by Thomas Wood
“Harry knew the risks, he knew exactly what he was letting himself in for but you Norman, you did what you had to do, you tried to keep him alive, and that was far more than you were required to do so. I am sad that Harry has gone, but in war, some must die, while others live. It is those who die who are the heroes, but they do not have to live with the aftermath, the guilt and darkness that lurks within. They are the lucky ones.”
He downed his now lukewarm tea in one swift gulp, and I obligingly did the same. We sat for a few moments more, enjoying the company of each other, as if we both knew how each other’s mind was ticking.
“They put those trees in a few years ago now. Those ones lining the road,” he swung his arm wildly from left to right, just in case I wasn’t sure as to which road he was implying. “They dug great big holes in preparation for these things, and left them for about a week, letting them fill with rainwater and everything else that Mother Nature poured in.
“After a few days, I decided I would go out and inspect them and I pushed my hand right the way into the dirt. I put my VC in there. That tree right there, on the corner.”
I watched as a young boy, in shorts and a striped woollen vest came haring round the street corner, followed closely by his scabby-kneed friend.
“I thought it would be best that it was hidden, so that no one would ask me about it, and my failings came to light. And that’s where it’ll stay.” He got up chuckling to himself at the thought, “I wonder what the King would say…” he said as he retreated into the kitchen.
I left shortly after, retreating down the few steps of the house, taking an alternative route back to the train station. I stopped at the tree, and placed my arm on it. I held onto the tree for a moment or two. It had been many years since I had drawn one, or even paid this much attention to one. But as I did so, it seemed to empower me, encourage me, to the point where I felt like one day, maybe, my life would be normal again and that, there was a small possibility, if I was to make it through battle after battle, that I would be able to sit down with my pad and pencil once more, and begin to sketch out a dependable, solid tree for the first time in years. Maybe it would be this one, or maybe I’d head back out to France, and sketch that tree where Harfield had fallen or find one near to where I had been when Harry had been snatched from me.
Chuckling softly, I patted it, before pacing my way back to the station, starting my journey back to the regimental barracks.
I had done all I could. There was nothing more that I could have done to have saved Harry, he had known the risks, he had known what might have happened to him, and I had fought for him like he was my own son.
Harry was relinquished from his duties now, whereas I, as ever, was still a soldier.
The End.
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About the Author
Thomas Wood is the author of the ‘Gliders over Normandy’ book series, as well as the upcoming series surrounding Lieutenant Alfie Lewis, a young Royal Tank Regiment officer in 1940s France.
He posts regular updates on his website
www.ThomasWoodBooks.com
and is also contactable by email at [email protected]