A young man goes to war.
February 20, 1917 was a clear but frosty day in Butler’s Cove and Andrew’s mother could do nothing but think of her son. There had not of course, been a day or night since he left, that she hadn’t worried about him, but today was different, she knew that something was seriously wrong. Nevertheless, it wasn’t until three days later that word came that Andrew had been wounded in battle. On March 9, she and her husband, received a letter from a nurse at the hospital where he had been taken, with words of hope that he might recover. It was not to be however, and news of his death came two weeks later on March 24. At the end of the war, they would receive a picture of his gravesite at the British Cemetery near Meaulte, France. Often on a Sunday, as they walked the path to Emervale for Church services, the family would remember the night that Andrew came home with the news that he was volunteering for the war. Sometimes too, they would feel their heart strangely warmed as if another presence was there, as if Andrew himself walked with them once more.
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