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# The Broken Poppy

Alice Catherine Carter.

"If we don't end war, war will end us."

  * H.G. Wells.

Copyright ©.2014. By Alice Catherine Carter.

Alice Catherine Carter has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior permission.

ISBN-13: 978-1499794380

ISBN-10: 149979438X

I n loving memory of my great-great uncle Private Albert "Baley" Caleb Horne. [Picture Left].

He died on the 2nd November 1918, aged 21. He was the son of Leonard and Kate Horne. Baley was always a fond lover of horses and he joined the Royal field Artillery to be with the horses; he was a lead driver.

He joined up when he was only 14 years and 3 months old, after 6 months of training his battalion were shipped to France to replace some of the losses in the battle of the Somme.

From 06/1914 until 11/1918, he only had two leaves and he felt sure that he would not be killed in action – but knew something else would happen, and he was right, he died due to the flu epidemic, just weeks before the end of the war.

A lbert went to war with his brother Ted [Leonard Edward Horne, pictured left] and although Albert sadly died in the war, Ted survived.

Ted lived until he was 68, he got married and had a child.

Here Albert and Ted are pictured as young children.

This novel was also inspired by Ted's letter home to his mother, Kate Horne, sent from the French trenches in 1916.

Dear mother, though I'm miles away and the sea doth divide, your love supports and comforts me, when death around does stride.

Your letters always bring me joy, so full of love are they, for I know your heart is with me.

Let me be where I may.

Wherever duty takes me, I'll always try to be true to self and country. And mother, dear to thee, for life is so uncertain, and is not for me to plan. But to do what lies before me, and do it like a man.

We have in front of us a task and we cannot see its end, but we'll struggle grimly onward, right wrong and weak defend.

And though the sacrifice is great, and death most after the bridge, tis' naught if ill guard our loved ones, shield their honour and their lives.

So let the shells shriek, and bullets whine, though now its dark, the sun will shine, and if I'm not spared to return to you, as I know you'd have me do. I'll try to tell you mother dear, how you have influenced me but here.

From Ted.

# CHAPTER ONE

England, 1914.

18th August 1914.

Day One,

Well here it is. You've aged a bit around the corners but all in all you're in better shape than I am. I think I was thirteen the last time I wrote in this journal but I thought it may keep me sane in the months ahead. I am now part of the Great British army, ready to do my part for the country. Well not quite ready, I still need to train. I need to be taught how to kill. I know I said that I wanted to join the war, but I don't really. My reason for signing up is simple - family. My younger brothers Rob and Matthew are the only thing I care about in life and I will try my best to keep them safe. Rob does have one point about going to war, it will give us experiences and it will potentially allow us to achieve something.

Due to the fact that we are brothers, we have been sent to the same training yeomanry which will be our home for the next couple of weeks. I'm sure war will be an adventure to say the least.

....

We have arrived at the Yeomanry now and by the time we arrived at the train station it was pitch black although it was still warm, so we did have a clear night, and the stars gave us light to guide us. We picked ourselves up and we had another two mile walk to endure. Needless to say there were a couple of lost boots in the thick mud of the country, which was still soaked from the rain the day before, despite the fact it was summer. By the time we arrived we were all irritable, tired and hungry.

Though as if reading our minds, we were quickly handed a cup of tea along with bread and butter. After tea, well supper, we were all sent off to sleep by the commanding officers and everyone went willingly. I'm sleeping in just a large shed really, with several bunk beds placed almost on top of each other, but we're the lucky ones as a number of men have to sleep in well, a largish tent. Though I'm not complaining it is much better than my recent accommodation has been. We have not really been able to meet the other men yet and I think with the state of tiredness we are in, we would have left a bad impression on each other anyway \- so it is probably best to wait until the sun rises. I'm the last one up but I just wanted to write this down.

My reason for restarting my journal entries again is not simply so when I'm old I can recall my life, because now if I am being honest it is most likely that I will not reach the age of eighty or even thirty for that matter. So the reason I decided to write, is if I do die in this war, there will at least be something of my small legacy and insignificant life left behind. That's the true reason I guess. To not be forgotten, at least not completely.

Yours,

Thomas. Soon to be Private Millward.

P.S. I will officially become a Private when I have completed my military training and go off to battle. At least I will have accomplished something in my life.

....

30th August 1914.

Day Two,

Looking back at my first entry, I can see that I mentioned I hadn't met the other men yet. Well I met them the next day and there are five other men in our 'quarters'. There is Harry, Louis, Herbert and Charlie, well 'Croaky' as everyone has come to call him. He always has a croaky voice, hence the name. He doesn't seem to mind the nickname though as that is how he introduced himself, and he explained that everyone back home calls him 'croaky'.

It's been another long day and not a particularly good one, a few people from our childhood home of Little Hadford (before our troubles started) came back into our lives. To be specific it was Roger and Paul Wilson along with their cousin Albert Bradford. When we first saw each other, it was not a joyful occasion – and that is putting it lightly.

"Look who it is!" Roger Wilson shouted behind us.

"Roger" I replied solemnly as I turned around to face him.

"Isn't it funny how life turns out?" Roger continued, already trying to provoke us.

"You mean how we've only got richer, they've got poorer, with no friends or parents, no home and a criminal record. I'm surprised they even let you in the army?" Albert Bradford questioned, highlighting our misfortunes in life.

Rob was about to punch Albert as I wanted to, but I used my sense for once and pulled him back, we are not those people anymore.

"Yes, how did you pull that one off?" Roger asked.

"They gave us a second chance, we wanted to support our country and do something with our lives, not that it is any of your concern. Life may have handed us a tough beating so far, but at least we'll be a little bit prepared for war. You won't even know what hit you or how to fend for yourself" I replied.

"Well luckily, you can do that for me Millward" Roger said smiling.

"What?" I snapped.

"Haven't you heard, we're all in the same section and I'm your Corporal – you'll have to follow my orders like a servant" Roger explained gleefully.

This time I was about to go and punch Roger, but it was Rob's turn to pull me back.

"They're not worth it" Matthew, my youngest and most sensible brother confirmed.

I turned away from the Bradford and Wilson cousins, but they had not finished.

"Enjoy it while you can, you won't be able to turn away from us on the battle field!" Roger shouted.

I continued to walk away and could not believe that our bad luck had followed us into war – I was highly doubtful if we would make it out alive. I pictured our gravestones in my mind. Matthew Millward aged twenty five, Robert Millward aged twenty six and Thomas Millward aged twenty seven. What a short and pointless life we've had.

Yours,

Private Thomas Millward.

# CHAPTER TWO

England, 1914.

18th September 1914.

Day Twenty Four,

I promised myself that I would write in this journal regularly, but once again I have failed. We have been at the Yeomanry for four weeks now and I think we are nearing the end of our military training, with a few more weeks left at most. It is hard work, but it's more exciting than I thought it would be and Rob loves every single minute of it. Despite his faults and mistakes in the past he is actually an incredibly kind and cheerful person. That is his character but in the past, due to the life he lived, he has had to create a different character, one that you don't necessarily like. Here though he is completely different, well I suppose he is just not lying about his nature because he doesn't have too. He is already popular here, everyone knew who he was about a week after we had arrived. People just like Rob; as I said he is light hearted, caring, kind, outgoing and funny in his natural character. He has actually got a great singing voice too, and he sings all the time. I'm glad he hasn't stopped singing just because of the war, even though he did when we were in prison. Rob entertains us all, uplifts us when we are at our lowest point, when the Corporals are driving us mad and when the training has got the better of us. I know I'm lucky to have him as a brother.

The amount of things I have learnt while training here has been extensive. I had never really held a gun before my training and now I know every single thing about the weapon, including how a certain part of it is made. I listen to everything I'm taught because you never know when a small piece of information might save your life on the battle field. I am much more attentive here than I ever was in school, but then this is war.

We have had drills on using a rifle and a bayonet. I remember my very first drill shortly after I arrived here. I was given my own rifle and bayonet, a relatively new one I might add. Most of the weaponry has already been used and is completely covered in dirt. Mine though looks like a brand new one.

This particular session was to simply understand how to attach the bayonet properly to the rifle and I remember my first conversation I had with Captain Timmark. I was waiting in line with all the other soldiers and I had my back straight and my right hand resting upon my forehead, ready to salute.

"Alright their Son?" Captain Timmark asked.

"Not bad thank you Sir" I replied.

"What's your name?" he enquired.

"Thomas Millward Sir" I replied while bringing my hand back down, to place it by my side.

"Millward? Young Robert's brother?" he asked.

"Yes, Sir" I replied promptly.

"I've heard good things about you two and Matthew" he told me.

"You have Sir?" I asked surprised.

"Yes, I'm glad you've all changed your ways. Now this Thomas is your brand new bayonet and rifle. You must not let it out of your sight. If you want to stay alive that is. Let's call it your new best friend" he said.

"It looks very nice Sir" I replied.

"Indeed. Now all you do is simply attach the bayonet on top of the rifle and push it in until it clicks into place. Then you should have no problem sticking it into a German on the battle field, before he has a chance to stick his bayonet into you. Got it?" Captain Timmark concluded.

"Yes Sir" I replied.

Captain Timmark nodded and swiftly moved on his way to talk to the next man. I don't know why, but this conversation has always stuck in my mind and I think it always will. We have various practise drills throughout the days of the week, but the ones practising with the rifle and the bayonet are relentless. It feels like we are practising with them every second of every waking hour. Sergeant McEvan leads the drills - he is a bit of a bully and he likes to curse, a lot. One day, he was in a particularly bad mood. Around the courtyard wooden poles had been nailed together and there were sacks hanging from them in the middle. The objective of this training exercise was to imagine the sack was a German, an inch away from taking your life and we were basically told to destroy the sack. However, I apparently was not trying hard enough and the Sergeant stormed over.

"Millward! You lazy halfwit!" Sergeant McEvan shouted at the top of his lungs.

Before I had a chance to speak and defend myself, he snatched the bayonet from me and almost 'gleefully' showed me a demonstration.

"Don't tickle it! Kill it! Stick it in the heart! Like this!" Sergeant McEvan shouted, showing me how it was meant to be done.

Sure enough after he had let his anger out, the sack was reduced to a pile of feathers, that were continuing to pour out of the bag and onto the stone floor. It looked as if a fox had just eaten a chicken and all that remained were it's feathers. As punishment for my laziness he happily informed me that I needed to do the drill another ten times. I did as I was told, but instead of imagining a German as the sacks replacement, his face was in its place. Well it varied between his face and Roger Wilson's – things have still not improved between us and I doubt they ever will. Sometimes I almost wish he was a German, along with his brother and cousin.

Apart from this we are trained heavily and ruthlessly in rapid rifle fire and we are expected to fire 20 rounds per minute. We also have to learn the basics of military conformity. Such as simply accepting orders, a routine of our new life and some manual labour that we have to contribute to, though of course most of us know this basic life skill already. The other main areas of army training are practising with small unit tactics and the basics of war survival. I don't know how much longer we have to train for, but I think it will be over in a couple of weeks or so.

....

2nd October 1914.

Day Thirty Eight,

The time has come. The time to fight. It was a bit sooner than expected, but the men at the front need help and we have no choice but to go. We were meant to have twelve weeks training, but in the end we only got seven weeks. At the very start of the day when we were having breakfast in the makeshift dining hall, General Goldsmith made the announcement.

"Silence please" he ordered standing up, and once he was greeted by the appropriate response he continued.

"The time has come when you finish your training, all of you. It may not seem as though you have had as long as other soldiers and you would be right in thinking that. However, the men at the front need our help and I'm sure each and every one of you here will not give a second thought of staying at home when our brothers are in need of help. After you finish here all of you are to collect your belongings and then congregate in the main courtyard. You already know your regiment but today you will be told your platoon and battalion. After this, you will have a few days leave and I suggest that you go home and spend time with your families. After that some of you, not all, will head to France, while others will head onto further specialised training. For those who this affects, you will have been notified already. Enjoy the rest of your breakfast and your meals when you go back home, as you may not get another one so good for a while. We will meet back at this Yeomanry on the 9th October and on that day you will head to France. Thank you" General Goldsmith said concluding his speech.

After his short speech, he sat back down and breakfast continued with new conversation filling the room of eager soldiers. Rob of course was very excited and in his mind he was ready to fight. In my mind though he was still my little brother and not a soldier, it was the same with Matthew. We ignored the fact that we were given leave of course, for we had no home to go back too.

"Do you think we're really going to France? On a ship!" Matthew said enthusiastically, almost like a child.

"I suppose so, there would be no point in going to Germany now would there" Croaky said.

"Not really. I've never been on a boat. Never even seen one, only the picture of the Titanic. What's travelling on sea like? Does anyone know? I heard you get something called sea sickness? Is that true?" Matthew said and his childlike questions of excitement and wonder made me laugh under my breath.

"My grandfather was a fisherman in the village of Boscastle in Cornwall before they moved up north. I remember the fishing stories he would tell me as a boy about the sickness. It was Christmas Eve 1891 and I was six years old when he told me this story. I remember my mother had just put my little sister Lilly to bed; she must have been about three at the time. My grandfather and I had just finished off the last mince pies and we were waiting for the fire to heat up the water so we could have some tea. No one was talking and we sat listening to the fire crackling and the outside wind that was knocking at the walls, threatening to break through. The wind must have reminded him of the cold winds at sea because he told me the story in quite a random way" Louis said.

Louis was such a great story teller and he remembered every detail so explicitly, but he always managed to lose himself in the memory so much that he would forget to mention the point of the story itself.

"What was the story?" Rob pressed.

"Oh right, sorry" Louis said coming out of his memory and continuing with the story.

"My grandfather said 'I remember another night as cold as this one. I was about twenty five years old and I was out at sea with several other men. We had been meaning to head back to shore before darkness but the tide had turned on us, I suppose Poseidon the King of the sea was angry at something. The waves rocked us around like we were puppets, dancing on the end of a string, destroying our catch and snatching away our oars. At one point there was a five foot wave that came over me and forced me out of the boat. I remember getting stuck under the force of the wave, not being able to breathe and I was sure that I was going to die. But then with the strength God had given me, I pulled myself back onto the boat and once every man had been accounted for we used the little strength we had to fight against mother nature. That's another thing you should remember in life Louis. Humans might be able to fight one another with weapons made of steel and money made of gold, but we can never match the power of mother nature. If any man is foolish enough to ever try and have her power, he will have one hell of a fight on his hands and he will most definitely lose. Don't ever get too big for your boots boy. Anyway, back to my story. We forced our way through the waves and we finally got back to shore just before dawn, it had been a long and tiring night. When we got home, all of the men that were at sea that night including myself, were struck by a terrible sickness - a sickness that crept up on you whenever we went back out to sea in the following weeks. Our legs would wobble, our stomachs would churn like the waves and sick would pour out of our mouths. We called it sea sickness and it was not a sickness of fear but a sickness of nature. Remember that my boy, remember that'" Louis finished.

