A/N – Hi all! I decided to start a new story. I know I should probably finish my other one, but this has been playing in my head for a while and I just had to put it down in writing. I felt as though most Peaky Blinders stories on here are focused on the time after the war and not many focus on Tommy and the Shelby's beforehand and during WW1. This is something I've studied at school (albeit that was quite a while ago!) but its an area I am really interested in and have tried to research as much as possible to make sure it is accurate. I'm also trying to imagine what I believe Tommy would have been like before France. I hope you enjoy. I'd really like to hear your thoughts on this and whether you think this is something you'd like to see continued.

Chapter 1 - 1914, An Uncertain Future

August 5 1914

During any other year, the date would likely be insignificant, but this year, things had changed. As Thomas Shelby made his way through the normally quiet streets of Small Heath, he wasn't overly surprised to hear the agitated and anxious voices surrounding him. Stopping by the newspaper stand, he handed over a small coin and lifted the days copy.

"Great Britain declares war on Germany" the Daily Mail headline screamed. Thomas' eyes drifted over the headline and started to read down the accompanying words. The move to war had taken many by surprise, despite tensions rising across Europe over the last few months. But ever since the news of the assassination of the Archduke in Sarajevo had spread, a domino effect had taken place over the last few weeks, now resulting in the invasion of Belgium the day before and the retaliation of the British Government.

Being one to try and keep abreast of current affairs, Thomas had some idea as to what this would mean for the people of Britain and at twenty-four years old, he was prime age for war, as were two of his brothers, Arthur and John, both twenty-seven and nineteen years old respectively. Finn, the youngest, was only six and still too young to really understand the enormity of the state of affairs. Thomas folded the newspaper and began the short walk back to his home on Watery Lane. His Aunt Polly would no doubt be there. Having taken on the role as primary carer for the Shelby family following the death of his mother, Thomas was used to seeing her daily. He had to admit, despite her fiery demeanour and icy cold stare, she had become the backbone of their family, ensuring that the youngest were well taken care of. She had done particularly well with seventeen-year-old Ada, the only girl in the family. Losing her mother so young had been hard, but Polly had stepped into the role with ease, bringing Ada out of her shell.

Taking long strides along the cobbled streets, Thomas nodded to his neighbours as they exited their homes. He smiled at the small children who rushed about his feet and said 'hello' to Harry Fenton as he unlocked the doors to the Garrison Pub, ready for the early morning rush. Reaching up, he ran his fingers through his slightly long dark hair, ruffling it gently. He wore a pale blue shirt and dark fitted trousers and matching jacket. His shoes weren't as polished as they could be, and he knew his mother would curse him if she could see him now.

Finally reaching his door, Thomas pushed down the handle and stepped into the sitting room. It was empty, but he could hear muffled voices coming from the nearby kitchen. Taking a seat, he lifted one foot and rested it across the opposite knee and opened the newspaper which had been nestled under his arm.

"Thomas?"

He glanced up at the now open doorway which joined the kitchen to the sitting room and smiled briefly as his Aunt Polly appeared. She leaned against the door frame and allowed her gaze to drift over him. She was dressed in a mid-waist black ankle length skirt and wore a black tunic shirt. Her hair fell around her shoulders in loose ringlets, pinned at the nape of her neck. Her lips were pursed slightly causing small wrinkles to appear around her cheeks.

"Mornin' Pol." Thomas smiled up at her, lifting his piercing blue eyes from the newspaper.

She took a few steps into the room and sat down on the nearby sofa. "I've just sent Finn out to play. How are you feelin' today Thomas?" she asked, cautiously.

He eyed her warily. He knew what she was getting at. For the past few weeks, his normally pleasant manner had been recently replaced by sadness and melancholy following Greta's death. For three months, he had held her hand, refusing to leave her bedside until she had finally succumbed to consumption. Greta Jurossi had been his first love. His first experience of true love and losing her had been one of the most difficult things he had ever had to deal with, almost as difficult as the pain of losing his mother. His heart had been broken into a thousand pieces following her death and there were days where he didn't think he would be able to get out of bed. He spent a lot of time down at the cut, reminiscing about their time together. Thinking about the nights when she would sneak off to meet him. They had been young, but not so young that they didn't understand how they felt about each other. She had only been nineteen when she died. The thought made him shudder. It was no age at all. It wasn't right that someone so young, could just die. He vividly remembered their trip to Blackpool. Having taken the train, they had arrived in the seaside village one warm afternoon and spent the rest of the day wandering hand in hand along the long promenade. The Tower had been the highlight for Thomas, having only been opened twenty years earlier, it had been a sight to behold, bringing a touch of Paris to the west coast of England. They spent a lustful night in a local hotel before spending the next afternoon exploring the town on the state of the art tramway, wandering along the North Pier and screaming wildly as they enjoyed Sir Hiram Maxims Captive Flying Machine at the fun filled, aptly named, Pleasure Beach. Thomas had been incredibly sad when their weekend had come to an end and the mood on the train ride home had been distinctly different from their journey there. Yet, looking back on it now, he was thankful they had that time together. He only wished now, that they'd had more time. More trips and more experiences together. He'd imagined her as being the one he would marry, the one who would bear his children, and the one he would grow old with. But now, he was alone again, and he wasn't quite sure how to deal with it.

