The Shriving of Miss Esme Stamp… Appendix

Looking back to Episode 10…. Constance and George

Her mother left her to rest in the curtained numbness of her room and kept a watchful ear for the sounds of movement and a watchful eye on the front door. In this defiant air of martyrdom and misplaced loyalties, her daughter was capable of all! In the lounge Constance poured herself a large Scotch and stared hard into the glass, as if it were full of nettles…and found no reason to drink it. She sat back on the large crystal-green sofa. George was on her mind. He had been there from the moment the first flickers of grey dawn crept in through the half open window of her spring morning bedroom. He was there…placing images in her mind. Images she loved. Thoughts she treasured. Her mind ran with pleasures; of when he first came calling to take her out; and her mother’s dismay and distaste at their mention of marriage. ‘He’s the third son of a village doctor,’ she had ranted, ‘so you won’t inherit much there!’

But they had married despite disapproval and made a few wonderful years together before that fateful day on the Somme. Esme was the fruits of their union. The result of their emotion. She was possessed of their fire and passion and tenderness and hope.