By the time Louis had finished the story, even though we were all grown men we felt like children again and it was as if we were being read a bedtime story. We did not want the story to end, but before anyone had a chance to speak one of the corporals, I forgot his name, ordered us all to get a move on and do what General Goldsmith had instructed. We followed his orders and went back to our 'quarters'. We collected the few belongings we had and put them on our backs, everything fitting into a single bag. I only have a couple of things aside from this journal. We followed the rest of the instructions and Matthew, Rob and I said goodbye to Croaky, Harry, Louis and Herbert as they are all having specialised training. When we gathered in the courtyard, more bad luck followed us once again. Roger and Paul Wilson along with Albert Bradford were in the same regiment as myself, Rob and Matthew. It irritated us all but we had to grit our teeth together in order to stop ourselves from saying something that we would probably suffer for.

About an hour after we had assembled, I noticed various men walking up and down each line, checking our paper work and I'm assuming telling each individual man the various information we needed to know. My prediction was right and once a man came to us he gave us our platoon and battalion. For Rob, Matthew, Albert, Roger, Paul and I, we were all in the same regiment and platoon. We were platoon 87 of the 12th division.

Yours,

Private Thomas Millward.

CHAPTER THREE

Ypres, Belgium, 1914.

7th October 1914.

Day Forty,

When the other men arrived back from leave, we were informed that we were going to leave for Calais, France by boat departing from Dover. As we left the Yeomanry we began the two mile walk through the mud to the train station and we were accompanied by several other regiments, all travelling to Calais as well. In total there were probably about two hundred or more newly trained soldiers, marching through the thick English mud. Although this time at least, no boots were lost. When we finally arrived at the train station the sun was beginning to set and the sky was painted in a water pallet of reds, oranges and blues. The train finally came an hour or so after we arrived and it took us about seven hours to reach Dover. Although it may have been longer, I lost count after the fifth hour.

When we finally arrived in Dover, it was about six in the morning. It was practically pitch black, although the sun was beginning to rise and a faint orange light shone on the sea. The air coming over the sea was so cold it made my teeth chatter and winter was definitely on the way. We walked another five miles to get to the Dover ports and we would leave for France around twelve that day. When we arrived at the port, I had not expected to see what I saw.

Standing on the top of the white gleaming cliffs and looking down at the scene it was awe inspiring. Yet it also showed the desperate actions that man would take against the other, in order to stop one having more power. There were thousands of men on the beach and from up on the cliff edge they all looked like ants, swarming around a nest. It looked like complete chaos looking down, but when we walked to join the other men it was a completely different story. The view was almost enchanting. People were singing our national anthem and it was not orchestrated but men sang it at random. Pride was bursting at the seams from every man you saw and although you obviously cannot see pride, it was like the wind \- you felt it. You were proud to be British and you were proud to fight our enemies.

As we waited to get on the boat, we gave in all of our details and then we were passed along. Along to the hands of war. At around half past midday on Saturday the 6th October 1914 we left for Calais, where we would fight for our country, for the protection of our Allies and our people. I am on the boat now, heading to France and I'm with about two hundred other men cramped into one room on board this boat. I have no idea how many men are on this boat alone but it felt like at least a thousand.

Rob and Matthew are sitting next to me, but Roger, Paul and Albert have disappeared somewhere, not that I mind.

Rob has not taken kindly to the sea and by the looks of things, he is experiencing the same sickness that affected Louis' grandfather. He has gone extremely pale and he is quiet. Too quiet for Rob, but he'll just get on with it and won't say a word. The sea hasn't affected me at all and I quite like the rocking motion, it feels like someone is rocking you to sleep. Speaking of sleep, I should probably try and get some. I think I've been awake for about twenty hours and I have no idea when I will get the chance to sleep again.

Yours,

Private Thomas Millward.

....

6th October 1914.

Well, I tried to sleep but the sea did not help. I thought the calm rocking movement would let me fall asleep straight away, but instead about a minute after I finished my last entry the sea took a violent turn and began to throw the boat around in a ferocious way. The battle is brewing.

Rob is still exceptionally quiet and Matthew is not in a conversation mood. I know he is thinking about our past, and more specifically our deceased parents and if I admit it I am as well. Today marks four years since my father took his own life. He hanged himself, and because we were serving our time in prison, we could not attend the funeral. I imagine the priest only attended because he had to. My father was not liked in my home village of Little Hadford and well neither were we. My brothers and I did not have the best relationship with our father, but he was our father. More than that though, apart from the grief we did feel after his death, we also felt guilty. In all honesty, our previous actions did lead our father onto a path of self-destruction, and I don't think we'll ever forgive ourselves completely. That's where some of the anger and intolerance comes from when you bring Roger and Paul Wilson along with their younger cousin Albert Bradford back into our daily lives – the sight of them just brings too much emotion to the surface.

....

Before I had a chance to continue writing, one of the Captains came round informing us that we would land for France in about twenty minutes time. He gave us instructions telling us exactly what to do when we arrived. Twenty minutes later, we arrived in Calais, France. Following the instructions, on arrival we were to report to one of the officers and give our identification numbers along with various other pieces of information and paperwork.

From then on, our platoon was joined by another also come from the Yorkshire area. We were part of the reserve army and together we were the 87th and 92nd platoon of the 41st Brigade and the 14th division of the infantry. It was a bit of a mouthful but thankfully if I failed to remember that in a time of crisis my identification number was 040713. Easy enough to remember.

Yours,

Private Thomas Millward.

....

18th October 1914.

Day Fifty Two,

Again I have not written but it has been chaotic and I am still getting used to this way of life. My first battle will commence tomorrow. We have been deployed on our first mission to a town called Ypres in Belgium. By the time we had travelled from Calais to Ypres it had taken us about a week, and we travelled largely by foot and train. We had little sleep, with so much land to cover and little time to get there, but these were the orders and the people at the top, clearly wanted more men in that region, for some reason. The trenches here are, well feeble and they can't be more than three feet deep. They offer almost no protection and most of our heads reach over the top. Roger is not the only one in 'charge' of our regiment, thank god. We have several Sergeants and Corporals, all of whom seem to be decent men and I don't mind fighting alongside them in war.

The weather is getting colder by the day and I am not looking forward to the coming winter. Rob and Matthew have adjusted to the war and the reason for the war of course, but I for one still cannot make sense of any of it. I think the whole war in its entirety just goes to show the barbarity of the human race. We are killing mankind, day in, day out and nobody seems to react much, simply because we are at 'war' and it is acceptable. Acceptable to kill another human. We have always been killers; it is in our nature and one of our most primitive instincts. The instinct to kill if necessary in order to stay alive, there's war beneath our skin.

We are sneaky creatures too. We hide, we spy and we keep an ever watchful eye on our prey waiting for the next attack. It is how we've survived, but what happens when the prey is ourselves? Brothers of a kind who sneak up behind you and attack. Without a single warning, well maybe a couple of warning bullets here and there. We are hunters. Not a single moment in a day, week, month or a year goes by without some form of evil taking place somewhere in the world. Doesn't that make you wonder what the human race has become?

Thankfully, however not all things about the war have been terrible. Since being in the trenches I have met two other men who have become good friends already, or 'war buddies' as they call it. Private Timothy Perkins, a very religious man who despite all the violence, anger and hatred that surrounds him on a day to day basis, still believes that God is the one that can help us out of this mess - something I cannot seem to grasp. Private Johnnie Bellman on the other hand has similar beliefs to me as to how we got ourselves into this mess. I will never forget our first encounter.

It was four days ago and we had only been in the trenches for a day. Lieutenant McDougal who was taking control of our Platoon announced we were going to come together with a group of men from the Manchester Division. I was off duty, which was a rarity and I was allowed to rest. So I managed to find Rob and Matthew who were sitting in a small bunker and I joined them. We had light conversation and everyone was trying to get a bit of sleep. It didn't last long though as around the corner I could hear a man rather loudly and openly expressing his opinion about the war. He was having a go at the war and why he was in it. He moaned about the human race too, but boy did he swear.

"I don't know why I joined this bloody war. I have to live with the lice, rats and mud and I'll probably end my life in a bloody muddy ditch. You know, we all have blood on our hands. I'm surprised they haven't turned red!" he said loudly, turning into the bunker as he finished and I knew then that we would become friends.

"You alright lads?" he asked.

"Not bad. Better than you by the sounds of it" I replied.

"Fair point." He held out his hand and I stood up from the wooden box that I was sitting on to shake it.

"Private Bellman, but you can call me Johnnie" he said formally introducing himself.

"Private Millward, but call me Thomas. You probably shouldn't say that too often, your opinion of the war I mean" I replied, nodding as I spoke.

"Why? Everyone deep down thinks the same thing? But you're probably right" Johnnie replied with a smile and I went to introduce the others.

"My brothers Rob and Matthew" I said, while Johnnie shook their hands.

"That's Timothy. A war buddy, who likes God to much for his own good" Johnnie replied in a sarcastic tone.

Timothy replied with a sigh and jokingly rolled his eyes. It was clear that this was an argument which had occurred between them many times. Timothy held out his hand and I shook it.

"Call me Tim" Timothy said and I replied with a nod.

"Mind if we share this humble abode. I must say you've done a great job with the decoration" Johnnie asked.

"Sure" I replied laughing.

"So where are you lot from then?" Johnnie asked.

"Originally from Little Hadford, but we've just moved around a bit lately" I replied, making it sound better than the truth.

"I've never heard of Little Hadford" Johnnie replied.

"That's not surprising. I'd be surprised if it was even on the map" I commented.

"What about you? Where are you from?" Matthew questioned.

"Originally Cumbria - I won't bother pronouncing the name of the village though, it looks like they just picked a bunch of letters and made a name" Johnnie said.

"You sure you don't live in Wales?" I asked.

"One hundred percent" Johnnie confirmed light-heartedly.

Conversation continued but then I was put on Sentry duty along with Rob. Sentry duty is when we have to stand up on the top steps of the shallow dug outs and watch across no man's land, the unclaimed territory. The battle field. We simply had to watch and wait, wait until we could see any signs of enemy advance. Then we would attack. Everyone had a turn of sentry duty, you were picked at random and it was basically an unorganised rota. It wasn't hard work, apart from dodging the occasional shell, which came from the hands of an ill-mannered German and often landed several feet away. It was tiredness that was the trick of the job. At a turn we were given about 24 hours of sentry duty, with no break or time to sleep. It was exhausting.

It was clear that the Germans were going to fight hard in this battle, although the word is it would be an easy win for Britain. So much so many of the reserve armies had not been sent for and we were one of the few. Like Germany, Britain is preparing for battle.

Yours,

Private Thomas Millward.

# CHAPTER FOUR

Ypres, Belgium, 1914.

20th October 1914.

Day Fifty Four,

Being a Private meant that you did not get to hear the top military secrets and on goings of the war, but somehow Roger did, even though he was just a Corporal. The thing about Roger, among his many faults in my opinion, is that he is not only a poor leader, but he is also hopeless at not sharing information with his brother and cousin. The other day I overheard his conversation and I couldn't help but eavesdrop.

"He told me that we need the town of Ypres, we cannot afford to lose it. Apparently we want it to secure the English Channel ports and therefore our supply lines as without it we would be completely cut off" Roger told his brother Paul Wilson.

"I doubt the Germans will give it up easily though" Paul replied.

"No they won't, I think this will be a race to the sea" Roger finished.

I quickly went on my way before they could see me and I couldn't help but think at what I had overheard. I am sure getting the town of Ypres by the sounds of it would be a key obstacle in deciding the fate for the rest of the war. Though I am only a Private and I could easily be wrong. I know we are the reserve army for this battle and I hope that we don't have to do too much work when we leave the trenches tomorrow, seeing as we will be the last ones to leave. The shells firing from the Germans have been going all week, hitting the edges of the trenches and I personally don't know how much longer they'll last. I've heard tales that a number of men have been killed already, not that the Captains or Corporals have said anything though. I can see why they haven't of course, you don't want to create doubt among an army hours before a battle.

It is about eight o'clock in the evening and I am trying to get some sleep but that is near impossible. I have barely slept a wink since we left England. We were not under the safety net of our skies anymore and some men have not only paid the price with their lives, but others have been wounded horribly. Most of the wounded men come back extremely disfigured, many with limbs missing and some have had the skin of their faces scorched. It is nothing short of horrific.

I managed to sleep for five hours with no idea how. Between the sounds of the men digging the trenches deeper for last minute protection and the constant German shells that were hitting our walls, it was a noisy night. Nevertheless it was welcomed greatly and it has given me the energy that I need for the attack today. Today is the 20th October 1914 and we will begin the attack in about half an hour's time.

When you're at war, before you know it time flies past you and half an hour is gone almost as quick as the blink of an eye. The more experienced soldiers left the trenches first and about ten other platoons soon followed, heading out to battle in the early hours of the morning.

Our platoon had gathered and I stood next to Rob, Matthew, Tim and Johnnie as well as Paul and Albert. Roger came over trying to act in a leader like way but he still wanted to get under my skin – nothing had changed. When Roger first came over, Matthew, Rob and I did not say anything to him, but Tim although knowing the background story of our families put a stop to the silent bickering.

"Corporal" Tim said with a salute.

"Private. Your name is?" Roger asked.

"Timothy Perkins Sir" Tim replied.

"Well Timothy, I just wanted to wish you luck. Be careful out there, this is a tricky one" Roger said.

"Aren't all battles 'tricky' Roger?" I said with a frown forming.

"Yes." Roger replied simply and to our great surprise, not adding a comment that would irritate us. Maybe war was changing him – though then again, that's hard to believe.

Hours passed and it was about midday when we got news. We were told to get into formation and Roger informed us that the reserve was needed and to go in from the West side of the town and attack.

"Oh and Thomas, don't lag behind as you like to do - I don't fancy being killed" Roger said, knowing that it would just wind me up.

"But you want me to be killed, is that it Roger?" I replied, close to shouting.

"Stop being ridiculous for once in your life and just follow orders" he remarked, blurting out any insult he could.

I was so ready to hit him but Johnnie pulled my arm back. I listened to Johnnie and ignored Roger, while we got into our positions. Once the whistle was blown, we advanced. Our first battle. I was nervous and I won't deny that. The man in charge of our platoon Lieutenant Evans ordered us to keep walking forwards, steadily and quietly. We could not make a sound. This did not last long though of course and we were no more than five feet away from the trenches on open land when the sounds of bullets, flying through the air like a ghost appeared. Instantly, men cried out in pain and fell to the floor like flies. After about ten minutes of battle we had probably advanced no more than forty feet and nearly half of our platoon had been hit and most likely killed. It was sickening. About thirty minutes later, after I had narrowly missed many bullets the artillery fire subsided. It almost became silent out here on no man's land, but not quite.

About a meter in front of me I noticed that Rob, Matthew, Johnnie and Tim were all still intact, although Johnnie appeared to have lost his helmet in the fire. Though I doubt he complained. After all you would rather lose a helmet, than a head. When the artillery fire subsided, the Germans sprang from everywhere and attacked. Our platoon tried to hold strong but we were practically slaughtered. Lieutenant Evans ordered us to keep moving forward and we were to assist the men who were under deadly attack only twenty feet ahead of us. Ducking and dodging the attack we rushed swiftly into the next trench and jumped down into the muddy hole. The previous occupants of the trench had just been driven out and it was our job to hold this specific part of the trench from the enemy. I had already experienced the horrors of war in the past half hour, but as I jumped into the trench I landed on what I believed was a rock and I lost my footing, falling over. It was only when I never hit the rocky ground that I realised exactly what I had landed on. Bodies. Bodies of the dead who were piled up on top of each other like a pack of playing cards. Before I had a chance to panic emotionally, Rob grabbed my arm and pulled me up.

