Chapter 1: Letter from Caroline to Leslie
486 Words
August 2,1941
Dear Les,
Greetings from the Isle of Man, or rather from the isle of enchantment. The moment we drove off the ferry onto dry land, the magic began its work. I’m so happy Cyril chose this island for our honeymoon. I can’t seem to get my fill of the picturesque villages, the rocky cliffs, and the bracing winds that blow almost constantly in from the Irish Sea.
I’ve never seen such strange-looking wooly sheep; with their upturned horns they remind me of the island’s early Viking invasions, and everywhere, green, green, green. Not the people, silly. The landscape. It’s glorious!
Mrs. Bundy, the local innkeeper, said most of the men are off fighting Germans in Africa, and I suspect this explains why the pubs are so quiet and tame at night. You’d never know there was a war on (slight exaggeration) except for the alien internment camps, the barbed wire, and guards, not to mention that damned island flag with the three running legs of Man that, to me, resembles a swastika.
The people are friendly and in good spirits, especially given the traces of war that are everywhere yet less conspicuous amidst such glorious scenery. Barely a “hello” goes by without an added reference to Manx folklore: beasties, ghosts, and the little people called Themselves who cast their spells around us. The Manx inhabitants weave tales about an ancient wizard who protected their isle from invaders by shrouding it in fog, about men turned into three legged creatures, horses galloping over the seas, and mermaids with long golden hair. I feel as though I’ve walked straight into a childhood fairyland.
Unsurprisingly, Cyril is far too logical to take any of this “fairy nonsense,” as he calls it, seriously. He’s too grounded in reality. As for me, I’d run off with the little folk any day just for the fun of it. All they’d have to do is ask.
Speaking of reality, how are you two getting on in our cottage now that Edward has some time off? I hope you’ve quite settled yourselves into domesticity. No fighting, please. Well, not too much. That’s what couples do, I’m told. So far, we’ve had only minor disagreements over places to visit. Cyril is sold on visiting each Viking and Celtic ruin, and making a pilgrimage to every churchyard and Norse cross in captivity. Did you know the Vikings actually buried their ships? I’m more of a village and pub girl myself. Give me a stiff drink and lively chatter, and I’m yours for hours. Possibly days.
Cyril sends his love. Well, you know what I mean. We plan on taking the early ferry next Thursday and will most likely be home before this letter arrives. I miss our talks, Les, and especially our four o"clock drinks time. Kiss Edward for me.
Fondly,
Caroline (aka Mrs. Cyril Graham.)
Douglas, Isle of Man
- Writer
