wasnt it a hundred years or so since the start of that great culling of mankind when in 1914 men and horses - because i have no doubt that a horse being shot at feels the fear of imminent death as much as any man or woman - thought a charge into the cannons grape with the whiff of cordite upon your senses was as invigorating as a brisk morning wander across the Moors? i say culling of men as only young fools, eager and exhilirated as they were, could have thought such an act a glorious one as they had barely began to move one leg in front of another before the spitting machine guns cut the grass before them, before the cutting off of their knees, ankles, muscle, tendon, genitalia, intestinal tract and, lest we forget, lives... and as they fell, the ever spitting shards would tear away jaws, ears, pass through cheeks shattering teeth and bone, bursting eyeballs within their very heads as they fell, thinking, surely, well, heres a good place to rest as any. and rest they did. for 4 years later the few that returned, surrounded by the ghosts of the men they once thought of as mates and brothers, would mumble an agreement with an old friend as they strolled side by side back to the home of their mothers as their mother rushed at them, bursting into tears at their sight, yet how sad the one and only was as to why she had not embraced his 2 brothers? he watched as they walked on, past their home, father and 2 sisters rushing out the front door to greet him and him alone as his brothers stopped not, but slowly dragged their feet along the road, their soldiers helmets angled jauntily as they had that first day they all signed up. signed up fulla beans back in 1914 nothing? not even a sign for their passing? cause it was only then it occurred to him his 2 brothers had died on that very first day when the enemy watched and waited as they dashed happily into the laughably weak enemy they had been told would crumble at the very sight of these brave men of their nation. even the devil himself would run at such a sight... so tall and proud in their smart, neatly cut uniforms, they would dance and wine and dine with the foreign women of another land, brother, brother and brother... arm in arm... not long now before the merriment began... amongst the red stained leaves of grass, the brown and red of autumn. ignoring his mothers plea he called out to his eldest brother. how he had tormented him so when they were mere boys... surely he would stay? hed forgive the bullying he suffered as it is in the way of things that boys be boys... until they become men... ...IF they become men. so he called out to his younger brother and was exasperated by the fussing now not just of his mother but his father and sisters. could they not give him peace to stop THEIR sons and brothers? what was wrong with them? he called out again to the youngest brother. how he felt as he remembered those boys antics of childlike torture. but it is in the nature of boys to be boys... until they become men... ...IF they become men. so why did they not look back? had not their family seen them as he saw them? true, their uniforms were tattered and worn... but the pretty nurse who had helped him dress smartly the day he was released, surely she helped them... he remembered... did he not? didnt he? he watched as their helmets disappeared beyond the rise in the road and, just for an instant, he was certain he saw his older brother s helmet move as if in turning around to look back for his brother, until they both disappeared beyond the rise of the road. now all was silent. his sisters, quietly crying, his mother, fussing, straightening the waist and shoulders of his uniform, his father, looking off to the rise in the road where his brothers had kept on... and on... probably marching on to another war. a soldier never stops being a soldier. perhaps HE knew why? but from his angle he saw the tears stream down his face. he didnt see his brothers. he braced himself and turned to face his final son, smiling, bent down, and lifted the legless son whilst his mother gazed on ...and on and on... down that road with the rise where her boys had once run wild... but now, kept marching on...
Posted on: Thu, 28 Aug 2014 22:08:03 +0000