The Time Travel memoirs: Lost And So Alone

This woman was angry, she must have been or she wouldn’t have been pointing a shotgun at my genitals. She had dirty blonde hair. She wouldn’t have had much time to work on image. Work had now taken over her life. If she was married then her husband would be away fighting. This was the role of women in the Second World War, taking over the jobs of the males as they weren’t allowed to fight.

I tried to think happy thoughts; it was working for a moment, until she began to insert cartridges into the shotgun. Then the fear of having my dangly bits shot off returned. I gulped almost audibly. She looked into my eyes with anger in her own. “You conchies are the scum of the Earth; I should rid you right now. Decent men are dying, in the mud, in the cold weather. Then there are people like you; the conscientious objector, the fucking coward who only thinks about himself and not his country.” She looked startled at her own choice of words and looked at the floor in shame. Her shotgun never wavered; if I went to disarm her then I would lose a couple of things.

She began to sob, damn it. I’ve always felt uncomfortable when a woman begins to cry. I am of no use. Not that I could comfort her or anything, I wasn’t exactly in the best situation. She continued to talk, through sobs. “My husband, Freddie is out there you know, in those trenches. In Belgium, fighting them Nazis, I knew what you were the moment I saw you conchie. You’re the kind of man to sit in a cosy room whilst your brothers are shelled, whilst they die in the freezing cold mud.”

This needed to stop. I noticed that the woman smelled of drink. She most likely had a hip flask in her pocket, to drink whilst she was working. I was utterly taken aback. A drunk could do anything; if I didn’t talk technically I would be a coward and I would be a coward with his balls missing.

I’m not proud of what I did next, but it was necessary. For the rest of the conversation I transformed myself into a man from that era. I snarled and grabbed her face, I felt like an absolute bastard doing it. “Listen love, I’m back out to them trenches when I’m over this shellshock. Now, what right do you have to come over to a serving soldier and shout in his face? Now lower that firearm, your husband would be ashamed.” I let go of her face and pushed her backwards, she dropped the shotgun and her eyes were filled with sad tears.
I shook my head looking at her, as if I were ashamed. She opened her mouth to speak; no words came out so she closed it again.

“What’s your husbands name and where is he fighting?” She looked up and a faint smile rose, “his name is Freddie Myers, and mine is Jennifer Myers, he’s in the third battalion assaulting Nazi trenches in Belgium, he made sergeant last week.”
I nodded, “yes, Myers I know the chap, Ill give him your regards, I suppose I can refrain from telling him what you have just said to his superior.” She thanked me and stalked away back to her farm, Christ that was lucky; I didn’t know I was anything of a good liar.

I winced as another Messerschmitt flew overhead, the plane didn’t drop a bomb, it must have been an observer. I looked around the cottage, I was disgusted to see all of my things, it got to the point when I began to wonder if I was going mad.
Was I still in 1985? No. I’ve just had a conversation with a soldier’s wife. Was I born in this era? Was I destined to fight in the Second World War?

NO!

I sat on the uncomfortable wooden seat and sighed; I looked through the wooden drawers and found a combat knife. It was standard military issue, complete with its own sheath. I tied the sheath to my belt, in case trouble came knocking. I went into the kitchen, it was tiny but cosy, I saw tea and took up the metal kettle I saw and filled it with water. I felt amused as I noticed it didn’t have a plug, I had gotten used to the royalties of modern life. I turned on the stove and put the kettle on the stove to boil, I readied the cup and tea with sugar.

Milk was a thing I struggled to find, I eventually found it on the doorstep, how convenient. I sat down on a bulky but comfortable chair in the living room and got the fire going, I tried to breathe in and out, in and out to calm myself but I was shaking. Just go with it, I told myself but I didn’t need to be told. I was now calm, steady and confident. This had all happened to fast, maybe it was the adrenaline that made me feel confident, or maybe it was the fact I didn’t believe this was happening.

Eventually I felt better. I had a hot cup of tea in my hand and my feet up. The thing that scared me the most was that I felt much happier than I had in reality. Was it the thrill of action that had done that? I walked over to the desk and put the pocket watch in the coat.
Although I felt confident, my mind still begged for answers. What am I going to do? If I stay here Ill simply have to fight, If I don’t move from the cottage, women will break my door down and burn the cottage down, maybe even kill me. I sipped at my tea which was now cool; it had that brilliant golden colour. I liked my tea to look like that.

When I drank it had a flavoursome texture that I had never tasted in tea in my modern day lifestyle.
I pondered over my question once more and drank the last drop of tea, dregs and all. I jumped as my fire seemed to evaporate, my skin rose and formed Goosebumps, there was a knock on the heavy front door of the cottage, I could tell already that it wasn’t the farmer woman, I could tell that it wasn’t any other woman. The force put forward on the knock was jaw dropping. I could tell one thing though, to me it felt like a hostile knock. Being a little paranoid didn’t kill anyone.

I got up and slowly made my way over to the door. The knock was demonstrated again, this time harder. “OKAY!” I shouted. I opened the door slowly, I looked at what stood in front of me, I looked into the red eyes of my new life and I screamed.