Wildflowers In The Ruins: A 1917 Story

Chapter Nine. Crocuses

Friday April 6th, 1917:

"Private Ellis, can you drive any faster?" Captain Smith's words were laced with urgency.
"The accelerator's hitting the floor Sir," he called back, across me.
The other trucks zoomed ahead, the nearest ten feet away.
We were on a straight stretch of road, parallel with the canal and I noticed debris floating in the water... barrels, smashed planks of wood and a submerged barge, it's stern just protruding the water line.

All the while we heard shells and bullets gravitating from our left, across the canal. The proud Poplars bore the brunt, shielding us on our journey. One shell plummetted close overhead, landing in a meadow immediately to our right and reverberating with an almighty bang that sent harsh clods of earth and splinters of stones up through Ellis' window.
Closing my eyes as his understandable cussing continued, I prayed silently, hands gripping the seat underneath me:
"Dear Lord,
please protect William. Wherever he is right now, whatever he's needing to do, please protect him and keep him safe from the bullets and explosions. Please don't let him die! Even if he has to wait awhile until the coast is clear or take shelter somewhere.
Guide him Lord.
Guide us too, preserve and keep us safe to our destination and beyond.
In your name,
Amen."
My bare hands had turned white with force and when I finally let go of the seat, indentations from my finger nails marked the coarse fabric.

The back portion had become quiet now, the conversation halted as we all kept our wits about us. Eccoust was behind finally and we reached fields in a similar vein to the ones we'd journeyed through previously.

Two more farm buildings sprung up but rather than abandoned and looted, they were burned to the ground. Just blackened frames of a lifetime's work and a familiy's memories, oblitereated.
Comments piped up from the back sprinkled with swear words as we passed a bomb crater with a burned-out, flipped-over car poking out of the top. You couldn't even decipher what colour it had once been but by it's very size, it'd once been a highly prized vehicle belonging to someone, perhaps a family even, with some prestige.
Where were they now?
We're they even still living?

Thoughts inevitably drifted back to my Will. Feeling so thankful he'd told me his Christian name, I wondered where he was right now. Perhaps he'd snook through the ruins of the town, keeping in the shadows, or was biding his time hiding, waiting until darkness fell to continue onwards. Sliding my hand into my jacket pocket for my cross and mearly touching a dead daisy, petals curled in on themselves and begining to shed, I remembered Will had my cross now.

The road curved round to our left and after another half mile we came to the next bridge, a humpback stone construction.
The Colonel's car led the way, it's dove-grey cover now pulled over the twin seats, followed by our four matching trucks.
Rumbling over the bridge, which looked as if it'd survived several wars of past times, we then took a right before passing through a village of even more charred and barren homes.
Not a soul, not a creature was to be seen or heard anywhere on the ground below.
The entire settlement was eerie. I felt a sinister presence and creeping sense of death. Something in my heart told me I did not want Will coming across this place, if he was still living.
I hoped to God he was.

After a mile or so we made a left, journeying into a wooded area and rumbling parallel with a meandering river.
Turning to Captain Smith first and then Private Ellis, I asked hopefully, "is this Croisilles Wood?"
"Indeed, but we need to proceed further, around two more miles," answered Smith.
"Tell me, why would you ask if this is Croisilles Wood? Have you served here before Nurse Morgan?" he continued quizically.
Giving him a measured glance, I spoke from my heart," 'tis apparently close to where the Second Devons are stationed Sir, and where Lance Corporal Schofield has to deliver his message to Coronel Mackenzie calling off the attack tomorrow morning."
Captain Smith looked down,"Ah, of course."
After a few minutes he addressed me again, "Nurse Morgan, I can tell that although you may only be detachment, you're a proficient and pragmatic nurse. Just remember, there are patients out there who need you."
He patted me awkwardly on the hand, "you keep to your duties, and if it's meant to be, Lance Corporal Schofield will return to you safely. Now, chin up."
He must've seen our exchange by the bridge. However, that's all he said and I purely felt grateful there was no judgement.