"Journal"
I awoke not aware of where I was. I believed I was dead since my last memory was of a shell exploding near me. Then I realized I was lying in a moving wagon and likely on my way to the army hospital.
But then the canvas on the back of the wagon opened and a large head poked through. The head said something to me in strange language a little like old Norse. Knowing something of old Norse I said a few words in reply. He didn't understand and seemed confused we couldn't communicate but not anymore than myself. Perhaps I had been captured by the enemy but he seemed rather pleasant in his manner.
A heavy woman, his wife I later learned, entered the wagon and cared for my wounds. I tried several languages on her such as French and German but only recieved the same puzzled look. She gave something for me to drink which was a bit like ale and honey mix. It quickly put me into a deep sleep.
I awoke for the second time in the same wagon still moving going to a place I knew not where. How could a field hospital be so far away? For I knew I had slept many hours. I heard the sounds of other wagons and horses and of men talking. Feeling much better than before, I rose from my make-shift bed to look out the back canvas. What I saw verified what I had heard. Yes, there were four or five wagons behind mine each pullled by two stout horses and a single driver for each wagon.
The wagons were of a very old make with wooden wheels and the men were dressed in leather breeches and a style of clothes not fashionable for many a century. "What are they, gypsies", I wondered. Certainly not like any gypsies I had ever seen or heard about, but who knows, maybe French gypsies differed from English ones.
Someone seeing me yelled something at which the caravan stopped and soon the woman who had previously attended me returned. Apparently she had been seated at the front of my wagon and started at once to attend to my quickly improving wounds. Once my eyes adjusted to the bright light of day I was astounded by what I saw. Expecting the war-torn countryside of northern France I was astonished to see a beautiful scene of green grass, towering trees and far off snow capped mountains. I noticed birds and flowers and most of all the lack of the sounds of modern warfare: shells exploding, machine guns and aeroplanes. How long had I slept and most importantly, where were we, Switzerland?
I was beginnig to believe I was being held captive by these people hoping for some kind of ransom. That would explain the kindly treatment, for a dead prisoner isn't worth much. I resovled to be as polite as possible in hopes their kindly treatment would continue. They seemed genuily interested in my welfare, they gave me drink, food and helped heal my wounds. they decied to take the oppotunity to rest and feed the horses and take a bit of food themselves. They opened up the canvas cover of the wagon, gathered around and begun asking indecipherable questions. Finally we all accepted the fact that I knew not of any thier languges and they knew not any of mine. With that understanding we begun to learn each other's names. From there I learned the names for horses, wagon, water and many others. With all due modesty I confees in a rare abilty of picking up languages as easily as children pick flowers. It's a gift I made much use of in my time spent in this wonderous land.
Eventually I caught on to what was going on. The wagons in this caravan were full of merchantdise and they were on their way to same city stopping at villiges on the way. They had found me laying on the side on the road, took pity on a nearly dead traveller. But I wasn't a traveller but a soldier fighting in the Great War. How I got to where I now was I still to this day, several years later, I cannot say and how I was able to return to England over two years later I don't know that either.
What I saw, what I experecined, what I learned I will tell all in this journal.
Dear Friends,
The journal continued for many more pages but my time was running short and I knew I had two more journals to read, so I stopped reading the first journal at this point. As you can deduce, the above journal entry is not a word for word transcription. It is simply the best my rather poor memory could do and so quite a few 21st century Americanism crept in. The original was beautifully written with a great more detail including marvelous illustrations.
As I said I had very little time with the journals. The one I fear most was due to return soon and if caught, I would not be here writing this. Remember amigos y amigas, hate evil; love the good.
Tim Overton
P.S.
The second journal was entilted "Second Journal", or something very similiar to that.
"Second Journal"
We went 'over the top' at precicsely 5:30 AM. I had ran no more than 20 yards when I tripped and fell into a shallow shell hole. I immediately rose to continue the charge but German machine gun fire kept me pin down. I had no chice but to stay put and wait. Strangely though I felt very sleepy and soon was asleep. Assuming you believe in dreams this is the dream I had , I don't believe in them anymore. I now believe dreams are more real than reality.
