Author's Notes:

Chronologically, the first entry from the Pevensie-centred cycle I’m working on named Joy and Letters from a Child written by Susan Pevensie as revealed in the final entry “The Beginning After the End”.

Contents of 'Joy' will particularly deal with the relationship of the Pevensie family before, during, and after World War II. I thought I wanted to try writing stories with a historical basis. Never fear for those won't necessarily have to be read in order, they simply might show continuity by linking several elements that may be better understood if you have read a previous entry that could be cited in the present one. But reading all of them is not a necessity to understand most of the events (unless I highly recommend reading any of them specifically before).

I recommend reading this while listening to either: “Personal” by Stars, “Evacuating London” from the LWW soundtrack, or “Perfume-Distilled” from Perfume soundtrack.

~

[FROM: “Joy and Letters from a Child” by S. Pevensie by mase992/The Inkling’s Quill]

Title: Entry #1 – Mrs Potter.

Cycle: Joy and Letters from a Child by S. Pevensie

Timeline: The Battle of Britain. The Blitz. 7 September 1940.

Setting: London Borough of Barnet, London, England. East Finchley.

Prompt: 029. First
Genre: Drama
Rating: PG (Parental Guidance for war-related topics)
Characters: Pevensie family: Peter, Susan, Edmund, Lucy, and (unmentioned) Helen.
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended and I'm not gaining any profit from this story, I'm only having fun with C.S. Lewis' fantastic world and characters.

Unbeta'd.

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Mrs Potter always used red lipstick. The kind that would stay on your cheek no matter how many times you tried to wipe it off. That always seemed to bother Edmund the most. But he’d forget that when she stopped by with her famous strawberry and blackberry tart.

Mrs Potter had a contagious laugh. That may have been the reason why Peter developed a small crush on her. He’d usually repeat those stupid jokes he was told at school just to hear her laugh. And so it would go, with her bursting out laughing, pinching his blushing cheek, and ruffling his hair with grown-up affection.

Mrs Potter had a lovely voice. She used to be a singer before the theatres were closed down. She had a part-time job in a radio program in the meantime.

Mrs Potter would teach me to sing and play the piano. She taught me the song I would sing to lull my youngest sister to sleep for years to come.

Mrs Potter had a small child: a cute baby boy. He’d just learnt to walk. Lucy was always happy to play with him at five o’clock. She would show him around the house and garden or lend him her favourite dolls.

He was too young to understand much but Lucy liked to read to him storybooks. She believed Peter Pan was his favourite, just as hers, and read to him the adventures of the never-growing-boy repeatedly.

Mrs Potter lived next door so Lucy didn’t mind lending her child her favourite set of crayons. She said she would go get them tomorrow after school.

Mrs Potter and her child left at eight, like they always did. She stood from the piano stool, grabbed what was left of her delicious tart, the crayons, and waved goodbye with a tinkering laugh.

That was the last time we saw Mrs Potter or her child, before the Luftwaffe burned her house down.