"You okay Thomas?" Rob asked.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be? It's not like I just fell on a pile of dead men" I replied sarcastically in the acceptance that I was okay.

"Well this is war, what did you expect? Cushions?" Rob replied.

I don't know how, but Rob always manages to make a joke that if said at any other time it would have been considered insensitive. When however you are in this state of mind, in a state of war, you do not have the emotional strength to hold back any potentially wrong emotions, so I simply laughed. One of the men was given the job of the lookout and the rest of us kept under cover, following the orders of Lieutenant Evans.

I quickly looked around at our platoon to see who was still standing and considering we had started of with about fifty men, less than half remained. Though thankfully, Rob, Matthew, Johnnie, Tim and Lieutenant Evans were still with us. Even Roger, Paul and Albert seemed to have survived unscathed. None of them appeared to even have a scratch, although Albert's face was now covered in a mixture of blood, dust and dirt. He clearly had a close call with death.

The remaining men congregated around Lieutenant Evans and many of the men had been wounded but they could still at least use a rifle. Lieutenant Evans was walking up and down the firing line issuing orders on what we were to do next, in the next stage of battle.

Moments later, the Germans fired back at us once more and we were driven from the trench. The wounded were left stranded behind and there was nothing we could do to help them. If we tried to bring them with us it would slow down the entire mission and many lives would be lost as a consequence. It sounds harsh, but what is the life of one man compared to the lives of ten? At least that is the view point considered by many men, when you are at war.

Our battle anyway must have been going on for about five hours and from what I was able to observe, little progress had been made. We had gained a trench and then we lost it, as quickly as the snap of a finger. Lieutenant Evans ordered that we had to retake the trench the Germans had just driven us from and he directed Roger to choose about twenty three men for the mission. We had already lost Sergeant Lerwick and Corporal Cabrera earlier in the attack. They were good men and good soldiers, they would be missed. Following his orders he chose the twenty three men for this mission. For some unknown reason Roger not only picked his brother and cousin but also myself, Rob, Matthew, Tim and Johnnie – I really wanted to know what he was up too.

Roger was clearly trying to impress Lieutenant Evans and act with leadership, but as I expected he was not a great leader. When he started leading the way, he seemed to forget about the rest of the men who were waiting for his orders, even his own brother and cousin. Time was deadly; we had to make the attack at a specific moment, or the trench would be lost to us. Everyone was getting tired, our pace slowed down and we were more prone to making mistakes – even more so with Roger as the leader. The Germans though seemed to have a never ending burst of energy and they were relentless in their mission to kill. Men continued to drop like flies around me; the sound of shells, bullets and the dying cries of men filled the air . You felt as if you were having a nightmare and you were never going to wake up. The ground had been blown to pieces thanks to the shells and a dense dust was created. This mixed with the existing fog made it near impossible to see more than three feet ahead of you. I felt like I was walking into the land of doom, where death was almost certain. Men were blown to pieces right in front of me and several times I ducked out of the way of flying limbs, but we did not give in. We pushed forward and about twenty minutes or so later we reached the trench again.

When the Germans were pulling us down, and with the lack of direction from Roger, everyone seemed to fight for themselves in an unorderly manner. It was a panic and with Roger dashing ahead, swiftly followed by Paul he did not realise that his own cousin had been hit and killed by a falling shell. I had lost sight of my new friends and my brothers in the panic – I could only see Albert. He though was too far ahead of me and there was no way I could do what soldiers were meant to do – protect each other's backs. He died instantly and I had to be the one to inform Roger.

After I told him what had happened he finally realised, that if it hadn't been for his poor leadership and communication with the group, his cousin would still be alive. I think he was suffering in grief because he practically begged me to agree to put the past behind us and work together as a unit – so that no more lives would be wasted. I did agree with him because Albert's death affected me more than I thought it would. Even though I despised him growing up, he was too young to die and the death could easily have been avoided. Apart from this, the death could easily have belonged to either myself, my brother's or my friends. We had to leave the past alone at least until the war was over – otherwise we would all end up dead. As hard as it would be, we had to try.

We had been able to hold the trench for a couple of hours or so, but this by no means meant rest. The Germans continued to attack and it seemed if we could not be driven out of the trench by man power, we would almost certainly be blown out of it. The walls of the trenches were slowly crumbling around us and seven more men left the war. I began to fear that our numbers were now so reduced that if attacked by the Germans in combat we would not hold the trench. Later we also found out that Lieutenant Evans had also been killed. Only fourteen men in our platoon had survived the attack and they were all Privates. Privates could not take command, unless of course there was no higher ranked man left alive. This meant that Roger was now solely in charge, and if anything it would make us work together, as much as we did not want to.

An hour passed and we were eventually told to retire and join with another platoon that was nearby. I was overcome with relief. Hopefully, I had survived day one of battle, along with Rob, Matthew and my two friends. We were all safe. After the instructions were given, we retired along the communication trench and we began making our way back over the open field to our new position.

Yours,

Private Thomas Millward.

# CHAPTER FIVE

Langemarck, Belgium, 1914.

22nd October 1914.

Day Fifty Six,

The past couple of days have been brutal and my eyes saw some of the worst images that man could be held responsible for. I lost count on the amount of times I looked at death straight in the eye, or at least a few feet ahead of me. I had never heard so many agonising cries or seen so much blood in my life. It was something I never wanted to experience again, but this was just the beginning. War has only taken its first breath and it had been welcomed into the world. A world of pure destruction. I have not slept in about 48 hours and the last time I slept a full night was back in England, which must have been about two weeks ago. My body though has got to the stage where it can run on about twenty minutes sleep, but even that is hard to get. The Germans continue to fire at us, day long and night long. Since we left the trench a few days ago, it became almost impossible to advance, even with the new platoon we had joined. Eventually though we managed to leave the trench in the early hours of yesterday morning and we continued West to our new position.

This was not achieved without bloodshed. When we reached the previous trench we had about ten men from our platoon that had survived. Now there were only seven of us including myself, Matthew, Rob, Johnnie, Tim, Roger and Paul. Since Albert's death, we have been able to work together at least to save each other's lives when we can. This does not mean in any way that we have forgiven each other and become friends, no, I don't think that will happen but it has just made us better soldiers. If we are not talking about war decisions, then we simply do not talk for fear of annoying the other person. We are working together because we have to. Apart from Albert's death affecting me more than I expected it to, I do not know who is watching over us – but we have an extraordinary amount of luck on our side. The only disadvantage we had among us was the loss of Johnnie's helmet. That though we could cope with, for he could replace it soon enough. We have been walking for the past twelve hours or so and keeping an ever watching eye out for enemy attacks.

In the past six hours alone we have walked about ten miles. The boots they gave us are good for keeping most of the rain and mud out, but not however for keeping the blisters at bay. My feet feel as if they are falling apart, about to crumble at any given moment. Yet still we carried on walking until we finally reached a town I believe is called Langemarck in Belgium. According to Roger and Lieutenant Helling [who had arrived with the other platoon] our next position was just East of the town, the nearest British Trench. For the past half an hour or so, the artillery fire had subsided and we were almost able to walk freely, but I stress 'almost'. Nobody was in the mood for even light conversation and after the horrors we had all just witnessed it was not surprising.

For the next ten minutes we walked in silence, through the surrounding corn fields and then all of a sudden the air erupted in the sound of bullets once more. The Germans were launching another attack. We were an open target and the problem was we could not see exactly where the Germans were firing from. After quickly evaluating this Lieutenant Helling ordered us all to get down. We tried to hide behind anything that would give us some protection, but the current terrain was working against us. The land was completely flat, with only a few trees here and there. The stalks of the corn were our only immediate answer for protection. This obviously, was a disaster. The shells began to start and soon enough more cries of men were heard, limbs and blood where sent flying through the air and our only source of weak protection was destroyed. We were completely on our own and there was no apparent reinforcements. I kept waiting for some instruction from the Lieutenant but nothing came. I scanned the field to make sure Rob and Matthew were still with us and I spotted Rob scanning the horizon – Matthew was next to me on my right hand side, also safe. Rob was clearly looking for the enemy. Eyes on full alert.

Soon enough he must have spotted them because his eyes became fixed on one point. His eyes did not move as he shuffled his way over to the Lieutenant. Before I could see his next action, a shell landed about twenty feet in front of me and one of the men was thrown into the air and blown to pieces. I somehow, managed to survive all intact and I looked around for Rob, who was shaking violently, out of shock though and not pain. He thank God looked unharmed. I looked to the right of me and saw Matthew, Johnnie and Timothy were all still intact. I really don't know what we had done to deserve this amount of luck, but I was not complaining. I knew Rob had spotted where the fire was coming from and I carefully, dodging bullets along the way reached him and managed to stop him shaking.

"Rob! Rob where are they?" I pressed, shouting.

After he had calmed himself down he told me what he had seen.

"They're over to the North, just between those two trees!" Rob shouted.

Following his instructions I scanned the horizon and just as Rob had said I saw them, pocking out behind the trees. Like a lion waiting to pounce on its prey. I could tell there was about fifty or more of them, whereas we must be down to twenty men, even with the other platoon. We would not survive this attack, we had to retreat.

"You need to tell the Lieutenant!" I shouted.

"I tried! He's dead! His leg's blown off" Rob replied.

"Then we need to tell Roger! Can you see him?" I asked in a raised voice.

I saw Rob's eyes look around and his gaze stopped just behind me and to the left - I knew he had found him.

"Over there! You'll have to tell him Thomas, you'll get there quicker!" Rob shouted.

I did as I was told and crawled my way through the damaged corn field, mixed with torn off limbs and dead bodies until I finally reached him. Roger was hopelessly firing his gun even though the bullets were not going to make an impact. Well not enough impact to help us anyway.

"Roger! The Lieutenant's dead! Rob's seen the Germans, they're over to the North between those two trees. There's no way we will survive this, in my opinion, we need to retreat!" I shouted.

Roger listened to me, found the enemy with his eyes and looked around at the remaining men who were also helplessly firing their weapons.

"You're right Thomas" Roger said.

"Retreat! Retreat!" Roger shouted at the top of his lungs.

Slowly, we began to make our way back out of the target zone and this was not an easy feat. It took us hours until we were able to reach real shelter. Finally about five hours after the attack, just as it was about to get dark we were out of full range - of this specific attack anyway. Roger was now back in charge of the platoon once more and he counted the numbers. Now with the two platoons joined together there were only thirty two men left, out of a group of ninety men. After Roger took an account of the men left, he looked around the area and decided the only way we had a chance of getting to the next British trench alive was to take the long route, by walking South and then turning West to get to our new position which apparently was near the Polygon Wood.

We were all able to breathe again and the only injury among us was a twisted ankle on one of the men. He was determined to walk himself, but about four hours into the walk his leg gave way and Rob managed to stop him from falling just in time. With Rob's help I managed to help the man continue on the walk and I found out his name was Henry Brown. We were not going to leave a man in the face of death, with only a twisted ankle to blame. Roger was hesitant at first, seeing as the standard command was to leave the wounded behind, given that they only held up the operation. Roger though was out voted and in the end, he himself ended up helping Henry. It was just before the turn of the day when we reached the British trench and we attempted to get some sleep. I was physically and mentally exhausted.

As predicted though I only managed about three hours of sleep and we were still under heavy attack from the Germans all night long. It was about three in the morning when things became dangerous and I was informed that the Germans were only fifty yards away from us. This time yesterday I would have been nervous but now we had better odds on our side in terms of numbers, weapons and defences. Several platoons had reached this trench and there must have been about a thousand of us, probably more. This time it was our turn to switch the battle around. The Germans would be nervous. Our combined platoon acted as the reserve army again. We were called to action just before day break but it was an easy win. We were only fighting for about twenty minutes or so until we won and the Germans were destroyed. This time they had got too close to the Great British Army for their own good. Now, I can get some sleep.

Yours,

Private Thomas Millward.

CHAPTER SIX

Zonnebeke, Belgium, 1914.

24th October 1914.

Day Fifty Eight,

For the first time in weeks our platoon had a day of rest. Well I say 'rest' in the simplest form of the word, we were not on the battle field at least. The German's were still fighting hard every second of every day and they were bombarding the walls of our trenches but the walls held strong. Firm and hard against the enemy. I managed to sleep for six hours last night, which really at this point is a miracle. About two minutes ago at seven o'clock in the morning on the 24th October 1914, we had just been given orders that we were to advance between towns called Langemarck and Zonnebeke. Roger told us the orders and we made our way out once more onto open land, and we began walking to our new position. For about thirty minutes or so we managed to advance at a steady pace. In total our platoon, mixed with others of course, now have about four hundred men, if not more. We are nearing a large wood which is apparently called Polygon Wood and things were going well, when suddenly but almost expectantly we came under severe German attack. Sergeant P. Turner from the 21st Brigade of the 2nd Wiltshire's was giving us the orders and he ordered us to get down.

We fired back as much as we could and the bullets coming out of my gun must have ended the lives of at least ten of the enemy, if not twenty. I could tell that our only option was to go into the wood and hide behind the trees, hide like a deer being stalked by a hunter. One by one, the men dropped around me and about two hours into the attack we were getting slaughtered by the Germans. We were given no direction, and so we continued firing at the Germans but then they came out of their holes. The Germans were running towards us in their thousands and at a superb speed, surely we had to run.

It seemed my thoughts were correct because Sergeant P. Turner raised his voice to the top of his lungs and ordered the men to go deeper into the woods and we ran. We flew through the trees, almost like birds. It was not an easy task of course, the bullets were still hounding towards us and the German's were still chasing after us waving their weapons. Men inevitably lost their lives in their escape to get away. Quite ironic really. I was running forward, not concentrating on firing back when I just turned around to quickly assess the distance between us and the Germans and I saw Matthew fall to the ground.

I did not think twice and I found myself running back through the trees – he was my brother and I couldn't lose him to. I managed to reach Matthew, but I was too late. I arrived just in time to hear his last words, his last words that left his mouth as his eyes turned hazy and distant.

"Love Thomas, love." Matthew mumbled.

Just as the second love in his sentence left his mouth, his eyes closed and he took his last breath and died. I was beside myself with instant grief, almost forgetting the war around me. The word love seemed distant like his eyes, and almost like a dream. It's not surprising when all around me I could only see and hear no love - no love was in this world. Just the sounds of men killing each other, the sounds of bullets firing and for really no reason at all. Love? My brother must have been dreaming, already losing sight of reality when he said those words. I would have stayed where I was but Johnnie pulled me away from my brother's body and urged me to run, there was nothing I could do for Matthew now – he was gone.

About five hours after what had seemed to be endless running and firing our bullets the battle subsided and we reached the Western part of the wood. We found the 'reinforcements' of the British army who were completely unaware of what we had just been through. Our platoon got out of the wood but we were unable to defeat the Germans. I had to tell Rob that Matthew had been killed and we were both overcome with grief, we were the only Millward's left now.

We settled just outside the town of Ypres and it had been a long and tiring battle. We were exhausted, mentally and physically. We were unshaven, unwashed and with full awareness that the Germans had double if not triple the amount of men we had. Needless to say this knowledge casted a shadow of despair over all us and the disease of doubt began. Doubt and grief were not a good combination and in my dreams when I had them, it was always the same one. The sight of Matthew's body being left behind in the woods, slowly decaying into the woodland ground beneath his bones.

We stayed in the same position for the next couple of days and there was acceptable shelter. We did not have to fight and that let us breathe. We wanted to continue fighting because we had to, even if every inch of our minds and bodies were telling us to stop. Roger was almost surprisingly very considerate when he found out about Matthew's death and I suppose in some ways we did feel some connection, because he had lost his cousin Albert. Most people easily noticed that Albert had been more like a brother to him than a cousin, and now we both had one brother left – Rob and Paul. According to Roger we weren't moving because we were unable to move, surrounded by the Germans on both sides and headquarters were unable to send us reinforcements. Looking at the battle ground like a chess board, we were currently in a military check mate.

I don't know why but instead of telling Paul any inside information, Roger told me. Our luck of war seemed to change on the 26th October 1914 when Roger heard that the Allied forces were planning to stop the German advance by flooding the canal and waterways of the Yser. Being the reserve infantry this would not be our job though and we were getting restless. With nothing to do but wait we were bored and were looking for something to do as entertainment. Rob was clearly bored too and although I could not see him, you could hear him. He had an extremely powerful singing voice and it filled the entire trench and you could tell that everyone was listening. There was almost no other noise coming from the men, well apart from the impact when the occasional German shell landed near the trench. You just heard Rob's song, one that he sang over and over again, so much so that everyone knew the words off by heart.

"When you think, my dear

That you are close to breaking,

Think back to that cold winters day.

And please love,

Remember my words when I said you are loved.

Where a thousand poppies grew,

Row upon row.

I picked one for you in the hope that,

When you think you are breaking

You will my love,

Remember my words when I said you are loved.

Don't let man ruin your heart and soul,

When you are in the process of breaking.

And please love remember,

Remember, my words when I said you are loved.

When you think my dear that you are close to breaking,

Under the heat of our sun,

Think back to that warm summer day.

And please love,

Remember my words when I said you are loved.

....

More days passed and it was not until the 31st of October when we finally heard if the mission had been successful or not. Roger informed me of the details once again and according to his information, the mission was carried out during the nights of the 29th and the 30th of this month. It appears that eight weir gates at a place called Noordvaart were opened, right under the noses of the Germans. The entire area was flooded from the Yser area down to the railway embankment. The Germans were stuck and we had beaten them to the Sea. We were finally able to advance again. This did not of course mean we had won this battle and it was over. No, more fighting occurred over the next couple of days and it only subsided on the 22nd November 1914. Needless to say thousands more men had died during this time but I, Rob, Johnnie, Tim, Roger and Paul had all made it out unscathed. Somehow.

Yours,

Private Thomas Millward.

# CHAPTER SEVEN

Belgium, 1914.

25th December 1914.

Day....

As you may have noticed I did not write what day of my war it was, simply because I have lost count of the days. I only know the date because it is Christmas Day, which is always December 25th. Yesterday Sergeant P. Turner announced to our platoon that there would be a truce for Christmas day and Christmas night. Peace. When I heard the news, I and everyone else around me let out a breath of relief. No battles would be fought, so perhaps just maybe the Germans were not creations of the devil but they were human, like us - although I suppose they think we are just as bad. Which I guess we are - both sides are acting like a devil towards one another, a bully with weapons and money, acting on some absurd command from people at the top. It is the grim truth of the matter; otherwise we would not be at war. We have had small breaks of peace before; to bury the dead and to collect the bodies and yesterday we even had a joint burial with the Germans. It was strange but almost nice and respectful to the fallen on both sides. The winter has been cold and is only getting colder. Snow has fallen every so often, but thankfully it has been relatively light, although I cannot say the same for the rain.

At the beginning of the week when Rob and I were on sentry duty, looking through the binoculars, we had seen the Germans decorating their trenches and putting up Christmas trees, across their stretch of no man's land. On Tuesday, we began to follow suit. Men have even been shouting Christmas greetings to each side. Rob being Rob, started it off on our side. Out of the blue and quite at random he began singing, well almost shouting his greeting.

"Happy Christmas, happy Christmas. You might live to see another one, but then again maybe not!" Rob sang.

Needless to say I along with Johnnie and Tim gave him a strange look, which he of course ignored with a laugh. Unexpectedly though people on both sides began to follow his lead and it almost became natural. Before the truce had been announced to us however, some fearless soldiers on both sides believed that due to the lack of complete hostility, they would be able to walk across no man's land and live to tell the tale. Well of course they did not. Most of this occurred at the beginning of the week however when the truce had not officially been announced. About midday today, even though the tension between us was reduced greatly and there was a truce, it was still unofficial, we were not putting our trust in the Germans word completely. So I was still given my turn of Sentry duty along with Rob. Nothing was occurring, no bullets were being fired and no shells were launched. No advancement was being made, until the turn of the morning. Rob spotted them before me, well he does have eyes like an eagle so it didn't surprise me.

"Here they come" Rob said.

I responded to his acknowledgement by taking my binoculars and seeing for myself. Rob was right and sure enough there may have been about twenty Germans advancing across no man's land. This lack of enemy numbers already struck me as odd and every hunting instinct in my human body was telling me that this was not meant for attack. I trusted my instincts and followed their message.

"Rob wait. I don't think they're coming for a battle" I said.

"But they're Germans?" Rob responded confused.

"Just wait" I said as I left my post.

"Thomas, where on earth are you going? You're not meant to leave the post, under any circumstance remember!" Rob shouted after me.

"I'm getting Sergeant P. Turner" I replied still walking forwards.

"Why?!" Rob pressed.

I ignored him and quickly located Sergeant P. Turner who was having a cup of tea with Roger. Needless to say as soon as they saw me a mixture of emotions flashed across their faces.

"Thomas? What are you doing here? Aren't you on sentry duty with Rob?" Roger asked.

"I am but-" I said, as I was cut off by Sergeant P. Turner.

Sergeant P. Turner took the time to put his cup of tea on the table and then cleared his throat.

"Yes he is meant to be on sentry duty. Private what the hell are you doing?" Sergeant P. Turner pressed.

"Well I think you should. Never mind, just come and you'll see for yourself" I replied.

I led the way to my post and they followed, Rob was still on duty but by the time we arrived back however he was not alone. A group of men, including Paul, Timothy and Johnnie were surrounding the post and each were fighting over the binoculars to get a better look. I knew what they had seen and why they were so curious.

"What the bloody hell is going on! Is this war or a holiday resort?" Sergeant P. Turner shouted.

The men turned when they heard his raised voice and slowly parted the way so Sergeant P. Turner, Roger and I could get back to the post. As soon as we were there one of the men handed Sergeant P. Turner the binoculars. I remembered what I had seen when I looked through the binoculars. The Germans were not carrying guns but instead about three men were waving a white tissue as a sign of peace and the rest were strangely holding what appeared to be different items, almost like Christmas gifts. The Germans were now no less than thirty feet from our trench and they stopped walking forwards. Confirming my instincts Sergeant P. Turner ordered Rob, Paul, Roger, Timothy, Johnnie, myself and five other men who were standing nearby to come with him, but leave their guns behind. Like the Germans, Rob gave Sergeant P. Turner his white handkerchief and the Sergeant waved it so they could see. We stopped walking when we were about ten feet away and we could look the enemy straight in the eye. The man in front of me was a short man, with light brown hair, olive skin and green eyes. He was wounded and he had a bandage on his left elbow. Sergeant P. Turner stepped forwards into the center and approached the tall man opposite him.

"What is this?" Sergeant P. Turner said, ordering an explanation.

The tall man stepped forwards and responded to his question.

"Ein Geschenk" the German man responded nodding his head.

Confusion flowed across the men's face until I blurted out the translation.

"A present" I said out loud by mistake.

Without realising I had spoken the translation out loud, a line of heads turned their gaze in my direction.

"Since when do you speak German?" Rob asked.

I had in fact learnt German when I was in prison for four years. We had a cell mate who like us, had been caught for thievery. His mother was German and over the years he taught me the language, I actually picked it up fairly quickly and I could now almost speak it fluently.

Not wanting to go into too much detail I simply replied "four years". Which was of course my code for 'prison' and only Rob understood what I meant.

"Well I take it you can speak German then Thomas. Please ask them what they are planning to do" Sergeant P. Turner ordered.

"Sergeant P. Turner hier, will wissen, was Sie woollen" I asked.

The British men were not the only ones taken slightly aback by the fact that a British man and a soldier at that, could speak the German language. The tall man facing Sergeant P. Turner was the one to speak.

"Das sind Geschenke, dachten wir, Sie vielleicht einige Notwendigkeiten benötigen. Wir überrascht, dass du in Zahlen. Tut mir leid dass" the man said.

After I had translated his words in my head I couldn't help but laugh. It seemed the British are not the only people who possessed comical whit. Sergeant P. Turner nudged my elbow and he wanted the translation.

"This man" I said cutting myself off, but before I asked my question the German man replied with his answer.

"Ich bin Friedrich" Friedrich said.

"Friedrich said these are gifts, we thought you might need some necessities. We surprised you in numbers. Sorry about that" I translated, which responded in a laugh from some of the men.

"Well um thank you? But we don't have any gifts to give you. Well unless you need a pair of wire cutters?" Sergeant P. Turner replied.

Immediately I acted as the translator.

"Nun danke? Aber wir haben noch keine Geschenke an dich überraschen. Nun, wenn Sie ein Paar Drahtschneider brauchen?" I said.

The Germans laughed and Friedrich replied "egal, wie etwa ein Fußballspiel statt? Wir hier Englisch sollen gut sein, dass?"

It was my turn to reply in a laugh then.

"Well what about a game of football then? We hear you English are supposed to be good at that" I translated.

A few of the English mumbled in agreement.

"Well unless you're Thomas of course" Rob blurted out and I couldn't help but jokingly glare at him.

It is true, football or anything athletic to that extent is not my strong point, which is one of the reasons I'm so surprised I have lasted this long and been able to dodge so many near fatal bullets. I guess my only athletic accolade is that I am a pretty decent swimmer and I can run fast, when I need to. Still, miracles never cease to amaze me. It seemed after some glances that everyone was willing to play a 'friendly' game of football. Quite an unlikely situation and it was completely bizarre, but then again it was a way of showing the best qualities of humanity amongst the worst. It was ironic.

Seeing as I was the only person who could speak both languages I became the referee, as well as the translator which is probably just as well. The Germans handed us their gifts and we took them gratefully and put them to one side. We used four of them to set out goal posts for both teams but one problem occurred to me. Where were we going to find a football in no man's land? I explained the situation to both teams.

"Just one problem. Has anyone got a football?" I asked.

When none of the English men answered I tried asking the Germans.

"Hat jemand einen Fußball?" I said.

Again there was no immediate response from the Germans and the decision was eventually made for three soldiers on each side to wonder back to their trench, try to locate a football and then come back in ten minutes time. However, Rob had a slightly less complicated idea and he turned towards the British trench where he met the eyes of a few hundred curious men.

"Does anyone have a football?!" Rob shouted at the top of his lungs.

Sure enough his question was followed by the sound of shuffling feet and murmurs which was being carried through the air. No more than two minutes had passed when a football that was almost falling apart, was thrown over the trenches and it rolled its way towards Rob. He picked the football up and handed it to me.

"There you go Thomas. Problem solved" Rob said.

I acknowledged to the Germans that we had found a football to use and seeing as the 'goal posts' had already been set up there had to be a disagreement about something. The simple solution of course would be depending on what side of no man's land your trench was, that would be your goal, but the Germans were complaining that they would have the sun in their face. After about five minutes of trying to communicate to both teams in both languages I was becoming restless.

"Come on now. We don't want a war" Rob said which resulted in a laugh from our side.

The Germans wanted to know what had been said and one of them tapped me on my arm and so I translated it for them. I pointed to Rob who smiled and waved when he heard his name.

"Mein Bruder, Rob sagte 'komm jetzt. Wir wollen nicht einen Krieg'" I translated which made the Germans laugh too.

Both sides then listened to my instruction and the Germans accepted. The next task was to flip a coin and decide who went first. I did not have a coin on me but one of the German men did and he handed it to me.

"Danke" I said.

"Kopf oder Zahl?" I asked the Germans.

"Kopf" they replied in unison.

They had chosen heads and I then asked the British team what they wanted.

"Heads" Sergeant P. Turner affirmed.

Typical absolutely typical. Why could no one ever choose tails? The funny thing about it was neither team, apart from myself had realised that they had both said the same thing.

"We could be here for a long time. Too bad it's only one day of civilization" I mumbled quietly so no one else would hear.

Eventually I came to the decision that it was easier to lie to everyone, seeing as they would never know the difference anyway. I let the Germans take the football first, simply because they did have a disadvantage with the sun, it was only fair. Before the match, all of the men on both teams shook hands. It was strange and in that very moment I felt as if I was watching one of the many football matches I saw in my childhood, played on the village green back in Little Hadford. It did not feel like I was facing the enemy and who as soon as tomorrow would be able to kill me and the people I cared about.

The match continued for the next ninety minutes and whenever each side scored a goal, a cheer erupted from the supporting trench. Where it seemed most of the men were watching and most likely wanting to join in. Rob, Tim, Johnnie, Roger and Paul all scored a goal and after the ninety minutes it eventually ended in a draw with both teams scoring five goals. After concluding the match everyone shook hands once again.

"Who's up for a game of cricket?" Rob asked sarcastically.

"Wer ist für ein Spiel der Cricket?" I translated immediately and everyone laughed.

No one really knew what to do next and the majority of men wandered back to their trenches. For the remaining men it was slightly awkward again due to the language barrier but after about two minutes or so, Rob and Sergeant P. Turner developed a sort of sign language. I looked over at Rob and I saw him offering to cut one of the German's hair and the German man accepted his offer. The German was a brave man and I can tell you that from memories of my childhood, Rob is not the best barber in the world. I wandered over to the short man with the light brown hair, olive skin and green eyes and I initiated a conversation with him in German. I simply started asking him questions about his life in the trenches and how they were coping.

"Ich bin Thomas, was ist Ihr Name?" I asked.

A good way to start a conversation is always by asking someone's name.

"Ich bin Edel" Edel replied.

"Wie geht der Krieg für Sie gewesen?" I said asking him how the war has treated him.

"Nicht schlecht, auch abgesehen von den Mäusen, die Läuse und Mutter Natur natürlich" Edel said. Explaining to me that it was not too bad, well apart from the mice, the lice and Mother Nature of course. I could not agree more.

The conversation began to subside in the next two minutes or so and I took my cue to end the conversation I had begun, by wishing him luck.

"Glück Edel" good luck I said.

"Auch Sie Thomas" Edel said returning the compliment.

We shook hands and both wandered on our way. For the rest of the day and evening everyone spent their time enjoying the silence of battle and catching up on much needed rest. It was still not the happiest December 25th I have ever had. There was no Christmas roast and Christmas crackers were hard to come by, so we had to be satisfied with bread and tea.