"I'm fine, Pol." He finally answered her, pulling his cigarettes from the breast pocket of his dark grey suit jacket. He offered one to her which she accepted. Lighting both, he leaned back in his chair, allowing the newspaper to rest across the tops of his legs.

"We're all worried about you Thomas." Polly explained, taking a short drag of the cigarette.

"You needn't be." He batted off her concern like a tennis ball. "I think we all have more pressing concerns to deal with."

She nodded, understanding his worry of being drafted. He had visions of his role within Small Heath. His ambitions were evident, and he had set his sights on starting his own business, preferably keeping it within his family, but the death of Greta had put his plans on the backburner. Any talk of war and going to the front would likely scupper that further.

"What do you expect will happen?"

"Not sure, Pol. Not sure." He got to his feet and made his way through to the kitchen, lifting the warm teapot from the stove. Pouring out two cups, he headed back into the sitting room and handed Polly one, which she gratefully accepted. "I think we should be prepared. The sounds coming from the Commons indicate that our current Army numbers are not high enough compared to the enemy. They'll have to make up the numbers one way or another."

Polly nodded into her cup, saying nothing. The thought of her boys being sent to war was difficult to stomach. She took a drink, almost spluttering as a loud noise coming from the front door startled her. She looked up as John and Arthur came bustling rambunctiously into the room.

"Tom!" John rushed over to his older brother. "Have you seen this?"

Thomas looked up at the crumpled newspaper being held out under his nose. It was different from the one he had bought, yet the headline was similar in the message it conveyed. Nodding, Thomas took another drink.

"It isn't something to get excited about John." He muttered.

John scoffed, pulling the newspaper back and handing it over to Polly's outstretched hand. "Are you kiddin'? What could be more excitin'? We get to go and show these German bastards why we're called GREAT Britain." He stated, putting emphasis on the word 'great.' "We battle it out for a few months, kick their arses and come back to a hero's welcome!"

Shaking his head, Tommy got to his feet and made his way back to the front door. He placed his hand on the handle and gently pulled it open. Looking back at his family, he buttoned up his suit jacket. "I'm glad you think it will be that easy, brother."

October 31 1914

Halloween was usually such a joyful night for the children of West London. The local schools would decorate the iron gates in bunting and place pumpkins along the pathways which led up to the entrances and parents would help their children make terrifying masks out of papier-mache. But as Emily King paced the winding streets on her way to Hammersmith Hospital, she couldn't help but notice how eerily quiet the streets were. She kept her eyes down as she walked along Barlby Road, the large, brick building coming into view up ahead. She had spent the last two years of her life here as a nurse and loved every minute of it. She thrived on the fact that she never knew what would be coming through the door next. Since the war had begun, Emily had an inkling that her workload would likely increase with potential casualties. Unlike her peers, she struggled to see the romance behind the conflict and couldn't buy into the premise that the war would be over by Christmas. The reports being fed back through the newspapers seemed unrealistic and she promised herself she would not be taken in by the propaganda. As she reached the main door, she loosened her long coat and made her way inside.

Despite it being only six thirty in the morning, the hospital entrance was already overcrowded with people. Emily took a few moments to gather her thoughts before making her way across the mosaic tiled floor towards the main staircase. Taking the steps quickly, she made her way towards her designated ward and into the nearby nurses station. Pulling off her coat, she quickly hung it up before pinning her crisp white nurses cap firmly into place, tucking any loose strands of hair away. She glanced up at the small mirror in front of her and studied it slightly. Her hair was dark, almost ebony, almost unnatural for someone so English. Her sallow skin was dusted with light freckles across her cheekbones and nose and her eyes looked almost grey to the naked eye, but when you looked very closely, shades of blue and light greens dotted themselves around the irises. She had been an unusual sight, particularly when she was at school. She had been surrounded by mostly blond haired children growing up and her mother had worried that she would have been a target for mean comments and ridicule, but yet, the children were fascinated by her. Following their many questions, Emily had gone home to her mother and questioned her ancestry, trying to make sense of her different appearance. They had a long discussion about her father and his roots and she was amazed to find out that her grandparents had been Italian immigrants, resulting in her almost exotic appearance. Smiling briefly at the thought, Emily dropped her eyes down and straightened her uniform before making her way into the ward, smiling at her colleagues as she began her rounds.

