Hoping For Safety

The sound of shots and deep screams was everywhere. I studied the field, seeing nothing but men falling to the ground. For a moment I was glad for the smoke, which concealed some of the lifeless and unrecognizable bodies of my countrymen. I pulled myself up, not thinking, desperately trying to see if I could put any support on my injured leg. Realizing it was hopeless, I looked around frantically, searching for someone to help. Everything was in slow motion. I was exposed to enemy bullets, with no way of defending myself. My vision was blurred, the smoke had become too thick. I tripped over onto the dead winter grass. A mass of panic exploded from my heart and spread like fire as I heard the sound of a shot far too close to me...

I jolted awake and a scream erupted from me. My mind was racing, my breathing too quick. My heart began to slow down as I came to terms with my surroundings. The smell of the candle wax and hospital fumes soothed me. I could see Nurse McCale approaching me. It was alright, just another dream. I allowed my tensed body to relax into the pillows. Just another dream.

"Do you want a drink, Jack?" The nurse enquired, her ageing face lit by the oil lamp she carried.

"No I'm fine, just had a bad dream."

"Try not to think about it, I know it's hard." She wasn't referring to my nightmares, but to the days events. I was going to find out if I was to be sent back to the field or not. My stomach was in knots all week as I awaited the general's verdict. My medical reports were sent in, now it was out of my hands. I was terrified.

"Let me take a look at that leg." It was no longer broken, and the infection had gone down, but it was swollen and bruised and impossible to walk on. Still, the British army were desperate for more soldiers. I couldn't go back there, to the trenches. I couldn't.

The kind nurse bandaged my leg with fresh materials and left me to my thoughts.

Eventually, morning came and my fellow patients began to awaken. The damp January day somehow added to my anxiety. I sat around, listening to the meaningless conversation of the other boys in the ward. We mainly discussed sports teams and the 1912 Olympics. What else was there to say? The war was impossible to talk about, the present was unbearable and the future uncertain. We became content with the repetitive small talk.

At noon I was summoned to the doctor's office. A young nurse wheeled me there and left me alone with the old and stern man. The office was a small cabin set aside from the hospital wards. It was grim and bare, similar to the doctor's personality. He handed me a letter silently. It had the government's logo, a crown, stamped on the envelope. My fingers shook and I inhaled deeply as I realized this piece of paper was the difference between life and death for me. I tore it open suddenly and stared intensely at the page.

"...and after several examinations of the medical report of Soldier G347, Mr Jack Coyle, we came to the decision that the soldier is to be discharged and return to his place of residence in his hometown of Beatty and offer his services to the local hospital there. He is no longer fit for purpose in the front due to his leg injury. Mr Coyle should start his service at Beatty hospital no later than the second of February.

Yours faithfully,

General John Ross."

I can't describe the feeling in my stomach at that moment. I suppose it was just intense relief. I was a free spirit, never to be compelled to experience the front again. I was going home! Home to see my mother and my sisters. Home to stay there for good.