The Mouth of Hell
John's Diary
Well, I'd like to say it's a pretty view from up here on the hills; looking down onto the valley- it's not. In fact, it's a horrifying sight. I actually gasped in shock when I saw the valley. The guns- oh the size of the guns! The masses of men- trudging around, covered from head to toe in mud; lice and just about anything- literally. Their faces are masked with fear, their spirits bleak and broken.
Far from the clean, cheery, noble heroes shown on the flyers back home. This is ridiculous, how could any of this be anything other than tragic?
I thought France was supposed to be picturesque. So much for a laid-back trip, we're getting thrown right in the deepest end here, I don't even know where we are- somewhere called the Somme, I think?
There's a few familiar faces here, at least. There's Craig Midland from next door, Bobby Nelson from the Smiddy and Hector Pollok from the farm. They all look so much older than me, I hope nobody notices that I'm only 17.
"Right boys, we're about to lie down with the dogs," Captain Kiern shouted down from his horse, of course referring to the Germans, "I don't care about getting up with fleas. So get stuck in there and give 'em what for, eh? For the Brits!"
Captain Keirn was wobbling around the place on his mount; and he had a rather quizical look on his face.
"Is he drunk?" Hector asked me, nudging me gently from behind.
I just shrugged and nodded at the Captain, saluting when he tipped his hat forward.
"I say, it's a fine morning. Shame about the circumstances- I'd have brought a picnic!" A lad next to me says.
It's nice to see that our spirits are still high.
Far from the clean, cheery, noble heroes shown on the flyers back home. This is ridiculous, how could any of this be anything other than tragic?
I thought France was supposed to be picturesque. So much for a laid-back trip, we're getting thrown right in the deepest end here, I don't even know where we are- somewhere called the Somme, I think?
There's a few familiar faces here, at least. There's Craig Midland from next door, Bobby Nelson from the Smiddy and Hector Pollok from the farm. They all look so much older than me, I hope nobody notices that I'm only 17.
"Right boys, we're about to lie down with the dogs," Captain Kiern shouted down from his horse, of course referring to the Germans, "I don't care about getting up with fleas. So get stuck in there and give 'em what for, eh? For the Brits!"
Captain Keirn was wobbling around the place on his mount; and he had a rather quizical look on his face.
"Is he drunk?" Hector asked me, nudging me gently from behind.
I just shrugged and nodded at the Captain, saluting when he tipped his hat forward.
"I say, it's a fine morning. Shame about the circumstances- I'd have brought a picnic!" A lad next to me says.
It's nice to see that our spirits are still high.