"GET UP LADS! C'MON!"
Early dawn.
We stir to consciousness, our hearts pounding in our heads and our voices silent.
We sneak out of our dorms and drag our heavy, exhausted bodies to the top deck.
Tom, Ned and I get lost in the hustle and bustle of orderlies and adrenaline that hangs in the heavy air.
"DROP THE LADDERS!"
The life boats lower into the mysterious water.
We watch in awe as the mist lifts and the cliff face reveals scrubby bushes and dusty ledges, lit by the lamps of our ships. The Turkish must not know we're here, because they haven't come to greet us.
"C'MON WE'VE GOTTA DO THIS QUICKLY FELLAS!"
30 men to every tiny wooden boat.
"Don't leave my side." Ned grabs my sleeve and drags me, my hat and my kit down the swaying ladders.
"Ned I'm scared." I mutter as he helps me into the boat beside Tom and himself.
"Me too mate." He pats my shoulder.
Our breath makes clouds as we adapt to the freezing air. We sit, shaking, our rifles between our legs and our kits secure on our backs. I close my eyes as we row closer and closer to the shore.
Australia.
Australia.
Australia.
Dear God, wish me luck.
I look down at my watch.
"10 past 4, far out, no wonder I'm tired." I yawn, and my comrades laugh.
We pray.
We joke.
We cry.
Those few minutes of fear, our the last few minutes of our youth.
But we don't know that yet.
The bloke to the right of me is almost hyperventilating. He's crying and his sleeve is wet. His head is almost between his knees he's that distraught.
Ned has his face in his hands, Tom is counting his rosary beads and I sit.
I sit and dwell on my former life.
The beautiful scenes of the evening that Echo Valley Station blessed me with every night of my childhood. The swirling reds and pinks that captivates Elsie, making her eyes light up.
The family we left behind. The pristine Alice and the anxious being of Arthur. Our strong mother and persistent father. Their innocent eyes free of all sights of war except perhaps a uniformed man.
"Alright gentlemen, when we hit the shore I want you to go hell for leather, tear onto that beach, drop your kit and make your way to the top, we shouldn't be too far behind you." Sergeant Williams explains, he rises to his feet and peers through the shifting fog.
His eyes dart to his watch.
He looks up at us all.
"Best of luck, and may god be with you." He says through clenched teeth.
"You stick beside me, okay?" Ned orders.
"Yeah, yeah, I won't leave ya mate." My teeth chatter as I speak.
"You too Tom." Ned gulps and Tom nods.
Our eyes stare as Sergeant Williams raises the whistle to his chapped lips and the air becomes thick with some ungodly substance.
The breath hitches in my throat.
The whistle pierces the silence.
I jump.
I find myself wading through freezing water, it sends chills down my arms as I hold my rifle above my head. Bombs shatter my ear drums and bullets hit the man beside me and he drops. The water laps at my chin and I feel my feet slip from beneath me.
"NED!" I scream, as my heavy kit drags me beneath the water. I splash and kick, trying to force my body to the surface.
This is it.
War turns boys into men into hero's.
So far, I haven't had time to breathe.
"CLANCY!" Ned's hand rips my head above the water, I gasp, drawing the gun power filled air, choking and spluttering.
"Get up, we've gotta move mate." Ned pushes me forward and I fall onto the sand. My fingers curl as I reach for my gun.
"UPWARDS BOYS TO THE TOP OF THE HILL!"
A voice echoes in our ears, and despite the racket of guns and machine gun fire, we hear it clear as day.
We push upwards, rolling our ankles on loose rocks and shaking from the cold morning, or is it from fear?
A bomb wakes me from my mission and the group in front of us are thrown to the ground, screaming and wailing.
Tom, Ned and I are still. One by one the four men fall silent. I look down at one of them, his face black and blood trickles from his blue lips. His burning arm reaches up, the fingers twitching with sudden exhaustion. He gasps and a gargle comes from his throat.
"Ned, Tom!" I fret, bending down to the man. "This ones still alive!"
"Leave him Clancy, he's not going to make it." Tom tells me grabbing my arm.
"I'm sorry!" I mouth the dying man I've met eyes with.
-
The afternoon comes quickly. We aren't entirely sure of our whereabouts, but we do know that we're sick and tired of digging.
"Far out, I could go for a beer." I wipe my brow and straighten my back.
"Here, here!" Dave agrees.
"They better have some sort of alcohol on this bloody beach, I'll be as dry as a bone." Tom says as he stretches.
"They reckon there's a whole store tent full of crates of medicinal Brandy, that'll be as close as we get." Ned explains, swigging at his canteen.
We continue our digging all through the night. We collapse in 7 foot deep trenches by 12 and sing songs and recite awful poetry till 3.
"Alright, Clancy its your go mate, take it away." Dave encourages.
"Okay, so," I take my place in front of the boys, sitting myself on the crate we'd dragged up.
"This one is a Dorothea Mackellar one, I think it's called Burning off, anyway here we go." I take a deep breath.
"They're burning off at the Rampadells, the tawny flames uprise, with greedy licking around the trees; the fierce breath sears our eyes. From cores already grown furnace-hot - the logs are well alight! We fling more wood where the flameless heart, is throbbing red and white. The fire bites deep in that beating heart, the creamy smoke-wreaths ooze, from cracks and knot-holes along the trunk, to melt in greys and blues. The young horned moon has gone from the sky, and night has settled down; a red glare shows from the Rampadells, grim as a burning town. Full seven fathoms above the rest, a tree stands, great and old, a red-hot column whence fly the sparks, one ceaseless shower of gold. All hail the king of the fire before, he sway and crack and crash, to earth - for surely tomorrow's sun, will see him white fine ash. The king in his robe of falling stars, no trace shall leave behind, and where he stood with his silent court, the wheat shall bow to the wind." As I recite the poem, I smell smoke, I hear the crackle of the fire and feel it's heat. As the boys clap, I think for a moment I'm imagining it but as I look around I see that I am surrounded by patches of glowing red flames.
YOU ARE READING
The Echo Of Youth
Historical Fiction"I didn't realise that I could miss something as much as I miss my innocence." It's 1914, the world is at war, and it's unlike anything anyone has seen before. The men of cities and country towns are leaving for a cause much bigger than they realis...