Anyone who had a happy home was slightly homesick and as nightfall drew closer we realised that what had happened on no man's land just a few hours ago, might had well have been an illusion. It was an illusion of humanity. War and bloodshed would still commence in about ten hours' time and you could feel the fear building again. With many men knowing that this could be their last Christmas and the last day they will ever have. The feeling of homesickness welcomed any happy childhood Christmases back into our minds. If anything it did not help matters, but people still wanted to tell their stories and people still wanted to listen. They wanted to escape, not necessarily to another world, which is the aim of most stories, but back to a world that was.

After stories had been shared in the cold winter air, silence followed and everyone was suddenly struck with immense home sickness. Well apart from Rob and I who were struck with feelings of the past and grief. We sat there for the next ten minutes listening to Joseph Williams [who always plays the accordion] play the hymn called 'Lord of the dance'. It was one of my favourite hymns and I have known it off by heart since I was a young child. I was clearly not the only one who loved the hymn because Tim started singing along. I didn't even know he could sing and he could, he really could. The melody of the tune was extremely uplifting, with the word dance repeated over and over again, you couldn't help but tap your feet on the trench stone ground, in tandem with the music. When Timothy reached the second verse, Rob began to sing too and a few men began to hum. By the third verse every man within hearing distance was listening. Aware that Rob and Tim were singing along, Joseph continued to play and with spirit. The song was clearly lifting the spirits of everyone and by the third verse almost everyone was singing, including myself. By the fifth verse everyone had got into the spirit of the song. Two privates [I don't know their names] had clearly been trained in the art of Irish dancing before the war and they were extremely talented. You could not tell if they knew each other but they were amazing and in complete unison with whatever steps they were orchestrating. By the seventh verse everyone started dancing and if anyone could see us, especially headquarters, people would have thought we were completely insane. Lords, Corporals, Lieutenants were singing, dancing and laughing with ordinary men and this in ordinary society was almost unheard of.

When the song finished everyone groaned but at least everyone had been uplifted. Rob and Tim decided to continue singing Christmas songs. Everyone joined in again, including Joseph who accompanied them on the accordion. The second song we sang was 'Silent Night'.

'Silent night, Holy night

All is calm, all is bright

Round yon virgin , mother and child

Holy infant so, tender and mild

Sleep in heavenly peace,

Sleep in heavenly peace.

Silent night, Holy night

Shepherds quake, at the sight

Glories stream from heaven above

Heavenly, hosts sing Hallelujah.

Christ our Savior is born,

Christ our Savior is born.

Silent night, Holy night

Son of God, love's pure light

Radiant beams from thy holy face

With the dawn of redeeming grace,

Jesus, Lord at thy birth

Jesus, Lord at thy birth'.

It was quite fitting really, the lyrics I mean. Silent. No bullets or sounds of hatred where heard and the song was calming. Although a slower melody than the previous song, it made you feel calm and for what it was worth, it made you feel safe. Moments after, we heard a noise coming from the other side of no man's land and it was coming from the German trenches. They were singing too. They were full of spirit and they sang as loud as they could, with the invisible air carrying the lyrics of their German song along no man's land and into our trench. Even though no one else was able to understand a word they said, I was quite proud of myself as I managed to translate every single word in my head. It was a simple song, expressing the belief that God is not necessarily seen but at times, especially at Christmas time, his presence can be felt. Something I still find hard to grasp, but I suppose it will give people with that belief a kind of comfort and hope. It is anyway a beautifully written song.

It is now about eleven o'clock in the evening and I have been writing this entry for the past two hours. It is pitch black and I am having to write by candlelight, well actually I'm using Johnnie's lighter, but at least it's easier to write with the moonlight, which I have had to do. Honestly though I don't mind as I just had to get every part of the day down on paper. It has been a bizarre encounter and day on the whole, but I would not have missed it for the world. Maybe, just maybe, humanity does still exist in us, despite what we are capable of when we are angry. I suppose though I will not feel this way tomorrow when battle commences. When humanity and courtesy is all but forgotten and we go back to killing our own for what appears to be at least, a bit of soil. For now though even if it is my last day on this earth, tomorrow I will be able to say that I found humanity among us even during the darkest and most saddening moments in our history.

Yours,

Private Thomas Millward.

# CHAPTER EIGHT

Croix Barbee, Neuve Chapelle, France.

10th March 1915.

Again I have broken my promise in writing daily, but that is often not down to me. I am still coping with Matthew's death and also the death of my mother and father. Even though we had time to grieve their deaths, as we withered away in a prison cell, we have never really come to terms with it – though I suppose no one really ever does.

We are now at a place called Croix Barbee near Neuve Chapelle, France and we will soon rejoin our platoon and get back to work. Some men have just been on leave but Rob and I stayed in the trenches. I overheard Roger and Sergeant P. Turner talking a while ago about this 'new army' designed by Lord Kitchener. Apparently the amount of young men who have signed up for this 'new army' is almost triple than it was when the war started. The concerning thing is the men are practically completely untrained, only having sometimes up to four weeks of training.

This is the part of the conversation that troubled me. The people in charge are clearly growing concerned by enemy numbers and must only be going by the motto strength in numbers. I can see no other reason for the sudden influx of new men. A lot of new soldiers is all well and good but from experience, numbers only have a certain degree of help on a battle field. Yes it is true that numbers do generally allow an army to hold the offensive for a while longer. However what good is it to have untrained soldiers waving their weapons around as if they were a village hooligan, waving a weapon like a bottle of beer. How will that help save lives and save Britain and France from Germany? If I a private can see that, I really do wonder what is going on in the minds of those at the top.

Today is the 10th of March 1915 and we would go to battle \- once again. Roger has just told us the objective of the battle and it is just the same as all the others - obtain the German land and trenches. We also wanted to not only obtain and claim the town of Neuve Chapelle but most ambitiously a place called Lille, which according to Roger was a major communication centre for our enemies and that would definitely give us an edge. We waited for Sergeant P. Turner's final orders and I took time to make note of the weather - after my assessment, I found that it was poor. Low clouds were blocking off our light from the sun and it was beginning to rain. This would not help us. Finally, Sergeant P. Turner who showed the face of the stern but also the kind soldier he was known for, gave the orders to advance. Up we went, one by one over the barriers of the trenches and we spilled out onto no mans land. I kept on waiting and waiting for the bullets and shells to come, but nothing was heard. The rain made its presence known and we continued to advance, slowly becoming more and more concerned as to why there were no enemy bullets in the air. All too soon, our question was answered and the bullets sounded and the battle field came alive once again.

The whole of our platoon was part of the bayonet party and it was our job to go into the trenches first and throw the grenades in order to push the Germans out. Needless to say it was a dangerous job, but then again any job in war is dangerous - you could never be too careful. We dodged bullets coming towards us in every direction but quite easily and quickly I might add. The first part of the mission was a success and only five men from our platoon had fallen. We managed to reach our first target - the first German trench. Sergeant P. Turner gave the orders to go into the trench and we obeyed. The grenades were thrown in and the sound of shattering bricks and wood were heard, soon to be followed with the cries of German pain. We advanced and the first few men went around the corners of the trench, driving the enemy out until they were eventually forced to surrender. It was almost like a game of musical chairs. When the symphony of bullets and grenades began, you moved quickly but cautiously, ready to get the enemy off your chair and out of the trench. The mission was successful and ten short minutes later we had secured the trench.

Sergeant P. Turner gave us the next set of instructions. Several soldiers were ordered to stay behind and guard the trench from enemy arms until reinforcement's came, while the rest of us moved onto the next trench. We continued and at first, things appeared to be going well for us yet again, but the Germans did not stay quiet this time. Grenades, shells, bullets and any other source of weapon were used against us, but we ploughed through. We had nearly advanced to the second trench, only losing four men, when a shell landed about ten feet away from me. The impact tore a hole in the ground and I was thrown backwards. I was knocked unconscious.

....

I assumed I woke up about thirty minutes or so later as the black was arriving and darkness was looming over us. I recalled what had happened and evaluated my surroundings. I heard someone cough to the right hand side of me and I made my eyes and ears focus back into reality.

"Roger, Roger is that you?" the man said, coughing in between his words. I recognised the voice and it was Sergeant P. Turner.

"No, it's Private Thomas Millward, Sergeant can I help?" I asked.

"Yes, I'm injured please help" Sergeant P. Turner said almost pleading.

I quickly checked myself over and it appeared I would only have a few scratches, again - I have had too much luck. I crawled my way over to Sergeant P. Turner, like a snake, not lifting my head above the grass and keeping out of view off the enemy eye. I finally managed to reach him and I could tell instantly that he was in a bad way. I knew that he would not survive his wounds but I was determined to keep his spirits up. If you lose faith in the last remaining breaths of life, there will be nothing left and you will most surely die. For where there's life, there's hope.

His right arm was just hanging by his side. The entire skin had been scorched off and you could see the muscles, the bleeding arteries and the now broken bones. It should have been blown off in full force but instead the blood was pouring out in a gruesome manner. To make things worse and which would in consequence surely end his life, his chest was bleeding, there was nothing I could do to stop the bleeding. Help would not get here in time and he would die.

"How bad is it?" Sergeant P. Turner asked.

I considered lying to him as I could not understand why you would put down a man's spirits right before he died. Apparently though my emotions were completely transparent and the Sergeant already knew the answer.

"I suppose it's better this way" Sergeant P. Turner said.

"How could it be better Sir? You still have a life to live" I said, lying anyway trying to keep his spirits up.

"You're as transparent as a window Thomas. I can spot liars a mile away" the sergeant responded and I could tell he was struggling to get his last few words out.

There was nothing I could say in response except agree with him.

"I suppose so" I replied, which for some reason made him smile.

"Just try and get out of this war Thomas" the sergeant replied, taking his last breath and dying before I had the chance to reply.

I knew he was dead and although I did not know him well, he was a good man and leader. He didn't deserve to die like this, but then most men didn't. I knew I had to leave his body and get to the trench and as time was in the thick of the darkness I knew it must be in the early hours of the morning. I considered what I should do next as the sound of war appeared to have subsided and I tried to look around me into the darkness, trying to see any signs of life. There was nothing, I was alone. Well alone but surrounded by the dead. My brain had stopped processing information and fatigue over took my mind and before I knew it I fell asleep.

I felt dazed and confused, something had woken me but my mind was resistant in waking up. Eventually, I forced my eyes to open and the noise that awoke me became clearer. It was the sound of footsteps, flattening the grass beneath their shoes. My first emotion was panic; they could be the enemy, maybe wanting to take prisoners and torture me, or maybe they just wanted to finish what they started. Paranoia began to set in. I managed to control myself again and I behaved like a true soldier, always in control of his emotions and the situation around him. The nerves of panic calmed and my body stopped shaking and I was able to see exactly who was making the noise. It was not the enemy, it was one of ours and better than that it was someone from the medical corps. I yelled out, well I tried but it came out more like a muffle.

"Help" I said, practically chocking on my words.

I got myself together once again and this time I put power into my voice.

"Stretcher bearers!" I yelled.

My cry did the trick and soon enough one young medical corps and two other young men followed behind him carrying the stretcher.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked.

"Nothing I'm fine, but Sergeant P. Turner is dead. Take the body away if that's what you're meant to do" I replied and by doing so making it clear that I was just a Private.

"Right Sir, you should follow the stretcher bearers back to the trench so you will know the way" the man instructed.

"Thank you" I replied, accepting his orders.

The man and the stretcher bearers pulled the body of Sergeant P. Turner away from me and placed him onto the stretcher. I followed behind them, while the young medical corp carried on looking for survivors. I could not stop thinking about the death of Sergeant P. Turner and it brought back the memory of Matthew's death all over again and the grief that followed.

....

A number of battles and months have passed since the death of Sergeant P. Turner and it is now the 20th September 1915. It was clear that Roger missed the company of Sergeant P. Turner greatly and that he was completely different to the new sergeant who is second in charge of our platoon and well he was a lot nicer. Our new Sergeant, Sergeant B. Miller is well a bit of a bully to say the least and he seems to fit in well to the ferociousness and harshness of war. He ordered and we followed. There is no communication or a sentence of kind words that have so far left his mouth.

To be honest I think you only had to spend an hour talking to him and you would rather be face to face with a German. I even felt sorry for Roger who had to spend the most time with him and you could tell by Roger's daily facial expression that he was close to breaking his tolerance. Then again, I did not feel that sorry for Roger and it was almost comical to watch the duo. Really if they survive the war they should go on stage. Their conversation today for example would have been their perfect opening act. They were having a discussion; well a debate or really more like an argument on how the troops should advance in our next battle. Roger was more intent on keeping the formation the same, whereas Sergeant B. Miller constantly wanted to change things.

"You can't constantly keep changing things Sergeant" Roger said.

"Why ever not? a war is like a game of chess, you have to keep changing your tactics so the enemy does not realise your routine" Sergeant B. Miller fired back.

"War tactics may be like a game of chess, but the men are not the wooden pieces on the board! You can't expect them to bow and scrape to your every single order. Or every single idiotic change in the advancement that they were not told about before" Roger replied.

"I'm a Sergeant am I not? The men and you Roger may I remind you, are meant to follow my orders!" Sergeant B. Miller said while raising his voice slightly.

"You may be a Sergeant but that does not make you the high and mighty" Roger replied.

"How dare you. Corporal, you will follow my orders and you will instruct the other men to do so" Sergeant B. Miller ordered.

"Sergeant, I really do not think changing the formation of advancement without any preparation is a good idea!" Roger fought back beginning to plead his point.

"It is and I" Sergeant B. Miller said, never having a chance to finish his line of argument, as Lieutenant Wood came to calm them down.

"Is there a problem here?" Lieutenant Wood asked.

"Not in the slightest Lieutenant, apart from the fact that Corporal Wilson here is refusing to follow and work with my orders!" Sergeant B. Miller exclaimed.

"Only because Sergeant B. Miller here is about as compromising as a drunk and idiotic German!" Roger shouted.

"Now I really must protest!" Sergeant B. Miller replied in a raised voice. With fury now visible on his face, as his blood vessels rushing to his brain began to turn his face red.

"Must you, well!" Roger replied but again he was cut off by Lieutenant Wood, who with a loud sigh was slowly beginning to lose patience.

"Gentlemen, I do not think this is the time or place to be having this discussion and perhaps we should find a more private place. That is of course if you are content on acting like school children?" Lieutenant Wood commented.

A muffled laughter came from some of the men who were standing near me.

"Very well Lieutenant" Sergeant B. Miller agreed reluctantly.

Lieutenant Wood led the way to his make shift office and the other two followed, very much like sulking school children.

Really the conversation was a lot funnier at the time, but it was very entertaining to see two grown men told off like little school children in a playground. Then again any entertainment was a God send in the trenches. Though if you ever need cheering up - when you have just seen a hundred men die in front of your eyes and there was nothing you could do to help them, the one person that has not let war change him is Rob and he is the person you go to. The thing about Rob is, even if he doesn't know it - when he sings in the early hours of a cold and hard night in the trenches it lifts everyone's spirits up. Everyone listens to him sing and when he does, his words are often joined by the music of the accordion always played by Joseph Williams. Between the two of them, they help you live a little bit more while at war and music really helps with the healing.