"Good Morning Miss King."

The friendly voice greeted her as she stepped into the ward, taking her steps quietly as she noted many of her patients were still asleep. She hated this time of the morning. She almost felt guilty for forcing people from their slumber, but the matron would not hear of anyone still asleep past eight a.m.

"Good morning Mrs Brown." Emily stifled a yawn, pushing past the tiredness that plagued her. Ever since the war effort had begun, she had struggled to sleep at night. Slowly, she had begun to see patients appearing at the hospital who had been injured in the conflict. The numbers had been slow and steady so far, given that many would likely be treated at makeshift hospitals on the front, but on occasion, some would find their way back to England for treatment. The visions of these men haunted her at night, but she pushed through, trying to remind herself this was exactly the reason why she chose a career in medicine. She wanted to help people and despite all her efforts here, she wanted to do more. "Did you sleep well?"

"As well as you can in here I suppose, dear."

Mrs Ethel Brown was an ageing woman. Picking up the chart which hung at the bottom of her bed, Emily glanced over it, taking in any changes to the Doctors instructions from the day before. It wasn't usual for any changes to be made overnight, but Emily had been caught out before, and as a result, had received a stern telling off from the on-duty Doctor for not noticing a change to the frequency of the patients medication. That night, she had gone home and cried into her pillow, having never felt so humiliated in her life. She had only been nineteen at the time, still young and naive, but yet, he had treated her with utter contempt, as if she had done it on purpose. Ever since then, Emily meticulously studied patients charts on a daily basis. She noted that Mrs Brown was sixty-seven years old, a stellar age to get to in those times, but Emily could tell by the woman's shoes and clothes which were kept nearby, that she was fairly well off. Whenever her husband came to visit, he would bring grapes, a fairly expensive luxury and one that Emily was thankful for, as Mrs Brown often offered out a couple to her as she was doing her rounds. As much as she enjoyed her company, Emily couldn't help but feel concerned at the woman's fate. Tuberculosis had caused her to be kept in hospital for some time now, and Emily had seen more than enough cases of this to know it wasn't easy to fight. She prayed every night for the quick recovery of the patients she tended to, but she wasn't stupid enough to believe they would all survive. Pushing the dark thoughts from her mind, she plastered a smile on her face and continued making her way around her patients.

December 22 1914

'Over by Christmas' Tommy scoffed as he thought back over the broken promises and assumptions that had been made over the last few months. Christmas was quickly approaching, and Tommy knew he would be expected at Polly's for lunch. Honestly, he could think of another million things he would rather do. It was the first Christmas he would be spending without Greta, and the pain of that was difficult to bear. But given that, he knew it wouldn't be worth the hassle not to go. Polly would no doubt hunt him down and insist he spent time with the family. Anything to keep his mind off past memories and current concerns. It was clear to him that despite everyone's assurances, the battles being fought abroad were escalating, not reducing. There had been talk of a potential truce being called and he had heard reports of Pope Benedict pleading for the fighting to end, but yet, nothing seemed to make a difference. The queues at the war offices across the city ran for miles and the brothers had already signed up. John was determined that he would have some involvement, however small. Thomas and Arthur, however, were not as keen but recognised that it may be better to sign up voluntarily as no one could guarantee that men wouldn't be forced to the Front. Several men from the area had already been sent to France and from the letters which were coming back to local families, Thomas could tell the experiences were nothing like what was being reported in the press. Mothers wept on the street at the news of trench warfare which began to dominate the Western Front and they cried out for their young sons, husbands, brothers and fathers who were currently stationed there. Thomas stood from the small wooden chair he was sitting in and made his way over to the fireplace. Leaning against the ledge, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Nothing could push the images from his mind and he wondered how he was going to handle the inevitable. Making moves across the room, he reached the side table and lifted a small upturned glass. He set it the right way up and lifted a nearby whisky bottle. Glancing up at the clock on the fire surround, he noted it was only one p.m. Not being one to drink so early, he winced as he poured the amber liquid into the glass and threw it to the back of his throat.