Auld Lang Syne

Auld Lang Syne

A Story by Lea Sheryn

Soldier marries Sweetheart in Gretna Green

I

Midnight strikes on the old hall clock. Bong, Bong, Bong, Bong…twelve times the bong resounds. On the Philco radio, the first bars of that same old tune begin the same old song.

”Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

and never brought to mind?

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

and auld lang syne?”

Yes, the year has turned from the old to the new once again. One year out and one year in, Jessica thinks as she carries her flute of champagne onto the balcony. Suddenly she wants to be alone. From the open French doors behind her, the sound of party horns and voices blend into one steady noise. Sighing, she turns to lean against the wrought iron banister and shivers in the icy winter air. She hasn’t thought to bring her wrap outside with her. It is too cold to stand about in the early January morning but this is not the only reason that causes her blood freeze.

II

Jeremy heard the call to duty. Proudly donning the uniform of the United States Army, he went off the fight the war in Europe. At first his letters arrived on a weekly basis. Jessica grabbed them from the hall table to eagerly carry them to her room for private reading. The other gals, who shared the rented Brownstone, liked to compare their letters by reading them out loud in a group but Jeremy wrote flowing words of love that she didn’t want to share. She cherished the paper, the envelopes and even his crabby, crunched up handwriting.

As soon as the opportunity arose, Jessica managed to pick up a nursing assignment in England. With great luck, she was able to meet up with Jeremy and, with even more luck, was able to coordinate a week’s leave with him. They knew what they were going to do as soon as they were seated in the little roadster he was able to borrow from a friend. It was a secret.

Heading north from London, they rambled through Birmingham and Manchester to their destination of Gretna Green in Scotland. In the marriage capital of Great Britain, Jessica Haversford became Mrs. Jeremy Martell. How they rejoiced in their clandestine nuptials. Never would they forget their first night together at the inn or their first meal in the pub across the way.

In the snug little tavern, a bearded giant of a man wearing a plaid kilt recited Robert Burns’ famous poem in a broad Scottish accent. The brogue was so thick, it was difficult for their American ears to understand but they both loved the quaintness of words spoken in a native tongue.

Jeremy was quick to pick up the accent in imitation; Jessica couldn’t get her tongue around it…but she did her best. Auld Lang Syne became the catch phrase of their honeymoon. With a twinkle in his blue-gray eyes, her new husband would suddenly say the words in the broadest brogue he could muster. She couldn’t help but fall into peals of giggles every time he did it. Surely they weren’t mocking the Scotsman who recited the poem; he delighted them.

Wandering through the Lake District, the return to London was a slow, leisurely one. Each of them wanted to make the most of the short time they had left together. Jeremy had to leave for France with his regiment upon their return. Jessica had to face the influx of wounded soldiers returning from the front. War duties were going to separate the newlywed pair.

III

Yes, Jessica mused as she leaned against the balcony on that cold first day of the year, Jeremy’s letters arrived with frequency at the beginning. Seeing his handwriting on the white envelopes the postman delivered caused her heartbeat to flutter with joy. Alas, the letters that used to show up daily dwindled to one a week, one every two weeks, one a month and stopped. Had he suddenly realized he’d made a mistake by marrying her or was there something much worse the matter? Tearfully she began to fear every knock at the door. Each day a letter or a knock didn’t come was another day of anxiety to be faced.

To the relief of all, WWII came to an end. Jessica remained in England long enough to see her duties to the injured soldiers fulfilled. How many letters had she written to the young men’s parents, wives and girlfriends back home? She couldn’t count; she didn’t want to count. The only letter that really mattered to her was the one that never appeared. “Jeremy, where are you?” she desperately asked herself as she walked from the hospital to her lonely London flat. “Are you amongst the unidentified dead or are you still out there thinking of those days of “Auld Lang Syne”? Until news arrived, there was no answer, the lonely girl kept reminding herself.

IV

Clinging to every hope, Jessica remained in England as long as she could. When the desperate hope for information became the desperate sense of loss, she finally realized it was time to go home to New York. The gals she had rented the Brownstone with had all reunited with their husbands and lovers so there was no one for her to bunk up with; she took a small efficiency apartment and lived alone. Her heart was no longer interested in nursing, she had seen enough of war wounds to last a lifetime, so she eventually took a job as a typist in a large law firm. The keys of her typewriter hitting the white letterhead she composed letters on seemed to chant “Jeremy, Jeremy, Jeremy” and “Auld Lang Syne” until she felt she could no longer bear to hold in her grief.

On New Year’s Eve, her boss insisted she join the party at his penthouse apartment. At first she politely declined. Having no reason to celebrate, Jessica longed to go home to flop on her bed and stare at the ceiling. All her longing was for Jeremy…and she very definitely didn’t want to hear “that song” at midnight. The memories, oh, the memories, would be too much for her lonely, breaking heart. But, when the rest of her co-workers joined their voices with the boss’s, she was persuaded to go.

And, now, here she was out on the balcony on a cold first day of the year. The celebration was winding down. One last hold out was still tooting away on a colorful party horn. Cone shape hats sat askew on heads feeling the first pangs of a hangover; confetti and balloons lay neglected on the floor; voices seem to come from a long, long way off. Jessica turns away from the opened French doors toward the wrought iron railing and accidentally let her champagne flute drop from her hand. It’s a long way down…but what life is there if Jeremy isn’t here to share it?

V

“Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

and never brought to mind?

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

and auld lang syne?”

The song becomes the spoken word of the Scotchman from the pub across the way on the first night of the day Jessica Haversford became Mrs. Jeremy Martell. In her mind’s eye, she can see the bearded man in his plaid kilt as he recited Robert Burn’s poem in his thick brogue. The Scot’s accent is strong and pure and, yes, even a wee bit musical. It’s almost as though he is on the balcony behind her. But Jessica knows it is all in her mind.

Her mind reels with the acquaintance she will never forget to bring to mind as she places her palms on the banister’s railing. Again, the words are in her ear but this time it’s Jeremy’s imitation accent. “Has he come back to bring me to heaven?” Jessica’s last thought runs through her mind as she feels strong arms encircling her slim waist.

Jeremy’s face is buried deeply into her long golden hair as he whispers “Jessica” into her small ear. Slowly she turns to take his longed for face in her hands so she can gaze lovingly into his soft blue-gray eyes. They kiss and cling to each other in ecstasy. They don’t care how they got to where they are as long as they are together in love…forever.

*Auld Lang Syne by Robert Burns (1788)