Apart from his singing, war has not stopped his genuinely kind nature and the men who we do not even know have spotted this. It's simple things, just general courtesy but when you're in the middle of a battle or just after, courtesy shown by one man helps remind you of the small part of humanity we still have left. I have noticed the change in him more than most. In our life during and before prison he was miserable and nothing like the person he is today. I'm not sure exactly what has sparked this change but I think it comes down to war. For when you are at war, despite the horrors it does make you value every second that you breathe. Quite ironic really, when you know the next second could be your last. In all honesty, I think Rob's character now is his true nature. Aside from his kind heart and his powerful voice, he cheers you up with laughter and jokes, when most of the time he is not even trying to be funny. He is well just being Rob and today was a prime example.

Rob, Tim, Johnnie and I were just walking around the trenches, merely for something to do. If it wasn't the bullets, rats, disease of unwashed men, coldness of the air or fatigue that killed you then it was the boredom. When you signed up no one mentioned or even warned you how dull war could be, when you were simply waiting for the next battle. We turned around the next corner of the trench, pushing past some men on the way when Rob stopped walking suddenly. As he was in front and leading the way, the sudden stop in momentum caused a sort of domino effect for Timothy and Johnnie but I managed to step back just in time.

"What's wrong?" I asked curious.

Rob turned around to face me and then he answered my question.

"God, you know what I fancy?" Rob asked.

"A pint of largar, because I sure as hell do" Johnnie replied which was answered by Tim's laugh.

"No" Rob replied very seriously.

"What then?" Tim asked.

"A cup of tea and some crumpets, with butter on top" Rob replied, still with a very serious expression on his face.

Of course his suggestion was mad, so inevitably Johnnie and Tim replied with a laugh. Even I could not hold in the laughter.

"Ha! That's a good one! Good luck with that! The tea won't be so hard to find, but as for the crumpets and butter well you'll have more luck killing a rat, skinning it, roasting it and then eating it" Johnnie replied, still laughing.

Rob's facial expression then changed from a serious expression to a disgusted one.

For the past couple of weeks itself the war has been quiet, but of course only relatively. A few weeks back we travelled on foot from the town of Neuve Chapelle to the South, until we reached another French town I believe was called Festubert. Another battle of course was fought and it was another British victory, though by the looks of things the advancement made was minor. It was, if my calculations and memory is right, a ten day battle which began on the 15th of May and lasted until the 25th. It was a relatively standard battle I suppose, nothing too dramatic. I did have a few close calls with death of course, but the amount of time I have looked him in the eye, face to face we could almost be friends. More battles continued to pass, like clockwork.

We are currently located in another French town called Loos-en-Gohelle. We arrived a couple of days ago and we are waiting for battle. Not much action has occurred yet, well for our platoon anyway. Preparations for the battle have been going on of course and according to Roger we plan to disrupt the enemy defence lines by placing grenades in underground tunnels. It makes sense I guess.

It is our platoon's responsibility to launch the grenades and I have had to do this task a couple of times - I absolutely hate it. Thankfully though, men are chosen by a rota and I will not have to do it for this battle. We seem to be prepared and the amount of soldiers we have fighting alongside us now is remarkable. It feels like there were less than half of us here this time last year. More and more men arrive every day and there seems to be no sign of the arrival stopping.

Over the past couple of days a new lethal weapon has been introduced to the war. Well it is new for us, the Germans have been ahead of the game for a couple of months. Chlorine gas and let's just say it's something you would not want too get to close to. I remember my first encounter with it, the German gas attack. We weren't expecting it at all, as you can most likely imagine and it took us a while to figure out what was happening. When the gas finally blew itself across no man's land and into our trenches [back in the battle of Neuve-Chapelle] some men were blinded by the gas and it scorched your skin if you did not move quickly enough. For most men though including myself you suffered from a violent sneezing fit. It may not seem like a dangerous thing, but the gas was extremely irritable and the sneezes were not a one off, they seem to come at a hundred seconds per minute. They definitely distracted you. Which I suppose was the point, seeing as you're a much easier target for the enemy if you are distracted on the battle field.

It's a funny thing war, some people will go on and on about how wrong it is and how it's a sin against humanity. Which by the way is something I can never justify as it is the humans who have created this supposed 'sin'? Anyway, during war, whether you're a firm opponent or if you support it, every man on each side is desperately inventing new ways of initiating death at lightning speed. War really brings out the hunter and the killer in all of us, even if you were a good man at the start of it.

The truth is when you're in the middle of battle; you forget that this all essentially began because of the death of one man and his wife.

Yours,

Private Thomas Millward.

# CHAPTER NINE

Loos-en-Gohelle, France.

24th September 1915.

Four days have passed since my last entry and more preparations have been made in order for the battle to begin at zero hour tomorrow. As for our new weapon, as a precautionary measure we have all been given a gas mask to wear. They are a hideous design and to be honest when we put them on, we all looked a bit like some extra-terrestrial creature. They are not the nicest thing to wear and truthfully they are rubbish in operation. The material makes it harder to breathe, it itches your skin and the eye pieces fog up whenever you breathe. They are a pointless design, but then if they protected you from the gas, for the sake of feeling uncomfortable it is best to just get on with it and keep it on.

Earlier today with various commands coming from Roger and Sergeant B. Miller, we were warned to keep the masks on. Due to the fact that our gas was going to be released, to hopefully wipe out or at least hinder the Germans, before the battle with bullets would begin. Many soldiers though could not deal with the mask being as uncomfortable as there are, and forgot that the wind could easily change direction. Giving our weapon back to us and not to the Germans. Needless to say by the end of the day, I think about twenty men near our position had been affected and some were fatal. Rob had also had enough and I saw him trying to take the gas mask off. Instantly I walked over to him and told him off, for acting well a bit like a child.

"Leave it alone! Do you want to be poisoned by our own gas?" I ordered.

Rob gave me a look of disapproval for telling him what to do and he went off to sulk in the corner, but I knew he would do as I had said and sure enough, he left the mask alone. Battle will commence in about three or four hours time, but until then I intend to try and get some sleep.

....

Battle has commenced. We began at zero hour and we advanced across no man's land, one by one. Our numbers were quite extraordinary but I still had a lot of doubts, regarding how these practically untrained men were going to cope facing the Germans and their barrier of bullets. I've had almost a year of war to get used to battle. The one thing I've noticed though is the attitudes of these men towards the Germans. They appear to view them as complete monsters, rodents of a kind that will easily be wiped out with some kind of rat poison. Of course when I came to war almost fourteen months ago, I had a feeling of anger and bitterness towards the Germans and I definitely was not going to make friends with one. I realised however the concept that we were inflicting just as much pain on them as they are on us. So whenever I come close to thinking of them as monsters, I always remember Christmas day last year, which was without a doubt the strangest day I've ever had. I mean I played football with the enemy on no man's land, almost as if we were friends and not enemies.

We had been informed that our first mission was to gain control of a town called Loos and as we advanced across no man's land, poor visibility slowed our advancement. The gas masks we had to wear were in fact useless and you could barely see through the plastic, and a blind soldier in a blind war is never a good combination. Instead of being able to see the bullets, we had to trust our instincts and use our other senses. My ears were on full alert and every inch of sound appeared to be intensified a hundred times. When a rip in the air was made, when a manmade object of death was tearing through the wind, my body reacted in a duck to the ground or a move to the side.

The war appeared to be going well for us and eventually with extreme determination and loss of lives, we managed to break through the first German defenses. They were relatively weak already and due to the amount of men we had, the Germans were surprised and we managed to take them quite quickly. Soon after we managed to secure a place called Hohenzollern Redoubt, France and the battle continued. There was constant shelling throughout the night, the men and I alike were getting exhausted. Roger tried to keep the men's spirits high but well Rob did a better job at that than he did. His humour really is a god send during battles. Sergeant B. Miller has just informed us, in a rather depressive tone that we are having communication problems and to make matters worse the extra reserve army has not appeared and supplies are short. Meaning the breakthrough we had made was in fact pointless and we would not be able to hold our position when the Germans arrived to take the town back. As well as this for some unknown reason our artillery was short and I knew that despite our success today, it was going to be a complete disaster.

With no communication, we had no orders to either go forward or given the circumstances which calculated that we had no chance of succeeding, to abandon the objective. A few hours passed and we still have received no communication from headquarters or the reinforcements, so Sergeant B. Miller made the decision to continue advancing to the next trench. We advanced over the open fields and as soon as we touched the soil we were under immediate attack. It was clear that we were within range of the German machine guns and every single man dropped to the floor. It was hard to tell whether they were dead, or whether they were trying to accomplish the same thing I was and crawl through this war ridden grass. Hours continued to pass and we appeared to be making no progress at all.

After about seven more hours of hopeless fighting Sergeant B. Miller told us to begin the retreat, until further notice from headquarters or the reserve army came to help - we could not hold them off on our own. The battle continued for another twenty days and it was a tough one. The reserve army finally came about three days later and our platoon, along with other units had practically been slaughtered. We were all physically and emotionally drained. It's no easy feat watching men drop like flies for consecutive days in a row. As I predicted, the new soldiers were delivered to the harsh but necessary reality of war. It was not something you easily forget, when someone's hand, a part of their skull, or a leg narrowly misses hitting you in the face. Even if like me you have seen it a hundred times over by now.

Following our retreat and the short supply of well everything, the Germans had managed to recapture what we took from them and we ended back in our starting positions. When the re-enforcements came some of the men cheered, knowing there was some possibility we could still be saved. Of course the attack was re-launched time and time again and eventually we managed to recapture Hohenzollern Redoubt on the 3rd October 1915. This was subsequently followed by a reverse attack initiated by the Germans, and they were desperately trying to get back the land which they had initially captured.

Now with more supplies and men, we were able to hold them off and we did have a fighting chance. Time was on our side too and as a darkness came over us the Germans abandoned the attempt. As the sun rose over the destroyed land however, the battle continued and we thought it would be over by the 7th November, but there was another plan for yet another attack. Mother Nature however put a stop to that, and the skies were pouring with the arrival of winter rain. It was almost as if the clouds were tear ducts and they were swelling, soaking the battle ground below.

It was evident that the battle could not continue and I was so grateful when the news came and that this battle at least had ended. It had been an exhausting one, that's for sure and certain. At the end of the battle, or at least when the end had been announced, I counted the numbers in our platoon again to see who was still standing and we only lost about seventy men, which given the circumstances was pretty extraordinary. Luck was apparently continuing to come my way and the same applied for Roger, Paul, Johnnie, Tim and Rob. Luck had protected us so far, apart from the untimely death of my brother Mathew and I admit Albert, for whatever disagreements we had, he was still too young to die.

I had a gut feeling, a terrible feeling in fact that the luck was on its last legs and it was very soon going to run out, but then again you could never be entirely sure.

Yours,

Private Thomas Millward.

# CHAPTER TEN

Somme, France, 1916.

30th June 1916.

Well it's pretty fair to say that I broke my promise, seeing as it has been nine months since my last entry, even though to be fair it seems like it was only yesterday. The war is still in full swing and the hatred and hostility towards each other is growing every single day. Understandably so I guess, because by now hundreds and thousands of men must have died, and God knows how many German deaths I am single handedly responsible for. Our platoon has been fully assembled again after a number of us had about a two week leave, and I think we have been back at the front for about three weeks. Of course this did not include myself and Rob we stayed at war – we still have nothing to go back too.

When the others came back to the front, we were sent to a town called Mametz. We were informed that it was near a long and wide river, which the locals call the River Somme. This next battle would occur in the areas of land around the river and as soon as I arrived I knew it was going to be a huge and no doubt decisive battle, well if the extreme preparations are anything to go by.

During these past couple of weeks we have been assigned tasks that range from digging the trenches deeper and wider or sentry duty, as well as regular drills and practices that were put in place. Digging the trenches was a horrible task. They would be dug during the night and the other day I started at around eleven in the evening and didn't stop until about five in the morning, it was exhausting. Sleep has become a ghost. If you were not digging the trenches, then you didn't sleep because of the noise the soldiers with the shovels were making and not to mention the guns we had set off a couple of days ago. Noise was constant. If I managed to achieve three hours of sleep in twenty four hours, it was an achievement of the highest kind. The trenches are not the only thing that had been 'built up' for this battle. The numbers of men have almost doubled and it is a tight fit in the trenches to say the least. Grumpy and unwashed men tripping over one another is never a good combination.

I overheard Roger talking to Sergeant B. Miller the other day, about how the quantity of equipment was extraordinary. Apparently something like one and half million shells had been stockpiled, which to Roger's knowledge was more than the British had used for the entirety of the war to date. Sergeant B. Miller made some typical comment saying 'if only we had that at the beginning of the war, the German rats would not have stood a chance'. That man is completely full of hate and war has only fuelled that anger. Rather than being able to assess the fact that we are just as bad as the Germans and if that were not the case, then we would not be at war. It was as simple as that, but of course he does not see it that way.

Today I have felt the need to be by myself, but as you can imagine I did not get any peace, not with I would guess around 100,000 men squeezed into the trenches. This has been my only time alone, and well when I say alone I mean every man within the five feet radius of me is asleep and I'm having to write this by moonlight. It's a warm night and this battle will begin at zero hour tomorrow and well to be honest I'm more nervous about this one that I had been on the first day of war. I don't know why but I still have a gut feeling, that this could very well be my last entry and that my luck at war is just about to run out. Almost like the sand in an hour glass. My time is about to seep through the hole.

Trying to sleep was no comfort whatsoever for today the entire world around me is clouded by misery and hell, I fear that the emotion of what we call 'love' is simply an illusion. We cannot feel love. We would not do this if we could. Men have searched have they not, for that one person to change the world? That person so loving, kind, honest and true right to the very end. I can tell you now that person will never come, they simply do not exist among us. I need something that will give me the courage to go out and fight, I need that desperately but I can feel it in my bones, that something is just not right. In some ways, writing this is a kind of comfort to me, even though I have no idea why. I can write and even if I begin to rumble on a bit, it doesn't really matter. I can write what I want.

I am the boy from the village.

Who wished for no great story in life.

But yet in this bitter wind of fear and death, I am the power in a soldier's courage.

I am the survivor of the lost, of the weak and I am the breath of the strong.

I am the warrior of the great. Yet my heart is as powerful as Romeo's love.

I thank whatever tears have been, for they will surge

no more.

I will be unafraid when I walk hand in hand with death, on this day to come.

My soul will be brave.

I will prevail.

....

The battle is set for zero hour, seven thirty in the morning on the 1st July 1916. The sun has been up and burning for hours, it is almost the perfect conditions for battle, just a bit too humid but we could cope with that and at least there would be no mud. Yet for some reason, this French sun feels strange and cold on our skin, compared to the warmth and love of our English sun. With her dazzling sun rays bouncing off her majestic blue skies, creating an image of an endless ocean in the blue above. Ten days ago on the 21st May 1916 the guns began and slowly started to destroy the German trenches, the barrage never stopped and it continued day and night, it was a miracle if you got any sleep. Now we have about an hour before the battle begins and the last crucial preparations are made.

