![]() ![]() Like the silence after a shell-burst, just a ringing in the ears. ![]() She was surprised at the calmness of the reception. That was the most difficult part, she had never grown accustomed to calling this distant woman by such an assumed name. The postman touched the peak of his cap and retreated from the outburst that would come from deeper within. It was clear he had delivered this message before to different women with different names but the same spelling of death. She could tell it from the postman’s craggy face. She dreaded having to pass it on to those who would have a deeper love than hers for this fallen soldier. The paper was splattered with mud and blood, his eyes could never have read it. Was he following orders when he slid down the steep side of the trench, like a boy in a playground game, and crumpled at my feet? There was a bloody red hole where his nose had been, and I stood there holding out the message in my hand. The sniper’s bullet took the Captain out, before he had time to read that scrap of paper. Over the top you go, boys, I’ll stay here with the Captain. ![]() Private Tree was famous for just avoiding trouble. I was nippy even in the mud of the trench, even in those big boots when the shells were kicking in. Just for liaison, they said, not dangerous. The poor sap who runs the lines between officers who have no offices. Ask Hermes, he’ll tell you it’s a divine calling. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |