Wildflowers In The Ruins: A 1917 Story

Chapter Ten. Bluebells

Saturday April 7th, 1917:

The morning air had a starkness and clarity to it as I embarked past the tents towards the main track. It felt as though the incessant downpour of yesterday evening had cleansed the atmosphere, leaving a fresh scent of earth intermingled with rain.

Walking purposefully yet as stealthily as I could manage, I'd decided... I was to follow the river upstream, which would feel safer and more discreet than the road, to the Second Devons. Approximately two miles should take around 35 minutes. After a while I'd eat what was in my kit bag from yesterday as I'd not had chance to even check the untouched edible items yet. My canteen still held the milk Will had poured in yesterday. Around a third was left as I'd gulped it down during stolen moments of a few seconds at a time on my shift last night. With every sip, I'd remembered his strong yet caring hands pouring it out of the milk bucket. It may have curdled by now but at least there was food. My plan was to search for Will then return in time for my shift, knowing today could well be the longest, (and not the shortest I prayed), in my life. With the likelihood I wouldn't find him today, I'd return tomorrow and every morning following, leaving no stone unturned, asking after him.
I had to find him.
With every breath in my body, I had to know if he was alright.

My first hurdle came in the way of the sentry on duty as he appeared sharply from my right peripheral vision, merging camouflaged from a tree and striding purposefully towards me. Stopping dead in my tracks, downcasting my eyes and gulping, I then heard the unusually high voice, "nurse! Why are you out here?"
Looking up, my eyes met those of a worried, soft face that looked seventeen at the most. The guard was built like a barn door, but I just knew he was underage.
"I needed some air... fresh air, near the river," I told him, being careful with my wording not to lie.
He just stared at me with his wide-set grey eyes, before finally responding: "as long as that's all you're doing?"
"Yes, fresh air will help me with my duties," my logical voice replied.
"Yeah, okay. Just watch how you go though nurse. If anyfink' happens, I can't leave this spot, yeah?"
His words sparked a panic, yet I glanced towards the woodland. It aluded calm and unassumingness.
"Be honest, are there hun soldiers likely around," I asked him, my voice begining to waver.
The young private snorted with laugher in a sound which blatantly gave away his age, then smirked whilst simultaneously sticking his bayonet with force into the soft ground to prove his point: "not likely nurse if I'm bein' honest. Flushed 'em out weeks ago. Mind 'yer step though now."
"Thank you," I told him with a quick nod of my head and continued towards the woodland, beconing me nearer towards my beloved William with each determined step.

The track veered to my right, out of the camp towards the main road. Here, I proceeded onto the grass and diagonally to the right, ascending a gentle hill and hoping the river was just sitting gently on the other side.
Reaching the top, the telltale noise of rushing water gladly drifted into my ears. Turning, my view of the camp stretched out into the distance. A layer of small khaki tents, then sheds, before the larger, white hospital ones. Then purely mud and gravel overbrushed with the white chalk of the earth stretching out onto the horizon to meet the dawn.
The Newfoundland's trenches.

Carefully making my way down to the riverbank it struck my very inner core just how delightfully peaceful it was. The good-morning tunes of a myriad of birds sang unusually yet brightly above my head as the flowing water over pale rocks became more still, almost to the point of a mill pool. It worked it's way downstream whilst I was embarking upstream towards the Devons. However, with each step that took me further away from the safety of the camp,  my uncertainty grew like weeds around a stone grave.  Picking my way over moss-cloaked boulders, I constantly felt on edge, my head and eyes relentlessly praying for no Germans.
"Dear God,
Please guide and protect me on this journey.
Give me the energy and determination to find Will.
May he be safe and well.
Amen."
After around twenty minutes I halted to sit on a soft patch of grass, obscured under the roots of a sycamore tree overhanging the river. Leaning back against it's sturdy trunk, I opened my kit bag to examine the food.