Roger has said that this will be an easy battle for us, a walk over he explained. Well with almost the triple amount in men and not to mention the stocks of supplies and weapons that are filled to the brim, how could it not be? I however do not share this view. The Germans are clearly putting up a fight. They are brave men just like we are I suppose, and they were determined to hold onto every piece of land they had with an extremely tight grip. Their preparations were nothing short of brilliant. It was as if someone went to the effort of filling every hole in a sieve so that it defeated its purpose and no water would fall through.

Still, all I can do is sit tight and wait for the outcome of this battle, just like always. There is about ten minutes to go until the battle commences and absolute final checks are being made. I made sure that I had all of the equipment I needed for my war. Aside from my bayonet and rifle, we had to carry 150 rounds of ammunition which we carried in belts and pouches, 2 mil bombs, our identity tag, two canvas bags, a respirator and gasmask and our service cap. On our backs we carried a waterproof sheet, field dressing, our paybook, toothbrush, soap and towel, spare bootlace, tin to eat from and its cover, fork and spoon, emergency rationing which included a biscuit, a water container, a smoke helmet, wire cutters and some men even have to carry barbed wire, so we can hold the German trenches as soon as we arrive. It was a heavy load.

Also according to Roger for this particular battle we have about 900 yards of rough ground until we reach the first trench, which is our first objective and then about another 1500 yards to a further trench where we will then wait for orders. The men were checked and put into position. Some men look eager to fight and ready to kill their 'enemies'. Others however looked nervous and were fidgeting around like school children being told off by the headmaster. Sergeant B. Miller and Roger started the platoon inspection and I could see that Rob was definitely the previous. You could see his eagerness a mile off. It was not an eagerness to kill though, it was an eagerness to get the battle done and finished so he could move on with his life. So we all could.

"Right private, you know exactly where to go?" Sergeant B. Miller asked Rob.

"Yes Sergeant, but I just wondered, what is the exact mission?" Rob asked.

"Well for you private, it is to simply kill as many Germans as you can. Got it?" Sergeant B. Miller replied, in the bluntest and coldest way, even if it was one hundred percent true.

"Yes Sergeant" Rob replied with a bowed nod.

The final checks continued and with less than two minutes to go until zero hour, or seven thirty in the morning, Sergeant B. Miller decided to give our platoon some words of 'encouragement', in his view anyway.

"Now if any of you turn back without instruction or clear order then you will be shot and this trench will be guarded by our own" Sergeant B. Miller stated, speaking the harsh truth.

Not meaning to, Roger caught my glance and I turned away instantly as Sergeant B. Miller continued his speech. Although we worked together to survive war, the past had not been forgotten and we were not really 'friends'.

"As corrupt and as wrong as that may be, that is the way of the world that we selfish humans have created. This is war, there is no morality. The fear you have now is what makes this war fight on. War eats on us and the fear gets stuck on our skin, but layers of skin fall off over time do they not? Your fear and my fear will eventually vanish and turn into courage. Such amazing courage. Now go out there and fight for your country. Make the Germans quake with fear and regret that they ever stepped out of their boundary lines. They got too big for their boots so to speak, and now they have to pay. Fight for the brave. Fight for the fallen! Be brave! Demolish your fear!" Sergeant B. Miller concluded.

His speech made some men nod in sturdy agreement, while others were nodding their heads like excited puppies. With less than a minute to go Sergeant B. Miller gave the final instructions and he ordered us to get our bayonet attached to our rifle. Everyone followed the order in unison. Ten seconds, five seconds, two seconds the watch ticked and time struck seven thirty in the morning, it was zero hour. Time for battle. We advanced.

One by one, up and down the trenches, we climbed up the ladder and over the barbed wire onto no man's land. We advanced, slowly and carefully, slithering like a poisonous snake ready to strike at any moment. We advanced well, keeping in formation and keeping alert. About ten minutes had past and there had been no attack from the Germans, which set my teeth on edge. As the early morning mist was just clearing we got to see the barbed wire, guarding the first German trench and the first objective. With a sudden uproar in blood, the machine guns began and the Germans were now awake. The attack was deadly and the entirety of our platoon fell down to the ground. Some were most likely dead or dying but a lot of us were still alive. I had fallen down in between Sergeant B. Miller on my left and Rob on my right. We all appeared to be fine, just a bit shaken. Well what can you expect? You never really get used to this. Our minds went straight into battle reflex mode and we got our guns and ammunition and fired back as hard as we could. The hard part was trying to spot where the men loading the machine guns were hiding. If we could shoot them down, we had a good chance at making it to the trench, with all of our limbs intact. The one who had the eyes of the eagle in this platoon was Rob. Even Sergeant B. Miller recognised his skill and with visibility becoming harder went for his advice.

"Private! What direction!" Sergeant B. Miller shouted across the sound of a thousand bullets.

Watching Rob, while I fired my gun I saw him studying the horizon just beyond the barbed wire. His eyes stopped just to the East and he gave Sergeant B. Miller the subsequent instructions.

"To the East! There's about four of them behind each gun! You might be able to get them every two seconds! That's when they seem to re-load!" Rob shouted.

I looked towards Sergeant B. Miller and he nodded. I followed Rob's instruction and sure enough, if I squinted really hard just to the East I could see the Germans peeping out from behind the machine guns every two seconds or so. I aimed my gun and fired it. With Rob and Sergeant B. Miller on par with my shooting we managed to get them. They fell down like dominoes and about twenty minutes or so later the guns subsided and we used this chance to crawl forward and take the trench. We were already behind schedule. Eventually we made our way crawling through a mixture of blood, grass, mud and bodies until we reached the barbed wire guarding the German trenches. When we felt 'safe' enough, we stood up, but still in a crouch. We took our wire cutters and began to cut the wire so we could proceed. The guns that had been set off before the battle started this morning, seemed to have achieved some considerable damage on the German defenses and we were able to jump into the trench, with relative ease now we had killed all of the enemy machine gunners.

As soon as we landed in the trench, we saw the effect of our bullets. They were all relatively young soldiers and some of them appeared to have parts of their face missing. Others were covered in so much blood their skin was now stained in red and not white or the light tanned colour they would have been born with. If you have ever wondered what the devil looks like, you simply had to take a mirror out here, in the middle of a brutal war and look at the reflection. That would be your answer. Some perceive war as a sport or as a game. In this case it is a game played by monkeys who are behaving like the class clown in the village school, or at least men with too much power in their laps and too much beer in their hands.

We took about ten minutes to make sure there was no other German still alive, or at least they were in the process of dying. We secured the trench and claimed it as our own. Everyone I cared about was safe and Sergeant B. Miller was determined to move on and he got us ready to leave.

"Leave our wounded men and get others ready to move" Sergeant B. Miller said giving Roger his instructions.

Tim was standing just behind me and he had heard Sergeant B. Miller's instruction, when his beliefs did not support this view.

"Surely Sir, if they have a chance of life?" Tim argued.

"Do you want to risk your own neck and ours by slowing down the entire mission, to try and save them even though they will die anyway? Don't go holy on us now, you're a soldier for crying out loud" Sergeant B. Miller replied.

Tim's response was silence and Sergeant B. Miller finished the conversation.

"No, I didn't think so, now get a move on unless of course you want to be lunch for the Germans!" Sergeant B. Miller ordered.

As instructed, we left the wounded as hard as it was, but they would have to wait for either the reinforcements or the medical corps to arrive. It was a harsh rule, true but harsh and well, they do not call it war for nothing. Sergeant B. Miller ordered some men to guard the trench and led the rest of us out to advance to the next objective, 1500 yards away.

We crept forward and we were just as cautious as we had been when we left the trench at zero hour. It was with the knowledge that the Germans were now awake at war and as alert as a night owl, which made us nervous. Sergeant B. Miller was just a few feet ahead of me, Rob was still on my right side and Roger was to the left. A few feet behind the three of us stood Paul, Johnnie and Tim. We had to change formation slightly, to replace the men that had fallen, but we stuck too our new positions like glue. We were no more than 100 yards away from the first objective that we had just taken, when we came under another vicious attack. As the fighting continued, the same routine applied as it does in every battle. When the symphony of bullets began, every man falls to the ground and begins to shoot in a random direction that is of course until the eyes of the platoon Rob, spots the exact direction to shoot. Then we could get the Germans. Another thing no one ever mentions about war, is how deadly repetitive it can be.

Comparing it to the battle earlier this morning, this was a hundred times worse. We were a lot closer to the German trench last time and even Rob could not spot the direction in which they were firing from. The terrain we were lying on was our own worst enemy. The land was completely flat and there was no possible shelter. Well none apart from the few ditches here and there but by now they too were filled with dead bodies and blood. There was nowhere to hide.

What felt like minutes of fighting, was more like hours. Six or seven hours to be more exact. The sun was just beginning to drop and we had made small progress. We were crawling nearer and nearer as the hours passed to the next objective and Rob was able to spot the German machine gunners when we were about 200 yards away. It took us another three hours of endless fighting until the guns stopped and we could crawl all of the way forwards to get the trench and then grasp it out of the hands of the Germans. Every man in our platoon was exhausted yet again, it was an effort of extremes to crawl through the grass and try to protect your life. In due course we managed to reach the second objective and it was a relief when we did, that was for sure. One difference I noticed about this trench compared to the first one though is that our guns had not done anyway near as much damage. I knew for certain there would be Germans still occupying the trench and it was our job to get them out. This was our trench now. About ten minutes later Sergeant B. Miller gave the hand signal to move forward and we all split off into groups of about four, to head into different parts of the trench. In my group it was Roger, Rob and then Paul. We entered the trench from the left and I led the way.

Yours,

Private Thomas Millward.

# CHAPTER ELEVEN

Somme, France, 1916.

1st July 1916.

This was hell. I have never had much faith in God or heaven for that matter, but now I think there has to be something of the sort. This cannot be what life is all about. Peeking around corners, waiting for one of your kind to attack and keeping on your guard just so you can kill them first. If God is true, I really do not think he should have sent Jesus to the world 2000 years ago, really he should send him to us now. We need all the help we can get and this is proof that we are not able to cope with the responsibilities of being the most dominant species on this planet. We need to get our act together and fast. How on earth are we meant to protect and control the world around us when we cannot even control ourselves? It's maddening. We are apparently, though at times like this I often question our judgment, the most intelligent beings on this planet. What a marvelous thought it would be if we actually acted like it.

I was leading the way for Rob, Paul and Roger who would then follow behind and trust my luck, I had to be the one to go in first. I had to discover if there was a German lurking around and inform the others. If I did not come back, they did not follow until they had other members of the platoon as reinforcements to back them up. Fantastic. Nothing quite meets the feeling of being the experiment, in what feels like a new formula being tested out by mad scientists and seeing who comes out on top.

Not expecting it, something with a force of angry energy threw me to the ground and I suppose the reinforcements are nearing. Well it's either that or the Germans. Either way I'm still pretty stuck. I wiped the dust and dirt away from my face so I could use all of my senses and just a few feet away from me was a slightly perplexed German, who like me was clearly knocked down from the impact.

As soon as our eyes met both of our battle instincts kicked in. In perfect timing we both reached for our weapons, only to find they had been knocked to the floor, out of our hands in the blow. Now here was a dilemma, a soldier without his toy. One eye scanned the dust around me for the weapon, while the other kept a sturdy glare on the enemy, making sure he did not move an inch. The weapons had landed in exactly the same position, lying in the dirt next to each other, about half a meter away. I looked up to study his face when a commotion of war broke up in the trench behind us, exactly where I had left Rob, Paul and Roger. Still without my gun I looked at the enemy's face and he was more like a boy than a man. He was young. Younger than me, maybe the same age as Rob, but to be honest he looked about fifteen. Looking at the German boy's eyes, I could see they were a bright blue colour but clouded and filled with fear. There was something about the colour of his eyes that got to me and I had no idea why, until it struck me. They were Matthew's eyes, well the same colour anyway. I don't know why, but when I made that connection, I knew I could not kill him.

As I was deciding what to do, I saw the German reach for his weapon, which unfortunately for him was lying nearer to me than him. My soldier instincts kicked in again and I knocked him back down to the ground, with my hands pinning him down. The boy was now completely shaking in fear. Not surprising of course when he was probably contemplating on how he would die. Would this Englishman kill me by strangling me or by beating me to death? Either way he started putting up a fight and I could hear Roger shouting my name and I knew if I wanted to save the boy, I had to act now. Roger would not want to save him. He would kill him instantly.

"Ich werde dich nicht tõten, wenn Sie nicht mich töten handelsaktivität" I said urgently.

Obviously he was shocked and if we were not in war I would have found his expression funny. Well I could hardly blame him for feeling surprised, when the one person who is your enemy and is meant to kill you says 'I won't kill you if you won't kill me deal'. You are bound to be surprised. Of course he was shocked by the gesture but I think he was more surprised that an Englishman spoke the enemy's tongue. Weighing up his chances of survival he agreed to the deal.

"Handelsaktivität" he replied.

I pulled him up and gave him his weapon back and of course this probably wasn't the smartest thing to do, but I cannot explain it I just knew I could trust him. Roger's voice and footsteps were coming ever closer and I knew he would instantly want to go and kill the boy. That is what soldiers are meant to do after all. When his feet stopped crushing the gravel underneath him, I turned around to face him and began to bargain for the boy's life. Well he looked as if he had seen a ghost. Instantly Roger's soldier's instincts went into full mode and he just about had his bayonet in the boy's stomach until I stood in front of the boy and knocked the weapon out of Roger's hands. Roger was not impressed.

"Thomas! What the hell are you doing?!" Roger shouted.

"I can't kill him" I shouted back.

"Clearly not, that's why I tried to before you knocked the weapon out of my hands. Now get out of the way!" Roger ordered as he bent down to pick up his weapon.

I knocked him to the ground in protest and I could see the anger building up in his face.

"You can't kill him Roger!" I shouted.

"Why not? He's just like any other German!" Roger replied back in fury.

"Look at his eyes! Their Matthew's eyes!" I exclaimed.

Roger looked and I knew now he would not kill the boy. I knew Roger would not kill him for several reasons. The first being; even though Roger and Matthew were anything but friends, we had grown up in our childhood together, even as enemies. Secondly; even something as weak as that takes hold on your emotion's in war. If you knew someone before the war you perhaps unknowingly, look out for them. I know if I had the chance to save Albert Bradford from death, I would have done – just as if he was my own brother. For the people you knew in childhood always stick with you and in a war such as gruesome and horrific as this, you protect the people you know. So the third reason as to why Roger would not kill the German boy, simply because he had Matthew's eyes, was the fact that we had failed to protect him. In war our past annoyances and petty hatred of one another fade slightly, they still remain because the hurt of the past is still there but with the fighting you only have one goal in mind – to stay alive, and if you can, to keep the lives of those around you.

As if answering the telepathic silence, the German boy held out his hand and spoke. Surprisingly in English.

"My names Otto" Otto replied with a strong German accent, holding out his hand.

"Thomas" I said, replying the gesture.

"Roger" Roger said following suit.

An unlikely friendship formed, in an extremely unlikely place and situation. Roger and I came to the decision quickly that there was no way Otto would survive the others in the attack if he stayed with us, so we told him to run and he did not need telling twice.

