5 Months on the Western Front

Chapter 1

Routines go on for a lifetime. Every day, doing the same thing, it never changes and it never ends. Each morning, I am woken at dawn's feeble light by my older sister, Joy, as she greets me with the words, "Good morning Cecil.". Always that phrase, the first thing I've heard every morning for the past three years, and I will surely continue to hear it until I finally leave home. As the Sun rises above the horizon, together we feed first the pigs and then the chickens, normally in a contented silence; it's nice, the peaceful moments we spend together as the day begins, sometimes I worry that I do not make enough time for her, but more often than not there is no spare time to make. The day passes in much the same manner as it begins, helping our mother on the farm and around the village- but the mornings are by far my favourite.

Things used to be so much easier on the farm, when Father and Ed were still here to help us at least; things were happier, our lives more successful and easy. We ought to have known then that it was too good to be true, that it would never last the way it was. That was four years ago, and it would be all too accurate to say that things didn't quite turn out the way we envisioned them. The war began in the summer of 1914, for a while it had meant nothing to us; we lived in rural Devon, why should it? But over time, it reached everyone, no matter how well they tried to hide from it, it enveloped them like an evil fog.

For an early morning in June, the weather was almost too predictable; a thick mist rolling down from the hills, bringing cold air with it to the areas that lay as yet untouched by the rising sun. Dawn had become so early that the night seemed almost non-existent, in truth it felt like only a few hours ago, that I had fallen, exhausted, into bed. Joy was similarly tired, wiping at her eyes and yawning with every few steps. Forcing a weak smile, she held the door open for me, stepping back to allow me past before following behind. Mornings had never been a popular concept with my sweet sister, in all nineteen years of her life, they had continued to be a source of irritation to her. Even so, the time spent with her whilst the day was still young were the best we had together.

"Cecil, leave the poor chicken alone." Joy sighed at me, a look of exasperation flickering over her face as I aimed a gentle kick at a passing hen.

"Sorry." I muttered, barely stifling the yawns between the letters. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched the chicken waddle back across the yard away from us, back towards the coop where it ought to have been. The mud outside was nearly ankle deep in some places, the result of the heavy summer rains that we'd been victim to over the past few weeks. On several occasions, I felt my feet sinking into the unstable ground as we made our way towards the pig pen. I followed Joy over the gate into the enclosure, taking the bucket of leftovers from her as the area became a flurry of activity. Keeping the two pigs was an idea originally fashioned by my father, a valuable addition to the home, and what would eventually open the gate to our small-scale farming business.

"Cecil?" My sister tapped me on the shoulder, moving to grab my hand as I turned to face her. She looked up at the sky, where the rising sun lit it up in a vivid display of bright colour, "Can you run down into the village for me, fetch the post early before she wakes up?" I didn't have to ask, it was obvious what she was asking. Once every week, the latest postal update would arrive in the village; and it would be flocked as people desperately searched for any news of the loved ones. I would always run down to the post office early, to escape the rush and get the news, if any, as soon as possible. Neither Joy nor Mother ever had the heart to see if any messages had been delivered for us, but we would read the newspaper together every time, waiting for any news of what was happening out there. No-one would say it aloud, but we dreaded nothing more than one day receiving a telegram, or even just a letter, containing the words that would tear us apart entirely.

I couldn't help but stumble over my words as I next went to speak, the lines I had spent so long rehearsing in my head failing me as they tried to pass my lips. The small speech I had prepared for the situation seeming suddenly useless in the face of saying it aloud. So instead, I just stood there, my mouth opening and closing like a goldfish as nothing in the madness that swirled in my head had the common decency to get itself said. Joy faced me, placing the bucket at her feet as she watched me with a bemused expression on her face. A heavy silence filled the air between us, punctuated only by the snuffling of the pigs below us.

"Are you quite alright Cecil?" She asked after a moment, and I could hear the barely concealed laughter in her otherwise calm tone, "Or perhaps you've taken up catching flies as a new hobby?" I violently shook my head, glaring at her from beneath my eyebrows as I felt a shining blush light up my cheeks.

"I didn't know how to tell you." I muttered, desperately attempting to cling to my last shred of dignity as it threatened to flit away in the cold breeze, "I brought a newspaper yesterday, picked it up when I came back from the grocers." Her smile had disappeared in seconds, and fear replaced her expression, "Nothing bad." I added hastily, looking down to my feet rather than meet the gaze of her wide, fearful eyes, "Well not much." I admitted softly, "I'm getting angry Joy." I muttered, the afore mentioned planned explanation disappearing from my head entirely, "About the fighting, on the Front that is. The filthy Germans are pushing our armies further back each day, they're desperate for more men, and I can do nothing except sit back and watch."

"Cecil, no." Joy's voice was barely above a whisper, as she last understood what it was I had been attempting to tell her, "Cecil, you are fourteen years old, I will not permit you to go stomping over to-"

"So, what does that have to do with it?" I interrupted, feeling the glare overpower my facial features as she fixed her hands on her hips, "Charlie went last week, the butcher's boy, he was only fourteen too."

"Cecil, he was," Uncertainty filled her voice as she trailed off, unable to think of a proper way with which to continue, "He had just turned fifteen, and he was an idiot. Anyway," I noted the slight raise of her eyebrows and found myself predicting her next words even before they had left her lips, "What would Mother think? It would break her heart to see you leave her too."

"You can't talk me out of this." On the verge of shouting, I drew myself up to my full height (though it remained rather unimpressive against that of my taller sibling), speaking as calmly and as clearly as I could manage. She didn't understand, she knew I wasn't joking, but still didn't take me seriously, acting as though I was just being spontaneous and childish, "I'm heading down to the recruitment office tomorrow."

"But you'll at least tell Mother?" Joy sighed, her shoulders slumping, and I knew then that I had won the argument. Slowly and carefully, I shook my head, unable to stop the impulsive glance back towards the house and the upstairs window of our mother's room, "You want me to tell her?" That time, her voice had instead been filled with disbelief, but I could feel the bitterness of the barely concealed anger bubbling beneath it. My response was considerably hushed, as though I held some sort of internal belief that that could possibly improve the reaction I would receive from it. Perhaps it would suffice to say; that it didn't.

For a brief moment, I was convinced she was about to start screaming at me, her fists were clenched and eyes dark in anger. I opened my mouth to apologise, but when she held up a hand and took a slow breath, I knew it would be best to fall silent.

"Cecil." She sighed, looking down at me with a stern, disapproving expression that reminded me far too much of the face our mother pulled before she got really angry, "I won't attempt to stop you from going, you're more stubborn than any ox once you get an idea into your head, but know this: when Mother wakes in the morning to find you gone, I will tell her everything I know of the truth and you'll have to deal with whatever consequences arise. Are we in agreement little brother?" It would have been awfully unwise of me to disagree, so I didn't. Almost as quickly as the tension had first arisen in the air between us, it began to seep away and was very soon gone.

The day continued the way they always did, but I could feel the weight of the thoughts in my sister's head around her like a mist every time she refused to meet my gaze. But what other choice was there? I would never have stayed long anyway.