The Milkman

Reads: 349  | Likes: 2  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Historical Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic


A project I finished for a social studies class a few years ago. The assignment was to write a short story connected to World War 2 completely based on a random photo of the internet. I chose a
random picture of a milkman. I had fun with this.

Submitted: November 20, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: November 20, 2017

A A A

A A A


My name is Matthew Mannington. For years I had worked as a milkman. I went door to door, bringing milk when people needed it.

It was a simple life, but it was a nice life.

In the hard times after the World War 1’s destruction of our country and the economic decline because the Great Depression, I was there to bring the milk. Things were slowly getting better.

But then a new war came.

World War 2.

Our people were still devastated when Hitler sent his troops to our home. After he defeated our ally, France, Hitler was committed to defeating us.

Before this we tried to appease him, giving him Sudetenland.

Oh, how wrong we were to do so.

Hitler’s taste of power only made him greedier, causing him to invade Poland with the USSR and divide it. After the defeat of France, Great Britain had no more allies in Europe.

I wish we had acted sooner, but we were just so tired of war, of violence. We were just so tired. We let him have what he wanted. We let him annex Austria, and we let him have what he wanted at the Munich Conference of 1938.

After the fall of France, he came knocking on our door. And he knocked hard. The Battle of Britain was a battle over our home against the Axis Powers. The German invasion of Britain, or Operation Sea Lion, as it is called, was a terrible blight to us all.

Using their Blitzkrieg tactics, Germany bombed and destroyed much of our army. Then to make matters even worse, one of the most horrific events in our nation’s history came to be.

The London Blitz.

Germany’s air force, the Luftwaffe, bombed London itself. I was there when it happened. When the first bomb was dropped, I was there in London.

Countless buildings were decimated, lives were ended in an instant, and mayhem roamed the streets.

While I was in the bunker with my family, I was terrified. I wondered if we were next. Would I die? Would my children, my father, my wife, would they all die? Would Patt?

As each shell dropped, I worried for us all and each day, in my head, I thought we were all going to die.

But always, always, right before I thought death had come to take me, the cacophony outside would end. All the screams, explosions, and sounds of thunder from the sky would end.

And each time I thought it was truly over.

This happened for 57 days.

Still, our country wanted to remain strong, to remain hopeful.

And so, every morning, when the skies were clear and the disasters done the night before were done, I would go on my daily delivery and bring the milk. For my family, for my city, and for my country, I delivered the milk and tried to stay brave.

After all, if even the milkman can be calm, then so should everyone else. We all had to try and be brave and live our lives because we didn’t know which day would be our last.

So I lived my every day delivering the milk, because I am a milkman and proud of it.


© Copyright 2018 EMENTIOR. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

More Historical Fiction Short Stories