As I Lay Dying

Twenty six

1918

When we arrived back to the trenches 6 months ago we noticed many differences. Or perhaps it was always the same but our time away heightened it.

The first, and perhaps most pronounced for us, is that we arrived to find noticeably depleted, war-weary men who looked years older than they actually were. Men like myself, who had fought too hard and too long. English, French, Scottish.. All shared the same weary, battle hardened demeanour, fighting constantly with no end in sight.

This changed slightly with the arrival of the American soldiers. Although they entered the war last year and fought in the sea and air, we met our first ground troops earlier this year when our small, ruined battalion joined them. It was like an injection of energy. They are fresh and ready to fight.

They speak with a strange accent. They're very friendly, in fact their outgoing familiarity with strangers makes them seem even more different to us. When we first met them, weary, battle ruined and exhausted, many of they to glow with a healthy vitality. They seemed so full of life.

Jimmy is fascinated by them, a wonder that's returned by our small group of them. They can barely understand a word of his thick Yorkshire accent but they seem to recognise a kindred cheerful spirit and he is, as always, popular.

Towards the beginning of this year it looked as through the Germans would win. It added further to our feelings of hopelessness. There's been a shift of late, although we only hear the news that filters down to us, it seems there is renewed hope. Germany's war offensive is falling apart. Several plans, political treaties and a lack of funding are hindering them at a higher level.

Not that it matters to us down here. While men in suits pace distant corridors, sign treaties and make plots; we're in the trenches in the same position as we have been for the past 4 years. Still wallowing in mud and blood, deafened by gunfire and living in hell. Their scheming, although no doubt more important than our lives,doesn't affect us daily. We're still trapped in hell and it's hard to see beyond that.

It's the same mud walls. The same musky scent of wet bodies. The same dampness and fear. England was merely a dream, I feel that my life must always have been thus.

It's only, as I glance to the side now and catch the fearful eye of a young, new solider, that I'm reminded that there is a life outside these trenches.

A fat rat scuttles past my feet and I have an odd surreal moment. A vague memory of when rats were the thing I feared most in the world.

"You're a real hoot Jim." The voice travels loudly and I smile to myself as I turn the corner to find Jimmy laughing along with one of his new American friends. They're sharing a paper bag filled with sherbet lemons, heaven knows where it came from and I actually stop to stare at the exotic luxury. "Say it again." The American solider laughs.

"Sweeties." Jimmy grins as the solider laughs again.

"Sweeties. What the hell? It's candy." The solider grins, displaying a row of perfect teeth. "You Tommies, I swear." The man shakes his head with a laugh.

"Harry!" Jimmy grins and beckons me over to sit with them. "This is Joe."

I shake Joes hand and sit down opposite them. I'm reminded for a brief moment of the day Jimmy introduced me to Luke and I feel a pang at the memory. We never did find out if they caught him. I often think of him, I miss his humour and hardiness. Both me and Jimmy feel the loss of him keenly.

"I gotta head back." Joe stretches. He's nearly, but not quite, as big as Jimmy.

"I gotta head back." Jimmy mimics his accent and Joe laughs loudly, slapping him on the back before standing up and grabbing his gas mask and bag. We watch him round the corner as Jimmy hold out the bag of sweets to me.