Loose Lips Sink Ships

October 6th 1914

A crowd of exuding, sweaty perturbed men swarmed the cobbled street of London. Queuing impatiently outside a bijou building, awaiting their chance to enlist in the British army. And with it the promise of approbation, honour and Glory. The lies fed spoonful by spoonful into the minds of the impressionable young men desperate for praise and to feel useful, these were the men that qued outside.

Not too far from the front stood Wyatt, Leighton and three other men. One was of huge proportions, his large body outweighed that of his small head, on which sat a small brush of thick dark hair across his top lip, his hair was greasily swept to one side and he dressed in a shabby white shirt, carelessly tucked into a pair pants; held up by sooty suspenders run down with a single red stripe. The men referred to him as "Tommy the Tommy."
The reason for the nickname was far from that of him being English through and through, but just that he was Italian and his real name; Tolomeo Sciacchivano, was ridiculously long and virtually impossible to remember.
The irony was that Tommy was far from British, in fact, he detested British culture, coming from a long line of Italian Opera singers and Actors.

Bert was stood contentedly beside Wyatt, the two oddly similar in many ways from their fine single-breasted jackets to their oxford brogues and their proud, confident stance. Bert and Wyatt had been childhood friends, both coming from families of material they were often acquainted at parties and dinners.

"Here we go, boys!" The last boy shouted, if it wasn't clear by his heavy Irish accent, This was Leightons younger brother, Charlie.
"The hun are gonna get what's coming to 'em" He continued, shouting over the crowd of deep, brisk voices.

"When I Charlie Stafford reach the enemy soil, you'll see, those boys will be on their knees when they see me."

"Yes Charlie, of course, I suppose they will be on their knees" Wyatt added, the men began to giggle whilst charlie's cheeks grew rapidly red.

"How do you mean?" He queried.

"What he means little charlie" Bert responded...

"Is that they are going to need a bloody magnifying glass if they want to see you."

A tumultuous roar of laughter filled the air, as it grew so did the current of blood gushing to the front of charlie's pasty white cheeks.
Leighton stepped forward and rubbed his brother's bright ball of hair atop his head, Charlie suddenly pushed his hand away and shot him a piercing look of annoyance.

"Leave the lad alone, t' is best not tease him or he'll punch you in the knee." The thunderous uproar of delight filled the air once more.

Charlie sulkily moved behind his brother hoping he could hide the betrayal his body had done him in revealing his embarrassment.

"Does your mother no he's here Leighton?" Tommy asked.

"Sure does," he replied.

"The old lady encouraged the eejit, reckons the army rejecting him might knock some sense into that piddly brain of his" They continued to chuckle.

Leighton continued "The lads too young, doesn't know what's good for him, even if it flew by and smacked him in the face. He's barely made it to 17 and already he has a bleeding death wish."

"I can hear you know!" Charlie pushed forward and playfully punched his brother's arm.

Minutes passed and with it, the sun grew heavy and closer, the conversation grew short and excitement and anticipation had turned to nerves. Tommy began to sing vehemently in Italian, attempting to fill the silence. A group of young veteran nurses walked by, their lips rouge and hair tied neatly by a white nurse's cap, they looked at Tommy as he sang and began to quicken their pace staring at him as though he were some outlandish creature.