I awoke in a deep ravine. I raised my head still expecting to hear bullets whizzing by. But all was silence. I waited. I heard birds and knew I was safe, at least from fast flying bits of metal. I slowly stood up and looked around. Trees surrounded me and I felt I was in a thick forest.
I followed the ravine downwards to a steam. After several miles the stream emptied into a small river. I walked along the riverbank several more miles when I came to a village of several wooden houses. I knew I was back in land so I hailed a man standing near one of the houses in the common tongue. He called out to others that were about but I hadn't noticed before. His words differed slightly from the common tongue and eventually I realized they used a dialect I was unfamiliar with.
After some diffuculty I explained I was lost and need help. Evidently they took me for a spy due to my clothes and foriegn accent. They tied my hands and walked me to middle of the village. The leader said I should be taken to a town nearby and the authorities there can decide what to do with me. I was given food and drink and after a few minutes rest we began our trek.
Tyring my best to improve my language with this new dialect I attempted conversation with my gaurds. there were four of them and they didn't seem to be in a talkative mood. We walked all day and by nightfall we had just arrived at the town's gate. The leader of our troop said some words to the gatekeeper and in we went. The town perhaps had about three to four thousand people and was situated nicely on the river at the edge of the forest. In short order they led me to a guardhouse where I was locked up and given a cold supper.
The next afternoon I was brought in front of the town council. I understood most of what was being said and some of it was rather frightening. One younger man wanted the immediate end to my life. He pulled an axe off the wall but was stopped by three or four others. I felt it was mostly for show what he did. More arguing ensued until finally the leader of the council announced he had made his decision. I was again passed up the command chain. Another guard troop this time of seven or eight ensured I wouldn't run-off. It was a three days ride for we had horses to the capital city where resided the king.
Within several upon arriving to the city, I was pleading my case to the high court of the land. I explained a spy would not be dressed in a military uniform and especially one so outlandish as mine and that spies generally are fluent in the language of the country they spy on. With much further back and forth aguing amongst all, it was decided I would be assigned to clean the king's stables and continue as a stable hand. It could have been wose I thought.
As it turned out the couple of months I spent as a stable hand was the most enjoyable time I spent in Middle-Earth. The work wasn't very difficult and each night we'd get together with the other servants in the palace for dancing, singing and storytelling. I learned more history and local culture than any other time spent in Middle-Earth.
Dear Friends,
The journal continued for many more pages but as I have previuosly stated my time was running short and I knew I had one more journal to read, so I stopped reading the second journal at this point. I repeat as a reminder: as you can deduce, the above journal entry is not a word for word transcription. It is simply the best my rather poor memory could do and so quite a few 21st century Americanism crept in. The original was beautifully written with a great more detail including marvelous illustrations.
As I said I had very little time with the journals. The one I fear most was due to return soon and if caught, I would not be here writing this. Remember amigos y amigas, hate evil; love the good.
Tim Overton
P.S.
The third journal was entilted "Third Journal", or something very similiar to that.
"Third Journal"
I'm not sure how I went to Middle-Earth the third time. I was in hospital convalesing from trenchfoot when I was taken. I returned about a day later to very confused hospital staff. They demanded to know where I had gone. I made up some story that I wondered off during the night while walking in my sleep. They weren't sure to believe me or not but other than that one incident I was a model patient.
I arrived in Middle-Earth at the very end of an epoch I now call the Third Age. The free people of Middle-Earth had nearly become enslaved by an Evil Overlord. I learned the history of the Third Age from a fellow named Gandolf who was said to be a wizard. I interviewed many of the survivors who had played a critical part in the final victory over the Evil One. Someday I will write a book of all I have been taught in my three trips though I expect no one will believe a word of it.
As I have said I was in hospital and one evening I fell asleep around 10:30. I woke up to find myself for the third time in that wonderful land. Thankfully I was wearing clothes common to that time and place. I even had enough gold and silver inmy pockets to keep hunger away. I soon learned a great war had just ended giving defeat to the evil forces of that land. Everyone was in a joyful mood and glad to tell a stranger all what had happened and I was glad to hear it all even repeated many times til I had it locked in my memory.
Dear Friends,
The journal continued for many more pages but as I have previuosly stated my time was running short and the Evil One could return at anytime.
I wish I was able to copy the journals but that simply was not possible. Remember amigos y amigas, hate evil; love the good.
Tim Overton