The lasting effects of war

The rattle of bullets ricocheting off the rocks propelled Frank to a state of high alert. The loss of Danny the night before left him questioning the fragility of his own life, more than ever before. Here, miles away from home, in this sodden pit of existence, his life was no more valuable than those of the rats darting around his feet. He touched the smoothness of the photo underneath his heavy jacket and tried to imagine that he was back with Florrie, and baby George. They’d be warm and safe living with Florrie’s Mum and Dad. He hoped that George would never have to endure the dank stench of death that suffocated the air here. No, only the best for his son. He’d make sure of that once he returned. George would be six months old now, and Frank had never seen him. He hadn’t even known about him until he’d read Florrie’s letter.  An eerie silence descended, disturbing him even more. He felt the hairs bristle up on the back of his neck and heard his heart thumping hard against that photo. A gust of wind made him turn around.

‘Grandad. Grandad. Wake up.’

Where was he? The tartan blanket fell from his legs, as he looked down to see the remnants of war manifested in his below knee prostheses, shining bright courtesy of flames from George’s newly installed fire. He’d lit it before going to collect his missis.

‘Don’t go falling asleep,’ he’d said.’ I’ll be back soon.’

Thank goodness for little Jimmy bounding in and waking him up before his dad returned. The wood banged, crackled, and spat sparks at the fireguard, but the strength of its heat had succeeded in putting him out for the count.

Jimmy replaced the blanket and sat at his feet. He was looking up at him with those big blue eyes and long dark eyelashes that reminded Frank so much of his old mate, Danny.

‘Grandad. You were snoring again.’

‘Sorry, lad. I was dreaming. About the war and my pal, Danny.’

‘What was it like? The war? Was it exciting, Grandad? Who’s Danny? We’re learning about wars at school. I’ve got some homework on it.’

Frank searched Jimmy’s innocent face. He was a clever little lad, doing well at school by all accounts. Lord knows where he got his brains from. Frank had been at the back of the queue when those were handed out. Brains hadn’t helped Danny though. Frank knew that one or two Officers, like Danny, were killed in battle. They’d struck up a good friendship as kids, the best, despite coming from the opposite sides of town.

A door banged and Frank could just hear George and his missis plonking the shopping down on the kitchen table. The room suddenly went darker. Rain wasn’t far away.

‘Grandad. You’re not going back to sleep are you? Tell me about the war.’

Jimmy was kneeling up right in front of him now, his eyes asking questions that Frank could never answer.

‘It was horrible, lad. Noisy, cold, dangerous, but most of all, sad.’

Jimmy’s face crumpled.

Frank’s heart was bursting. ‘But it was a long time ago and some memories need to be left buried. I’ll tell you what though, I’ve still got my old Conscription Papers and Army Record Book. Would you like to see those?’

‘What’s Conscription, Grandad?’