I attempted to write more of a storytelling type of post for this year, inspired by a lot of other decades blogs I've seen! It took me a really long time so I'm not sure I'll do this for each year, but I hope you enjoy!
The summer of 1337 brought troubling news to Henford-on-Bagley. Word spread quickly through the village that King Edward had laid claim to the French throne and that men would soon be needed across the realm.
Alaric paid little attention to such matters. Kings and nobles waged their wars far away, while men like him worried over crops, weather, and whether there would be enough grain to see their families through winter.
One evening, Lord Ashbourne rode to the Hazelwood farm himself. Alaric knew the purpose of the visit before a word was spoken.
"The king requires men," the lord told him.
Alaric glanced toward their fields. Edward was twelve now, old enough to tend the fields and take care of the animals, but not old enough to replace a grown man. Randolf was still a little boy, only eight.
"When do we leave?" he asked.
After Lord Ashbourne departed, the farm seemed quieter than before.
The children sensed something was wrong, though neither Alaric nor Margery spoke of it openly. That evening, after the children had finally fallen asleep, Alaric found Margery standing outside their cottage.
"You'll come home," she said, though her tone was unsure.
Alaric reached for her hand. They had known each other nearly all their lives. Together they had survived poor harvests, bitter winters, and the loss of a child.
"I'll do all I can," he told her.
On the night before his departure, neither of them slept much.
The morning of his departure, Alaric dressed for the journey ahead. Margery held the twins close while Randolf lingered near the cottage door, unusually quiet for once.
Edward stood waiting by the gate. As Alaric looked at him that morning, he saw not the boy he had been, but the man he would soon need to become.
"Mind your mother and grandparents," Alaric told him.
Edward nodded solemnly. "I will."
Alaric rested his hands on the boy's shoulders. "You're the man of the house now."
He wished he could promise that everything would be alright. That he would return once the war ended and life would continue unchanged. But Alaric didn’t know if he would come back.
The journey south took several days.
By the time they reached the king's encampment, hundreds of men had already gathered to set up tents and structures. There were all sorts of men, including farmers, millers, shepherds, and craftsmen. Alaric had never traveled so far from home.
Among them was Nicholas Holmes, Mabel’s husband.
In the evenings the two men sat together beside the campfires, sharing bread and whatever news they had heard from home. It comforted Alaric to have family nearby, though neither man could ignore the uncertainty of whether they would return home.
The days quickly settled into a routine of drilling and practice.
Alaric had used a bow before, mostly for hunting. Hitting a target while standing among dozens of other men was definitely more difficult. He practiced until his shoulders ached.
Alaric was more wary of swordfighting, and the sword felt unnatural in his hands. Still, he practiced diligently. He would do all he could do to ensure he returned home.
When darkness fell and the camp quieted, sleep often proved difficult. Surrounded by hundreds of men, Alaric had never felt more alone. He thought of Margery and his children, wondering how they were and if they were okay.
Back at the Hazelwood farm, life carried on. The fields still needed tending, the animals still needed feeding, and winter would arrive whether Alaric was there or not.
Edward threw himself into his work, determined to prove his father right. Yet he remained a boy at heart. When his chores were finished, he could still be found wandering the farm with the family's duck trailing behind him.
Randolf seemed less troubled by his father's absence. He spent his days climbing trees, chasing leaves through the autumn winds, and finding adventure wherever he could. Margery often wondered whether he truly understood how long Alaric might be gone.
That autumn, the family's old cow, Clara, died after many years of service to the Hazelwoods.
The loss was felt throughout the family. Before winter arrived, the family managed to purchase a young replacement. Matilda named her Clover and quickly took to caring for her.
