War Is A Terrible Thing
Mrs Bridges could see that both girls needed some time to themselves, time to reflect, and, each for their own reason, time to calm down. The elder of the two – usually so reserved, so composed and sensible – had just lost the man whom she loved, and Daisy was afraid, oh so afraid of losing hers. The child had been beside herself with worry for young Edward ever since Rose had received news of Sergeant Wilmot's death; the letter bringing home the harsh reminder of the realities of war, and she hadn't meant to seem so harsh on the young girl. Even so she had Rose to concern herself over now – the grief stricken young woman to consol – and that had to take priority over young Daisy. She'd have her own talk with her later on, once Rose had gone to bed, and make sure that the young woman would be alright. Of course she'd make it up to her, for she too was sure to need an understanding ear to listen, and perhaps even a shoulder to cry on. It wasn't healthy for her to keep her emotions all bottled up inside, the grief just fuelled un-provoked outbursts.
Only one thing remained certain in Mrs Bridges' mind was that no good could possibly come of this war, all this fighting; only more lives lost, devastation and grief awaited them. More bitter tears were destined to be shed in remembrance of thousands of fallen men – she could only hope that Daisy wouldn't have to go through the same pain as Rose by losing Edward too… that might just break the child's heart.
Despite what anybody said – Mr Hudson included – war was an evil and terrible thing she thought, an evil and terrible thing, and no good could ever come of it.