As I Lay Dying

AN- Please read

Thank you so much for reading this story 💜

This story was a bit of a challenge for me... I had my very basic plot line and when I looked at it, I thought; 'There is no way I'll be able to write a story, or people will read a story where the two main romantic characters don't actually spend any present time together until the end."

However, I did and you've stuck with me until now so thank you ❤️

I've loved writing a story where the romance isn't present or growing, but more as a memory. It's been a challenge but I've truly enjoyed writing it.

Thank you for walking Harry and Evelyn's story along with me.
I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I loved writing it.

Also, just some facts on the war I would like to add...

In this story, Luke is shot for deserting. In real life, 306 men were shot for the same thing. They lived in horrific conditions that we can't imagine. Many hadn't even reached their 20th birthday. Almost all were suffering from what we would now recognise to be post traumatic shock disorder. The British government still hasn't pardoned them to this day and they are not recognised officially amongst those who lost their lives in the Great War and are not named on war memorials.

17 million died in World War One.

17 million human beings.

20 million more were wounded.

The youngest Brit to die was Private John Condon, who was 14 and died during a gas attack at Ypres. The youngest solider to fight on the side of the allies was recently turned 12 years old. Incredibly, the youngest recorded solider in WW1 was Momčilo Gavrić, a Serbian who joined the ranks at 8 years old.

In every single British graveyard we have very neatly kept war graves, always the same shape and white colour. To wander amongst them and see the ages of the young men who died is shocking and sobering. It always brings home what the reality of war actually was and what it must have meant for those who waited for them at home. To think it happened again just one generation later in WW2 is just unbelievable.

This story is dedicated to both sides.

Finally, this story was inspired by an elderly gentleman I met a few years ago. My Gran worked as a nurse in a residential home and I would go in on a Sunday and talk to the residents who lived there.
I'll never forget one gentleman who had fought in WW2. He was always the first resident I would seek out and we spend many long afternoons playing dominos, or with him teaching me chess (I hope he would be proud to know that after his patient tuition, I'm finally a fairly decent player!) we would spend every Sunday together drinking tea and eating cake sneakily away from the nurses watching eyes. I spent a couple of years anticipating every Sunday and when I would find him, always wearing a shirt and tie, waiting with his glass of brandy and chess board all set up for me to arrive.

As I later found out, he'd never really spoken to anyone about what he had seen or what had happened to him, so of course he didn't reveal much to me, who entered his full life at the very end of it. It certainly wasn't something we discussed, outside of him showing me his army cap and photos.

He always took the time to listen to me about my petty grievances, and since I've studied history and read about what he must have endured, it almost embarrasses me to think how he'd patiently listen to my small problems and give his gentle advice. Knowing what he went through at the same age as me with my school/college dramas is sobering and heartbreaking.
Yet he never once compared, or acted as though my silly problems were less than his. He never spoke about himself, his questions were always about me and my school work.

It's bizarre in a way to think that I'm here now but his life was lived and drawing to a close.

I remember he told me that he worried about the world, he didn't trust those in power and he was scared for the next generation after he'd gone and the possibility of another world war. In my ignorance I'd laughed him off, telling him that our generation would never allow that to happen.

Now I look and I wonder. I wish I'd asked him more about himself, I wish I'd taken the time to try and see the young man he once was. Now I'm older, I miss him greatly and wish Id had the wisdom to talk to him.

I think if he taught me anything, it's to listen to what the older generation have to say and teach us. I think we sometimes forget that elderly people have been young once. If there is one thing I've learnt from studying history, it's that the only way we progress as a society is to learn from it. I wish if taken the chance to learn from him and listened to what he tried to tell me.

I remember the night he died, I was strangely unsettled all night. I'm not a huge believer in the supernatural but something just didn't feel right all evening. I couldn't eat my evening meal and I felt odd all night. It wasn't until my gran called that I understood why. I couldn't bring myself to go to the nursing home ever again after that, I was upset for a long time.

Perhaps it was an odd friendship, a man in his 90s and a teenage girl, but it meant the world to both of us. I'm glad we got to touch each other's lives for that short while. I'm grateful for it.

Rest in peace
Private James Smith, my beloved friend.

Lest we forget.

Your sacrifice and bravery, your enormous kindness and generous patience to a girl who didn't understand your world was to great for words. Sleep in peace dear friend. This humble story is for you.