Charles shook his head in disbelief, smiling nervously at the paper boy. Wiping the sweat from his brow with his sleeve, he whispered,
"Come on lad... they're joking, right? Even King George himself wouldn't want that."
"The guvvies don't joke around, mister. It's true and it's already happening! I wish I were old enough to join the army. Oh well, I'll wait 'till I'm an adult."
Running back to his stand in fear, Charles continued to sell his fruit and veg with the horrible thought in his head. War. It was guns, bombs, blood, explosions, chaos...no. Impossible. Britain was a peaceful country, wasn't it? Strong army, a great king, and a wonderful government. There was no way that Britain would go to war. Right?
"Charles? What's happened to you, hm? You're as pale as parchment."
Snapping out of his trance. Charles turned his head to look into the hazel eyes of the baker woman. Pulling on a straight face, he smiled and shook his head.
"Nothing, Ms Bennington."
A nervous smile appeared tugged at his lips, but the baker woman was unfazed.
"It's the war that's got you, hasn't it?"
Charles gave up and nodded solemnly, looking away.
"I didn't expect it, either. But it's only told to last for a few months. Crush the enemy and we'll all be safe. Don't worry about it. Now look, people are waiting for your selling."
Nodding, Charles turned to his own stall and continued to sell his produce.
YOU ARE READING
We All Go To Hell...
Ficción históricaCharles Rotherman is a young 19-year old man, just starting his job as a greengrocer in a busy market. Suddenly, his beloved city of London has gone to war, leaving his family vulnerable to the enemies. He is sent off to war, and made to fight in th...
