Oh to be there.
Up early and a big breakfast downstairs with Mama instead of upstairs in the nursery. A housemaid called up for war work and another one off to become a nurse. Not enough help to carry trays all the way up anymore.
Food like Sunday in Devon at the big hotel. Bacon, kippers and all that with a little bowl of oatmeal somewhere but easy to ignore.
Mother’s parasol fetched and out the door to wait for Papa to bring up the car. Off to the station and into London.
A treat. Home mostly. Papa needing the car and the army having taken all the horses to send off to France. Cabs yes, but not for a child. No, for a Christmas fete at the church perhaps but otherwise a pair of sturdy boots and one foot before another. That and girls all right until they stuff you in a corset. A cab then at least if there’s a beau around.
But everything fine. No rain for a treat and little brother bouncing on the seat. A new elephant house and maybe a giraffe. Lunch at the café inside and home when it begins to get dark.
But a stop at the shop at the gate and a postcard. The gate and all trees and sky.
Something to keep forever . . .a treat day and a memory made to live forever and ever in your heart . . .