It was loud. Deafening. Everywhere mud was already mixed with the blood of hundreds of men. Perhaps it was less than hundreds. It felt like thousands.994Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBP9cmCe9UU
Screams. Lots of screams. Screams of young men - boys, really - in agony, screams of the nurses and aid workers begging for bandages or a stretcher. God forbid, someone get this man to the hospital unit!994Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWOTFAesPwq
The cold was paralysing. Too cold to move. Too cold for fingers to pull the trigger on the gun. Too cold for feet to run fast enough. Too cold to breathe; his lungs ached with every breath. Every inhale brought the cold, smoky, bloody air rushing into his lungs. It felt like knives. He wanted to be at home. In front of a warm fire, perhaps with a good ole’ roast dinner. His mouth watered at the thought. Warmth and good food.
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He woke up with a start. It was a dream, he told himself. Just a dream. The toes that were frozen and blue in the dream were warm and coated in thick socks. The blankets of mud and dirt in the dream were replaced with blankets of cotton.994Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7NB2t9bkl1
The hands that had held a gun and shot down German soldiers all those years before were now aged and crinkled, with slight arthritis. A wedding band rested on one finger.994Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXcloCiotui
He knew what day it was. Poppy day, as his grandchildren called it. Remembrance Sunday. He had lived through two world wars, and yet the day when he had to put on his old uniform for purely ceremonial purposes and mourn the deaths of his closest friends scared him more than staring down the barrel of a gun all those years ago in 1914.
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“Ay, John. Look what I got ‘ere.”994Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwPXREhLSiN
John was young. Only twenty-one. Percy was younger, only twenty. He was from London, but not the wealthy part of London. Percy had grown up in a tiny house on a street full of strictly working class families. His father worked in a factory. His mother was a house wife, having another child every two years or so. Percy had volunteered for the war. Thought it was a way to give his family some form of grandeur. Maybe a bit of extra cash.994Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTpL3dcX50A
He spoke with a strong accent, so strong that John could barely understand him. Percy tried to teach him cockney rhyming slang, but John could never quite get it.994Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMrisiJynvn
“What?” John asked, looking curiously at the small brown package in Percy’s hand. Percy grinned and removed the string and paper wrapping. He revealed four small squares of chocolate.994Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmsr3VDJwwC
“Me mam’s sent it me. Must’ve cost all her rations, it must. It’s me birthday next week.”994Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0JZPQjpNwp
“Lucky you.” John said, turning back to polishing his boots.994Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ17TZZxa21b
“Here.” Percy said, offering John a piece. John shook his head.994Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfKmEb6YdyI
“It’s a birthday present. I can’t take it.”994Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGKXEyuU1nf
Percy insisted.994Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSqB5MpTodW
“We all need a little pick-me-up out here.” He said with a small smile. John took the chocolate tentatively.994Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1IDxJNi3t0
“Cheers.”
-
He buttoned his shirt with shaking hands. His tie was uneven. His wife adjusted it, smiling comfortingly at him.994Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIzJnQACIdY
The year was 1958. Forty years after the end of the war. Forty years and still… still he could hear the gun shots. Still he was woken in the night from the cold. Still he was haunted by the cries.994Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZ4x9GwT3na
Every year there was a procession in London. Every year he attended, mourning his fallen brothers. Every year he laid a single poppy down on the cenotaph. Every year he wished he could have saved just one of them.
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“You got a lady at home then or what?” Percy asked. It was night. The cold seemed to chill their very bones.994Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAYXS9k5xNR
“Maybe I have.” John said with a coy smile. Percy nudged his arm with his fist.994Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwVBjQRmTjK
“I reckon the girl’s won’t be able to keep away once I get home.”994Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVTJAGLPCAJ
John scoffed.994Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuU4Gkb1shz
“What if you get your leg blown off?”994Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ11JClQ5sR5
Percy merely laughed.994Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFgvw8tcEhe
“War wounds, innit? Girls love war wounds. Makes me look brave.” He said casually, leaning back on the dirt wall of the trench.994Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8GkBxzAra9
John could only laugh at Percy’s optimism. It was seemingly endless, but infectious. He was like the sun, melting away the ice and snow after a particularly cold winter's night, and bringing with him a kind of brightness that only came from the young and the naive.
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“Tell us about the Great War, grandpa.” The child asked him. She was so young - only eight years old - and not nearly old enough to know of all the horrors of war.994Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZtDM3qt3xu
“It wasn’t great, love.” He said simply. The child on his knee jutted her lip out.994Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHQP73uIlLz
“Mummy said you were very brave.” She said.994Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡE6aKSjTyPq
The man laughed.994Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ65VriKHlqP
“I don’t know about that. Many were braver than I.”994Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHWUXboJHfu
“Were they your friends?”994Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXhKs1PCR1R
“They were my brothers. They were the best friends I've ever known.” He said sadly.
-
Anyone would have thought he was sleeping. He was so still.994Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡK82uTqNDI3
But his eyes were glassy and his hands were cold. Colder than usual. The blood spread like wildfire across his uniform. John nearly convinced himself that it was just paint. He tried calling for a doctor, or anybody, but his words wouldn’t come out. Instead he sat down next to his friend and held his hand. He was long gone, John knew that. But he couldn’t find it within himself to let go of Percy’s hand. He thought of the family he had in London, the young mother waiting for his return and relying on his soldier’s wages. He thought of all the girls he could have had. He smiled at the image.
‘War wounds mate.’
Those were his last words. He had choked on a small laugh. The sound made his chest heave and he began to cough. With one last feeble smile he was gone, taking all the optimism with him.
-
He stood in line. He stood beside soldiers he had never met. Never served with. Never heard of. And yet he felt he knew every single one of them. Each of them bore a weight on their shoulders that made their backs break. Each of them beheld in their eyes a dark horror that scarred their every waking day. And yet through all those horrors, they mourned the ones that had made the war bearable. Brothers in arms.
As the procession wore on, some cried. Some stood in stoic silence. Some bowed their heads in despair. When it was over, and the crowd began to disperse, John approached the cenotaph. The small poppy he put down was lost among the thousands of others. He felt that was apt. One life among millions.994Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVyv5zx8a0T
He turned to walk away, the smiling face of his ever optimistic comrade burning behind his eyes.994Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9wwC6du5Lv
As he walked away he thought to himself: Just war wounds, mate.
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