fork pierced his arm. Charles lay screaming as blood began oozing out, trickling down his arm.
‘What have you done? You idiot!’ Thomas screamed.
‘Don’t you come at me. I will go for you too. You are not going to call me a baby anymore!’ yelled Billy.
‘C’mon Thomas, we will go get the doc. Billy, Billy, please, please put the fork down! Liz and Henry stay with Charles and Billy,’ George ordered.
‘What happened? Just mucking around and we all got a bit carried away. No one is hurt.’
‘Hmmm. Billy, are you alright?’
‘Yes. I am alright’.
‘No need to mention this to mum and dad,’ George replied.
‘One of those things that just happens, heh? Stop by next week Charles and I will give the arm a once over.’
It was 1914 and sheep and wheat prices in the country were down. Things looked dismal for farming. But, that is a farmer’s lot, going with the highs and lows of prices. Charles, Thomas and Henry had married local girls and were busy setting up their own farms with help from mum and dad. Lizzy married into the wealthy Woodbridge family. George was now a train driver and had moved to Perth.
The suitcase waited patiently next to the figure of a handsome young man with glasses. A young face, a kind face. It was a sunny day. The mood was somber and foreboding. The station looked like it was waiting for a funeral procession. Not for the dead but for the living.
‘The train will be here in 5 minutes’. Billy looked at his feet as he spoke.
‘Billy, Billy... uh, I – I – I just want to say... now I can’t get my words out,’ Gladys whispered.
Tears began to roll down her weathered cheeks. Years of farming had embedded character lines and the tears collected in the little crevices. ‘I didn’t think YOU would be one to leave home. You’re my baby. Here, take this and read it everyday.’ A worn leather book was pressed into Billy’s hand. She wept. She pulled a letter from her bag. ‘From George.’ Clarence gently placed his arm around her waist.
‘Son...Son...’
‘Billy. Come back Billy,’ interrupted Lizzy. ‘Here, I made this for you, with your name on it.’ Lizzie was crying. Billy opened the gentle wrapper and revealed a beautiful silk white hanky, embroidered with a ‘B’.
The haunting whistle of the train grew louder. His brothers came together and they in turn said nothing but shook his hand. Charles shook his hand. ‘Come back soon young Billy,’ he said.
‘All aboard.’Billy looked back and saw them all waving. They stood as one, waving and crying. His mother and Lizzy sobbed, as they stood helpless. He opened the letter.
‘Dearest Billy,
Not much time to write. Come back soon. I will take you on a train ride when you come back.
Take care, young Billy.
Fondest regards
George.’
‘Private Edwards, get over here now. You’re on this boat, now get a move on!’ A rough looking man was yelling at Billy.
Billy raced up the plank. He had never been on a boat before. He was sick the entire journey.
‘Why are you here soldier? You haven’t seen fighting yet and already you’re sick! roared the rough looking man with laughter.
The rough looking man was Sergeant Williams. Tall and strong, he reminded Billy of Charles.
Billy’s face went red. He didn’t feel well at all. He hated being laughed at more than feeling ill.
He opened he book and started reading. ‘The lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.
‘What you reading?’
‘The psalms.’
“What the hell are the palms?’
‘Psalms, not palms. Haven’t you heard of Psalm 23, in the Bible. The Lord is my shepherd?’ Billy paused.
‘Oh, you mean the good book. Only in Sunday school once. I never took much notice of that stuff. Probably need to think about it now, since we in this awful place,’ the young soldier casually replied.
‘The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He makes me to lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the still waters.
He restores my soul; He leads me in the paths of righteousness For His name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; For You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me…’
Billy heard the echo of his own voice as the air stood silent and the mood eerie. The melodic tones of his voice wafted over the waves. ‘I like that one. Read that over me if I don’t make it, will you Private Billy Edwards?’ the young soldier said.
‘Yes,’ Billy whispered. ‘Yes, I will…yes I will.’
‘Get ready to land. Remember, keep your head down and run as fast as you can to the dunes, where you will be safe. Good luck!’ Sergeant Williams said.
Within minutes the boat opened up and the men ran frenzied towards the dunes. Billy was scared, crying and screaming through the shower of bullets. Soldiers were being mowed down like ducks in a shooting range. He had never seen so much blood. Charles had oozed blood, but this was everywhere. Body parts lay in the water. Dazed and sick, Billy ran as fast as he could, shooting at anything that moved on the beach. An eternity came, gunfire, men screaming, deafening noise he had not heard before and just as madly as it had started, it stopped.
‘Help me, heeeeelp me,’ came the agonising cries from solders with tangled limbs, writhing and convulsing on the beach. A young man ran from the dunes to the beach to help and was mowed down. This was not as he imagined. This was his destiny. Billy was scared. Billy was angry. He grabbed Lizzy’s hanky, tied it to the end of his rifle, stood up and ran towards the cries for help, waving the rifle, hoping for mercy. Sergeant Williams yelled at him. ‘Private Edwards, get down now!’ he screamed.
Billy quickly moved in between the bodies. Not one shot. He kept his rifle with the hanky in the air. He pulled out his bible and stated praying and reading as fast as he could. The young soldier lay dead. Slowly, Billy started reading the Lord’s Prayer. He then removed the young man’s tags, from his body, held his rifle up and ran as fast as he could back to the beach. It was a moment suspended in time. The enemy, the vanquished, the victor came together as one, to remember one soldier.
As he reached the dunes, Sergent Williams said to him in a low but threatening tone.
‘Private Edwards.’ The words would not come. ‘Get over there and pray for the wounded...NOW!!!’ he barked. Stupid kid, he thought.
‘Pray with me, pray for me,’ a nameless solider cried.
‘Over here. Pray with me.’
Billy started reading;
‘Greater love has no man, than he lay down his life for him’.
No bravery, no glory, but this was his destiny.
The End
About the Author
Lynn Wade works full time in developing programs that promote and build vibrant communities. This short excerpt is a work in progress. The story is loosely based on Lynn’s maternal grandfather, from stories passed down through family. Lynn’s passion is history, reading and sport (watching and participating). Lynn will be attempting more works in the future, in between work, studying and family commitments.
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