- Contributed by
- Researcher 238750
- People in story:
- Joan Shovelton
- Location of story:
- Article ID:
- Contributed on:
- 11 February 2004
In 1945 my boy friend returned from the Middle East. Two and a half years had gone by since our tearful farewell. I was feeling nervous as our letters, of late, had become a bit scanty with no mention of US and I had begun to doubt whether I still cared for him as much as I used to.
A knock at the door and he was here. He put his arms round me but there was no passion in his kiss which was warm but brief. We walked to our "secret" place but there wasn't much conversation except about everyday happenings but, again, not about US. In the evening we went to the cinema but there was no arm round my shoulders and we didn't even hold hands. A quick kiss "goodnight" and he was gone. I lay awake realising that we had both changed but who was going to mention it first? He had a months' leave and I had two weeks off work and the thought of spending it trying to make conversation filled me with dread. We spent a few days visiting friends and relations then he went to see some distant friends but didn't suggest that I accompanied him.
Came the end of his leave and I went to see him off.
As he got on to the train he handed me a letter to read after he had gone. It was a sweet letter thanking me for all the good times and love we had once shared and saying "Some how I don't think we love each other any more" Also telling me that he had fallen in love with a French girl whom he intended to marry. I was so relieved and happy for him. They married in France but settled in England after his demob. I was married a few years later to the love of my life. I've been a widow for many years now and saw in the local paper that he had died last year. But this was a romance where no one was hurt when it ended. Researcher238750.
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