAND F/SGT WILLIAM EVERETT DREWS LOST HIS LIFE AS THE RESULT OF AIR OPERATIONS ON NIGHT OF 30/10/44 STOP AIR COUNCIL EXPRESS SINCERE SYMPATHY STOP LETTER TO FOLLOW SHORTLY STOP…

Charlie slowly folded up the telegram, closed the front door, and carefully pushed the paper through the slot. He got back on his bike and rode across the bridge and back into the city.

While other messengers had warned him of it, that was the first “death” telegram he had ever delivered. He wondered if his mother had gotten such a message when his father had died.

Deeply regret to inform you that Private Robert Charles Matters lost his life as the result of… STOP

His mother had never spoken of receiving such a telegram, but she must have, Charlie thought. Yet she had obviously spared him from knowing about it, until she had sat down one day and told him of the sacrifice his father had made.

“He was so heroic, Charlie. All the soldiers are. He fought for you and me and Gran and Granddad. He wanted so much to come home and be with us, he loved you so dearly. But… he just couldn’t. But we will always remember him and what he did to keep us all safe.”

It was only after his mother had died that Charlie had actually thought about what she had said to him that day. His fatherwasa hero. He had given his life for them. He would never be coming home. But they would never forget him. The only thing that made any of this bearable, at least for Charlie, was that he had a half dozen East End mates who had also lost their fathers in the war. Their mothers had all gotten that telegram. So, Charlie wasn’t alone in that loss, even though he quite often felt that he was.

He finished his deliveries for the day, conscious now of seeing if any more were from the service branches. Luckily, none were. But tomorrow was another day for regrets to be sent to suddenly widowed women and fatherless children.

It was the end of another week, so he collected his wages, with a nice bonus thrown in because Arthur Benedict liked him and Charlie was a hard worker with the skill and talent to ring up more business. In his spare minutes he had taken to hanging out at the Savoy, where the American journalists stayed. They were always sending telegrams, and they tipped quite liberally. All Americans, apparently, were rich. And Charlie had ventured inside the hotel on several occasions to see finely dressed folks eating at linen-clad tables and being served by proper-looking staff. And the food they were putting in their mouths? Charlie didn’t even know such meals existed. He recalled Gran telling him about caviar and hors d’oeuvres being served there, though he had no idea what they even were.

“See you in the morning, Ignatius,” said Benedict as he put the money Charlie had collected in the till. Then he focused on the boy’s battered face.

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