A Time For Reflection

September 4, 1939

Edward James Lancaster sat in his leatherback armchair, a copy of the London Times firm in his grip.  His eyes continued to dart across the front page of the paper, which had countless stories scattered about it on the first page alone.  In big, bold letters, in black ink - an omen of things to come - the headline spoke volumes, even if just one simple word: WAR.

The day previous the German nation under the rule and direction of the National Socialists and Chancellor Adolf Hitler invaded Poland, giving the United Kingdom and France no other alternative but to declare war on Nazi Germany.  Despite countless compromises, including the Munich Agreement in 1938, Hitler's thirst for land was unquenchable.  In a matter of months the whole of Western Europe would be plunged into a black, bloody hell of death of and destruction.

Action was needed, and at that moment, as the young Lancaster's eyes stared blankly into space, he realized action was needed as well.

His father, William Robert Lancaster, Duke of Wessex, entered the Grand Library and stood in front of his son, smiling pensively.  Edward too was left contemplating what his future held.

William was the first to speak.  "Well my son..."

Edward nodded his head.  The young twenty year old Edward James Lancaster was hardly out of Eton and ready to go to Oxford, when war was declared.  His dashing, youthful looks, and blond hair, were all surpassed by the sheer look of anxiety, mixed with determination on his face.  Looking at his father, determination won out - in that instance - as he responded.

"I'm going to London tomorrow Father...I don't care if they place me in the Officer's Corp, or the RAF or Navy or Army.  I'm going to fight."

The Duke of Wessex, who himself had seen action in the Great War from 1914-1918 as a British Officer near the trenches of France, knew his son had no other choice but to go to war, as he knew he would once more have to do himself.  Truly his was the most cursed generation in history.

"I'll be assigned to London again, but I must leave tonight, and I probably won't return home for several weeks or months, at the earliest.  Have you told your mother of your decision?"

"Not yet, although I am sure it will come as no surprise to her.  I suppose I should begin packing my belongings."

"Best tell your Mother now, and then pack.  You had best go say your good byes to Wendy as well.  It may be a while before you get to see her."

The mention of the girl he loved made him all the more anxious about leaving for battle.  He had been courting her for a few months, a daughter of a fairly-well off family which he had met while away at school.  She was not very tall, but her heart was pure, her smile soft, her hair, long, black, and elegant.  Edward had hoped to marry her in the not too distant future, but he knew that this damn war would throw a wrench completely into his plans.  Edward managed a smile.

"I'll do so Father."

The Duke placed a hand on his son's shoulder as he arose from his chair, and went to his room elsewhere in the estate.  He opened his school trunk, and was about to start to pack it, but did not have the desire to do so any longer.  Edward sat back on the edge of his bed and hung his head low.

He feared for his own life, of course, but for that of his father, his mother, and of course, Wendy.  Wendy also caused concerns of another nature; would she wait for him until the war was over?  Would she find comfort in the arms of another man, and bare his child instead?

Edward lifted his head and felt the tears stream down his face.  He would give anything to avoid going to battle, but at the same time, he wanted to do so.  He lost a brother in the Great War, at the hands of a German machine gun in the muddy trenches of Belgium.  This war would be for him, and every other nation and family touched by the grim hand of war.

He wiped the tears from his eyes, and resumed his task of packing.  That night he said his tear filled good bye to his mother, and his father, and, Wendy too.  They swore to love each other no matter what would come from Hitler's blood war.

As the young Lancaster boared his train in the early hours of September 5, he stared out the window as the scenery raced by towards London.

What would become of him over those five years, obviously changed his life.  After having returned from defending the night skies of London in 1941, he learned that his father was killed in London during that last night of the Blitz.  At the conclusion of the war he returned to Wessex to find that Wendy had moved to the Dominion of Canada, where he never heard or saw of her again.  Feeling he had nothing left, he did not leave the military until the mid 1960's, working his way up to the rank of Colonel, or Group Captain in the RAF.  In 1965 he was honourably discharged, and that same year, met the woman who would be his wife, and, in 1970, had their first and only child: Robert Lancaster, named after his own father's middle name.

Now, he too faces his own time for reflection before he begins his own battle.  His training has been as intense as any he has ever done.  His will for survival, for respect, for comradery in battle, ever present.  And, like his father and grandfather...he too knows that there is a time for peace.  A time for war.  And, a time for reflection.

That time is at hand.  The calm, before the storm.