Imagine that little boy in a few years..

Drawing of Will's favorite Sweet Angel...

SWEET BEAUTIFUL ANGEL

I paint angels big and small.

Some are very tall.

Having a pin I found laying around,

You are the one I see on the wall,

And not all... sweet and fine...

You are only mine,

And with me when I sleep,

Now never lonely I do not weep.

Will you always watch over me?

Forever there for me to see...

You are not so awfully tall,

But You are the Sweetest Angel of all.

Will you always with me stay? 

Sweet Angel, please don't ever fly away!

Moon so very nice and bright,

Will you shine again tonight?

I wish I too had wings,

And many other things…

I have a horse I cannot ride,

Thunder is my only toy,

And my biggest pride.

I have a best friend too,

I haven’t told about you.

I never say much you see,

But Rob is very nice to me.

I always dream I can ride far away,

To wherever you might stay…

Sweet Angel will you wait for me?

I am mostly a good boy you see,

I am almost eight, how old are you?

Are you of that age too?

Will you tell me your Angel name?

I'm William...

But many are called the same.

Now I can read and write,

But my teacher he is a fright.

Hitting me daily with a cane,

He even hates my name.

My father beat me again today,

Sorry, I did not mean to say.

But now I never cry,

I'm brave and I rather die.

Maybe tomorrow I can fly.

High up in the sky…

Good night sleep well,

Later I have dreams to tell.

And if I'm good... mutton pies as well.

I just drew a picture of you.

Can I send You love to high above?

Could You send me just a little love?

Given a first embrace when school begun,

And that was all new,

But could You come and embrace me too?

My mother is dead.

Could You love me instead?

I killed her when I was born, you see,

Which makes a murderer out of me.

My father says so,

And he ought to know.

I always dream of Thee,

Could You please come to see me?

Sincerely,

Your Unshakable Friend William F. Willoughby L.

Copyright©2013 by Kari M. Knutsen

Sweet Beautiful Angel,

With all due respect, not in the least wishing to be uncivil... No, but I'm really serious about you, and hearing the Reverend in Glorious Knight Boarding School in Canterbury say Thee... having a very serious face... I looked it up... is that your Angel name? Or is it just... old fashioned rubbish and a really pompous way of addressing someone? There's so much I wonder about. Oh, yeah... and why do people write so dreadfully strange? Nobody speaks like that. No. Furthermore I hope you do not mind I painted you on a piece of newspaper thrown away... with colors Wilks, the kind Butler gave to me in secret... but some day I will do better. I promise, and I keep my promises. Please, be my Sweet Beautiful Angel.

Now wanting to visit you again my Sweet Beautiful Angel, I am going back to the Rosegarden here at Lindesay Hall early tomorrow morning where you saved my life on Christmas Day... when I was 6, running away from home beaten up, but freezing to death... and I even saw a whole lot of things...

May I kiss your hand? I have never kissed anyone and nobody has ever kissed me. No.

I'm an only child. Do you fancy Yorkshire pudding and mutton pies? Or do angels eat something else? I sleep in a small, rather cold linen closet... where my Grandma... Countess Margaret Lindesay hanged herself close to my old, army campaign bed in the corner... but I'm not afraid of her... No, she just weeps.

We have at least 3 interesting ghosts here at Willowbee Manor.

If you come and visit I won't let anyone hurt you. No, I shall protect you. I'm tall for my age and strong. Will you let me be your Knight when I'm a bit older? Please, do say yes! I will always defend you, my Sweet Beautiful Angel!

Always honest, I'm not a coward. No, but I found a safe hiding place behind a rather loose panel under the grand stairs when I was 4. Still able to crawl in and sit in that dark little space, I'm safe there and so is Thunder. My father cannot find us and beat me up. Thunder and I often sit in the dark for days in there and think a lot... which is not easy with broken ribs... Sorry.  Do you fancy roses? 

My father never really speaks to me except for growling all plastered:

"I'll teach you! Bloody murderer! Come here... you useless, goddamn little rebel bastard! You bring horse shit and bloody codswallop to shame! I'll beat life out of you before the gallow gets you! Where the devil are you? Get your skinny ass here on the double... with bearing! That's a goddamn order! Be a man!" 

Never lying, I'm awfully sorry about the uncivil words! Pray forgive!   

I'm not a bastard. No, I looked bastard up. My parents were married. As for bearing... let's leave that for another day... I did try to find out if anyone could be hanged for being born... but there's a whole lot of words I need to look up... and only hoping they can't hang me... I'll tell you later. I don't say much, but I'll always speak to you. Do you play Chess with yourself too when there is no one else? Can't complain about not winning... No. Sorry!

Not wishing to trouble at all, but if I may... Do you know why fine ladies always say a whole lot of perplexing things when they see me... such as:

"Ohhh, dear! So awfully like his father, our darling Eddie... his spitting image indeed, but little William Francis is even more... Ohhh... Sooo Very...! Imagine Him in a few years, dear... Ohhh, my smelling salts! Imagine all THAT... in a uniform! Heaven help us!"

Why... My father's name is William Edward... Not Eddie. Can you help them, Sweet Beautiful Angel? Why do ladies say all that? In a few years I'll just be a bit taller... and what does a uniform have to do with anything?  Often smelling of lots of perfume... some of the ladies even have awfully big, pink lungs...

And one more thing... another secret, Willoughby is not a surname... No. It was given to me as a first name... but favouring it well and always accused of being a bloody little rebel bastard anyway... I use it as I please.  It's really true. I never lie. No. That's all I have to say for now.

Sincerely,

Will Willoughby

Copyright©2013 by Kari M. Knutsen