Enjoy, enjoy, enjoy! I have skipped a little forward here as to not let the story drag. This is set in October 1914.
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Had he and I but met
By some old ancient inn,
We should have set us down to wet
Right many a nipperkin!
But ranged as infantry,
And staring face to face,
I shot at him as he at me,
And killed him in his place.
- Thomas Hardy
Jogging quickly across the dashed pebbles which littered the streets of London Sybil's breath came in long harsh gasps, she had just retreated early from a ball held by her Aunt, in her favour of course as it was the season. But Sybil did not care about the 'dashing' young fellows who fleeted by wishing to catch her eye. It was useless becasue she knew the man she truly loved was fighting across the sea.
Gwen had dragged her into the kitchen relaying news of the postal delivery - Sybil had asked the young maid to ask Joseph the postboy were her mail would be sent as she was living in London - it had turned out that it was taken to the local post office not a few yards from her Aunt's house. Therefore making her excuses she had run to the post office hoping to recieve the much anticipated letter from Branson.
''Hello,'' Sybil breathed as she staggered into the little shop. ''I am Sybil Crawley have you recieved any telegrams for me?'' She did not care if it was rude to ask so sternly. The little lady behind the counter gave her a brief smile ''I'll check for ya''' She toddled into the back and returned within a moment. ''We have recieved just one Ms. Crawley'' She handed it to Sybil, ''Will that be all?'' ''Yes.'' She grinned her face bright and beaming. ''Thankyou.''
She could not return to the party after making such a swift departure so finding a deserted bench under a low hanging tree Sybil sat down and opened the crumpled letter:
October 4th 1914
My Darling Sybil,
I write this in the trenches surrounded by men like me, In love, alone and young. Our letters are all censored from now on so it is pointless telling you where in the world I am. We went into the town yesterday which was a great experience, we were causing havoc and many men got into fights, it was a good night however all in all. Food is scarse and water is brown, but we get by on rice, we have no beds and shelter is for the captains. Some of my regiment say that the Germans are ready to invade the town we visited but I see it to be unlikely, they are already here what is the point?
As for the danger, well, I am a solider now, I recongnise no dangers. I shall be careful of course; not to be to brave and get myself killed. Mustard gas is by far the most feared weapon in these parts, I have seen what it does to men, blows faces apart and blinds them forever. I cannot go into detail of other things I have bare witness to, it would scare you to your death and we wouldn't want that would we. After all surviving is a matter of luck, were shrapnel falls of were the guns fire, so far we have lost 160 men is our regiment alone and most of them were shot for cowardice, awful thing to see, a poor lad crouched in the corner screaming and fitting into the murky slushy mud, the captain announces that if he does not sort himself out and face the guns like the brave men surrounding him, he shall be sent to the guards whom will shoot him in his place for disgracing his King and Country.
I am sorry to be rambling on about what is happening over here as I am sure you hear enough about it in the newspapers. How is everyone at Downton? You know, when I think about my life there it feels like a wonderful dream, or a brother whom had lived that life and is relaying it to me almost everyday. I cannot believe where we have come dear Sybil and my distance from you only makes me love you so much more. It makes me realise that we are strong enough to break down the barriers that make our love so wrong. I have never longed to see anyone as I much as I long to see you, your beautiful face, to touch your porcelain skin and to kiss your sweet lips.
Many men speak of there sweethearts whom await them back home, who write such heart felt letters expressing there dearest thoughts and feelings. However knowing this the men - when drunk of course - go into the whore houses and betray the women they spoke so fondly of. I find it such a waste. I asked a fellow comrade why the men betray their wives, Corporal Frankland he is called; he replied ''There's a war on chap, most of us won't be here when its over, might aswell make the most of the time we have left.'' I so hope he is wrong and that the war ends at christmas like the papers always say.
Sorry for the long letter, I'm sure you've probably stopped reading by now.
But know that I love you with all of my heart and that your love keeps me fighting everyday.
Yours forever and always,
Tom
Sybil let the tears fall down her to-pale cheeks and hit the browning paper just missing his sprall. Why had this to happen, why were young men dying and fighting for a lost cause? She only wished that the gastly war would end by christmas althought deep down she new it wasn't going to. Sybil surveyed the street before her, the sky was now dimming causing a morbid scene of people and bussling shops. Life had changed so much in these last few months. She had delved full speed into her nursing duties, trying to stop her mind from wandering back to the heart break she felt for her solider in the trenches.
She had arrived in London a little over 2 weeks ago, Dr Clarkson had insisted that she apply for a nursing job in the London Hospital which held mostly severely injured or dying soliders whom had come straight from the frontline, in her short time there Sybil had witnessed unimaginable horrors, some injuries were so catastrophic younger nurses were forced to vacate the room due to the bloody state or pungent smell. Sybil had looked passed the ill-fated men and strived to help them as best she could. Of course many had perished in her care but the main 'sister' had told her that this is bound to happen and to not fret over it.
Having sat down for far to long that the moon began to appear in the sky, Sybil vacated the bench and began her walk home. She thought of Tom so far away terrified, of Cousin Matthew and Mary, how they were fighting the same battle and loosing all the same. Tom's voice made its way into her head stating the words he had spoke -what seemed like- a million years ago.
''War is an awful thing but it must be done to keep you safe.''
Indeed the Great War - a phrase coined before it had even begun - was far from over.
Death was a constant companion to those on the frontline, Branson had witnessed as many as 50 deaths right in front of him, men, strong soliders dropping like flies due to the horrendous and poisonous conditions they lived in. The consent shell fire persisted through the night making sleep impossible, the enemy never stopped they shot a the pitifullest murmur of light, a candle or lighter would cause havoc. Talking was swept to a minimum as darkness fell, most men read or wrote letters at night.
''Corporal Branson'' spoke a comrade nearing to were the ex-chauffeur sat re-reading his letter from Sybil which had arrived only days ago.
''Hello, Private Murphy'' They had met on the boat crossing from England to France, he had been drawn by the man's strong Irish accent, the men spoke of Justice for Ireland and politics; this kept Tom as ease during the long journey. Although he hated to admit it he had grown fond of the young chap, a brother in arms.
''How ar' yah?'' Asked the Private resting again the dirty wall of the long and festurous trench. ''Bareing up'' Was all Tom could muster, he clung to Sybil's most recent letter as if it were his lifeline. ''Yeah, me too, saw Crompton go down yesterday some bloody hun shot 'im in the back just as we were retreating back here.'' The young lad shook his head in disgrace and looked up at the sky. ''Out here I wish to be spared o'course but if that isn't to be, then I wish to be killed cleanly, with a bull-'' SWEEEEE To fast for either of the soliders to notice a bullet raging from the enemy lines shot directly into the preaching man's head causing his limp body to fall gracefully into the mud pit below; his lingering phrase dancing in the wind.
Next one shall be up soon, not sure as to whether skip a few more months? Please tell me what you think, improvements maybe? Should I carry on? I tell you they are so fun to write! Thanks for reading! Reveiw! hehehee.