Grandpa Jock's Great War - Part 1

BUMP!

The thud echoed across the living room and both Gorgeous George and Grandpa Jock bolted upright. The small boy’s heart was pounding as his grandfather raised one ginger eyebrow sadly, and pointed across at the wings of an angel spread across the window pane.

‘What was that, Grandpa?’

‘Did you get a fright? Come on, lad. Let’s go see the damage.’ Grandpa Jock rose from his saggy old armchair and went out into the garden. George marched behind him. In the garden, beneath the window, was the body of small, white bird. It lay perfectly still on the ground and its neck hung at a strange angle to its body.

‘Is it dead, Grandpa?’

‘Yes, lad. It must’ve broke its neck when it hit the window.’

‘Was it a dove, Grandpa?’ asked George, quietly.

‘Yes, George, I think so. Maybe a homing pigeon, they’re related and these days people use them for weddings. This one must’ve gotten lost. It’s just a young ‘un, a squeaker, I think they’re called.’

 Grandpa Jock gently picked up the fragile body and carried it down to the end of the garden. He asked George to fetch a spade, dug a deep hole in the earth and placed the dove at the bottom. Grandpa Jock paused for a moment with his eyes closed, before filling the hole with soil again. He put the spade back in the shed and trudged into the house without saying another word. George followed solemnly and took his usual seat on the sofa, opposite Grandpa Jock with legs outstretched.

The two sat in silence for an eternity, the thump on the window still vivid in their minds, until Grandpa Jock bent forward and lifted a small feather caught in the seam of his trousers. He held the feather up to the light, its downy white fluff fluttering between his fingers and he examined it closely.

His eyes began to harden, as he stared beyond the feather and out through the window, off into the distance of time and space, dreaming. Small clouds drifted by slowly against a brilliant blue sky, perhaps the brightness was hurting, as Grandpa Jock’s reddened.

‘Penny for your thoughts, Grandpa,’ said George, Grandpa Jock looked up, suddenly aware he was no longer alone.

‘Oh lad, my thoughts have cost me much more than a penny before now.’ Grandpa Jock sighed heavily and his whole body seemed to droop into the chair.

‘You look sad, Grandpa,’ said George. ‘Are you thinking about the bird?’

‘I’m not sad about the here and now, boy. I’m just thinking about then and there.’

‘When and where, Grandpa?’ asked George softly.

Grandpa Jock sat up and rested his elbows on his knees. He stared intently into the eyes of his young grandson and decided to share a much earlier time of his life.

‘I’m going to tell you a story, George. It’s not a funny story, it’s not meant to be. I know we usually like to lark around and have a good laugh but sometimes memories have a strange way of creeping up and biting you on the bum when you least expect it. I was thinking about the Great War.’

‘The Great War, Grandpa? Don’t you mean the First World War?’ asked George, picking up on Grandpa’s serious tone.

‘Yes,’ chuckled Grandpa Jock sadly. ‘At the time we didn’t know there was going to be a second one. We said it was the War to end all wars. But it wasn’t… far from it. And I’ll never understand why we never learned from it.

‘There’s nothing great about war,’ Grandpa Jock went on. ‘It’s just pain and blood and suffering and death. And the pain goes on long after the guns have stopped firing, often, for many years after.

‘I was just a lad, not much older than you are now....