"Thank you" Otto replied.

Otto ran and Roger and I went back to help the others, before they became concerned and came looking. We wanted to give Otto a fighting chance to escape the trench. The fighting continued for several hours and the German resistance was fierce. Finally in the early hours of the morning when reinforcements came we were able to take the trench. Many of the Germans were killed, along with the British and I think some of them have been taken prisoner; well we had not been given any orders not to take prisoners.

We began to secure the trench and we continued to walk up and down, making sure it was completely under British occupation. We had just turned the next corner in the trench when we stumbled across another pile of bodies. Some were in our uniform, while some were in the enemies.

"Check to see if anyone's alive" Sergeant B. Miller ordered.

Following his orders, we did the gruesome task of turning the bodies over to see if they were alive. This was gruesome because most of the time, parts off their faces would have been blown off, limbs would be missing or blood would be covering them completely from head to toe. I had turned over about three men, two British, one German and none of them were alive. I turned over the fourth man and the man's face was completely destroyed. It was as if the first layer of his skin had been ripped off. He was German and as I moved closer to check his pulse [even though I knew there was no chance in hell he would be alive] my feet moved backwards in shock, almost tripping over another dead man. It was Otto.

Before I knew what my emotions were doing, I felt a cold wet tear fall down my face. When I acknowledged its presence I quickly wiped it away. It was completely unsuitable for a soldier to cry during war, especially at the death of the enemy. I heard footsteps behind me and I looked around to see Roger. I looked back at Otto's severely damaged face and the only thing that remained untouched was his bright blue eyes. Matthew's eyes. Eyes which were now unmoving, staring right at me, staring into nothing. I knew Roger had recognised who he was and the look he gave me, told me all the unspoken words of emotion that I knew he was feeling. We had both wanted Otto to survive; it would have been so easy for us to kill him when we had the chance, but we let him live. Only for him to be killed by another. Roger gave me a friendly tap on the back and walked away.

I was given orders to get some rest, it would only be a few hours' sleep at best but I needed it. This is of course under the impression that sleeping would be an easy task, when at war it is quite the opposite. The cries from dying men could still be heard just beyond the trench and there was nothing we could do. Their cries were confusing. It was not certain whether they were crying to go back home or if they were welcoming death. I think it was the latter. I have always believed that the cry of a fox sounds like a person getting killed, ever since I was a child. Well there must be about a million foxes out here tonight.

I probably managed three hours of sleep and I was grateful. Battle recommenced and we headed back out onto no man's land for our next objective. The Germans were not going to let us advance any more than we already had, that was for sure and certain. We were probably only about 100 yards away from the trench we had just left, when the attack began again and we were slaughtered. Their machine guns were taking down the platoon ahead of us and we could hear them being destroyed. We were being attacked by shells and any form of bullets that decided to come our way. I jumped over the trench this morning with Roger, Paul, Rob, Tim and Johnnie by my side. We had been fighting for an hour now and most of us had been separated in the chaos. Roger was about five feet behind me, but I could not see the others. I kept praying they were safe and I realised that this was the first time I had been separated from them in battle. It was not a comforting thought.

We were meant to advance at a slow and steady pace, almost as if we were taking a morning walk in the country. By now though most of us were running, running for our lives. It was evident things were not going well for us. Headquarters had not predicted this. We had been fighting for about seven hours now and it was exhausting. It must be late afternoon and one thing I was grateful for was that this battle was occurring in the summer months and we had more light on our side. I was running like I had never run before. I was almost flying, dodging bullets along the way. One minute I was running with the land stretching out in front of me, continuing into the depths of hell, but then there was a huge force of angry energy which forced my legs off the earth and into the air, at an exhilarating speed. Consequently I hit the dirt with a thud, which is when the blackness appeared.

....

My eyelids moved, but did not open. I could see the inside of the skin and slowly my eyelids opened and I could see, but the darkness did not disappear. It was night time. My head was pounding and I was trying to remember the sequence of events that had happened, for me to be in this position. Then I remembered. I remembered that I had been running across no man's land, dodging bullets along the way and then I was hit. The land exploded in front of me and the impact threw me into the air and whatever goes up, gravity will pull it down. I assumed that when I landed here I hit my head and went into a concussion, which would explain the pain in my head. The only thing that could have knocked me out like that was a shell. It all made sense now. I was lucky to be alive, yet again.

Now that I knew what had happened to me I tried to remember the information regarding my location and what plan of action I should take first. First and foremost I needed to check if I was injured and with an impact like that, it would be most likely. The trouble was it was so dark I could barely see my legs, let alone find out where I was. I looked up at the sky and I could see a brief outline of the moon, covered by the clouds. I would have to wait until the moonlight reappeared to do anything. Suddenly I was struck by the overwhelming need for water. Using my memory I recalled where I had placed my water container and with shaking hands I reached behind me, felt the side pocket of my bag and pulled out my water bottle. I unscrewed the lid and tilted it upwards so the water would enter my mouth. One drop fell onto my tongue, but no more water arrived. It was empty. Brilliant.

The moon had just come out from his hiding place beneath the clouds and still extremely thirsty I looked around me, so I could see where I was. I was in a ditch. I could see about five or six men, perhaps even seven men around me and there was no sound from any of them so I assumed they were dead. Using the moonlight, I reached over to the bag of the dead man next to me and I took his water. Part of me felt guilty, stealing something from a dead man but then again he no longer had any need for it.

I took the bottle and to my relief it was filled with water and I gulped it down. Lost in thought of destruction and misery, a sharp pain came from my left foot. The pain reminded me of the beatings my father gave me as a child, but that pain was nothing compared to this. It felt like my foot had been hit a thousand times over with an iron hammer and then twisted a whole 360 degrees. Waiting for the moon once again, I used the light to take off my boot, only to see that my sock was completely stained in blood. My sock was now a dark blood red. I knew I had to stop the bleeding before I moved anywhere and I reached into my bag, pulling out the field dressing. I used the tissue to try and stop the bleeding and I then put a bandage around it. The bleeding still continued, but it had eased and I knew it would stop eventually. Luckily for me, the wound did not seem too bad, although the pain was still excruciating. I put the blood stained sock back on, placed my boot back on top and then began to consider my next move.

Then I remembered that Roger had been only five feet behind me and he too would have been caught in the impact of the shell. Despite my feelings towards Roger, even though ever since this war began, the feeling of anger and if I admit slight jealously of his wealth had lessened, I knew I needed to find him. The task would be near impossible. Trying to find one man, possibly dead, possibly alive, among a field of dead or dying men. It was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. I was determined though, determined to find him.

I gathered all of my provisions together and put them back into my bag. Just to be sure, I looked around the ditch to see if Roger was there and he was not. I did not recognise any of the men. Knowing that Roger was behind me when the shell landed I decided to head back that way for about twenty feet and then I would turn around and head forwards. I had no idea where the exact location of the next trench and our platoon's objective would be, but I would just head in one direction and hope for the best. What's the worst that could happen? What I was planning to do was probably senseless and before I left the ditch I questioned if what I was planning to do in my mind was actually feasible in reality. I looked up at the sky and I saw a bird as black as night fly into the moons garden. I wonder what they see up there, when they see us. They probably see the truth. With a bird's eye view of the world nothing can get in the way of observation. No buildings of obstruction. They will see what we truly are. Monsters.

With this thought in mind, realising that we were acting like deranged monsters it fuelled my determination to be the opposite. I would not leave a person I knew as a child even if he was my enemy to die, or if he was dead to let his body rot in a place that was not his home. I had been a fool in my youth, but I was not anymore and I was not a monster of humanity. I would show some form of compassion for another's life.

I took my courage and I built up my strength to climb out of the ditch. I would not walk to where I needed to go, for two reasons. One, if the Germans spotted a man walking on no man's land at this hour they would shoot him down and secondly, the pain in my left foot was too much for me to walk on it. So I only had one option and that was to crawl through no man's land to try and find Roger. To try and find the needle in a hay stack.

Yours,

Private Thomas Millward.

# CHAPTER TWELVE

Somme, France, 1916.

3rd July 1916.

Hours of searching passed and still I had not found Roger. Crawling through piles and piles of dead men, missing limbs and blood was an exhausting task. As well as the fact it was physically and mentally draining. It was like a living nightmare and even though you cannot see death alive, this experience came in a close second. I've passed hundreds of men, some who were barely alive and some who are only a few inches from death. I have also passed hundreds of detached limbs that are now not attached to their owners. Arms and legs all blown off and all dotted around no man's land. I kept low to the ground and the darkness kept me camouflaged from the Germans, but I still ducked behind everything I could, which of course were mainly dead bodies. I had practically lost my sense of direction and I had no light of guidance to help me. Even the moon had gone into hiding. He was hiding behind the clouds, but at least he could escape by use of the curtains of clouds that would surely close at his command. My only comforting thought was that in a few hours the light of the sun would come up, but even that created a problem. When the sun came up, the fighting would begin again. Time was running out and I needed to get a move on.

I continued to crawl through no man's land for about another ten minutes, and I passed some more dead bodies. I stopped to take a breath and the moon came out from its hiding place. I looked at the dead man next to me and I had to blink several times until I realised who it was. It was Roger, I had found him. I let out a sigh of relief and I went to see if he was alive.

"Thomas? Is that you?" Roger said with difficulty and between sharp breaths.

"Roger, yes, yes it's me" I replied in a hurry.

"Thank god. I thought you were another German, coming to finish me off" Roger said, almost laughing.

I did not need light to let me know Roger was in a bad way. I lifted his head up and I gave him some water and he swallowed it thankfully.

"Roger, do you have any idea where you are injured? I need to stop the bleeding" I said.

"I know I'm not going to make it Thomas – but there is something, well many things that I need to apologies for. Firstly, I should never have acted like a rich fool and burned your father's land. I have no idea what I was thinking at the time, well I wasn't thinking and that was the problem. I should have thought about the consequences, and I felt incredibly guilty when your father took his own life. We should have realised that we were going to ruin a man's life and income – but we didn't think of it like that, we didn't care or think about money because well, we didn't have to. I know I was not alone in my feeling of guilt, Albert and my brother Paul, wherever he is right now felt guilty too. I know you couldn't attend the funeral and really that was because of our actions too, but I want you to know that your father wasn't alone – I went to his funeral. We were young and only cared about our petty hate, never really looking at the world around us" Roger said.

"I agree with you on that one, and I am grateful that you went to my father's funeral service, but you don't have to feel guilty completely about his death. He was dying on the inside way before you, Paul and Albert burned our land and for that well, I should never have punched you. We shouldn't have acted the way we did, but as I was saying my father had always drunk too much and after my mother died, he lost himself completely. On top of the grief he now had, he not only drank more and more alcohol, but because he had no other source of income he went into the world of crime and robberies – dragging us along with him. He let us get caught for the crime he arranged and I think that guilt on top of everything else, led him to take his own life. You don't have to feel guilty for everything Roger – it was partly your families fault, but it was also his fault, along with myself and my brother's. He was a ruined man already, so don't feel guilty." I replied, explaining everything.

"Well thank you, I appreciate that but I do need to take some responsibility for acting like a rich fool and not thinking of other's and their livelihood. I should not have burned your father's land just because you punched me, after something so petty that I can't even remember what it was. Just promise me one thing - get out Thomas, make a new life for yourself – you deserve it more than I ever did, but please find my brother Paul and get him home. He is not a bad lad, he has just been following the wrong influence his entire life - me" Roger said.

"I will do, Roger" I replied.

"Just one other thing, if you can get my body back to England, I don't want to be buried here. I feel like I've been buried all ready" Roger said.

"I will" I replied.

"Thank you Thomas" Roger said.

As Roger finished speaking, he took his last breath and died. The amount of times back home, I might have wished for this. Roger to be gone, but he had made me realise how silly we had been in our childhood, all of the mistakes we had made and could have avoided. Tears began to fall down my face and I sat there blubbering like a baby. You could almost hear the laughter of no man's land. It came in a chill. Then a wave of emotions came over me. Anger, grief, worry but most of all I was scared and then I just did not care. I felt like jumping and shouting "hey! I'm over here! Why don't you just come and get me!". Of course I didn't, but if it was not for Rogers body still on top of me, I might have done and then I too would be dead. Then I remembered. I made a promise to Roger, a dying man's last wish and I would not deny him that. I had promised to take him back home. A rush of energy and adrenaline came over me. I was going to get back to the trench and I would make a new life for myself in my childhood home of Little Hadford. I would apologise for past mistakes and hope people accepted the apology. I would take care of my one surviving brother. My family, Rob. I hadn't seen him since we jumped over the trenches this morning. I prayed to God that he had made it.

I had promised Roger that I would get his body back home and that is exactly what I intended to do. Do not be mistaken this would be no easy feat. Crawling my way through no man's land in the dark with an injured foot was bad enough, but now I had to pull a dead man's body back too and he was not exactly light. I used all the strength I had left and even that was barely enough. I headed back in the direction I came and hoped it was the direction of our trench.

I pulled Roger's body back through no man's land for what seemed to be hours but then out of nowhere, the sound of explosion erupted and once again I was blown into the air. I was aware that I was suspended above ground and I knew the blackness would come.

....

Sure enough the blackness came and I was knocked unconscious. The funny thing [well maybe not so funny] is when I woke, I cried. Not in pain, but in sadness that the blackness did not stay, I now wanted to die. I came to the decision that my brother and friend's would have been killed in this battle, no one would have survived this. It would have been too impossible to survive. Roger's body had been thrown up in the air during the explosion and I had no idea where it was. I gave up hope of recovery and hope of life. My dreams of making a new life for myself back in Little Hadford had vanished just as quickly as they had arrived.

The hours passed and they slowly turned into days. I had landed in a ditch and I stayed there, making no attempt to move. I waited for death. My left foot had been injured once again and this time I could not stop the bleeding. It continued to bleed and I was sure that eventually all of my blood would seep out of the hole in my foot. I was growing tired of waiting for death and I was considering what to do when my eyes glanced over to my right hand side and I saw a red poppy.

The flower was living and full of life, but completely deserted and surrounded by land that has been destroyed by war, destroyed by man's disputes. I realised the sad effect war not only had on people, but on everything that you set your eyes on. It was a sign that life and beautiful life did exist on this land, once before. Before war and blood. Before death made its presence welcome. The poppy itself was not dying, but the land around it was and it didn't have a chance in hell of surviving. Peace was dead and gone. The poppy was broken. Broken by blood.

Just like my foot, it had been punched by war – by humanity. There was no place left for me in this world anymore. I hope that one day, after this brutal war has finished and life returns to this land, that humanity will never make the same pivotal mistakes again. Humanity and our Earth will recover, they will prevail, but I will either suffer for days to come and die by slowly bleeding to death, or I will be brave and end my life. I choose the latter.

....

As he contemplated his own death, Thomas Millward gained all the courage he had and shot himself. With one bullet he ended his life, and his gravestone was engraved with Private Thomas Millward, aged twenty nine.

Future Works

My next novel will be part of a fantasy series called 'The Children of the Stars' and the first novel will be released on the 1st December 2014. I am also working on future novels, some of which will be released next year.

I also have a novella called 'The Final Dawn' which is available for purchase on Amazon.

Many thanks for your support.

