Edgar

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Historical Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is fan fiction of a sort. It's from the point of view from a Character in Marcus Sedgewick's book the Foreshadowing.
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Submitted: June 22, 2013

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Submitted: June 22, 2013

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Edgar

I try to roll over on my narrow bed, and then I groan in annoyance and tiredness at the impossibility of this task. My bed is as uncomfortable as it is narrow yet I am lucky to have one; even among the officers.

I’ve been asleep and it is now that ‘twilight’ time between sleep and wakefulness though I’ll have to go on duty soon, I cringe at the prospect of patrolling the trenches in the buffeting wind and rain.

Though it’s not exactly Buckingham Palace in here either, still it’s dryer than out there even if not much warmer. The men do their best to keep our dug out warm and dry but it’s a bit of a lost cause.

As I stretch and lie back every little sound becomes as noticeable as a trumpeting elephant. The constant drip, drip, drip of the leaking roof, the scampering and squealing of the rats too fast to kill and the steady plods outside of whoever I’ll have to relieve, only result in rousing me even more.

To block out these aggravating sounds I turn my thoughts to my family and the events of my last visit. Apart from the obvious effects of the war everything and everyone seemed so normal, so proper and so...British. A world away from now.

Mother was almost her usual doting self except she seemed older, wearier, aged by the war as so many are, myself included. She was happy I think to see me but sad that it was for such a short time though she didn’t fail to give me the best of everything. I

should have noticed more and thanked her for the effort and kindness she gave but I was too busy contemplating the horrors I’ve seen in warfare. Ironic really, when I’m in the trenches I think of the comforts of home and when I have the comforts of home I think of the horrors in the trenches!

Pity that Tom couldn’t join us I’d have liked to have seen him but he was up in Manchester continuing his studies. He should be out here with me, fighting like a man! Not prancing about in university, getting white feathers every week. God, it’ll be a mercy when that conscription bills passed, we’ll soon put those cowards into shape.

Father. Ahh he’d have made the best division commander if only he’d been born a few years later. He’s got just the stuff, courage, fortitude and above all discipline though that does help with his medical profession too I suppose.

I was glad to see he’d kept the household in check during my absence even Alexandra. That girl’s far too wilful for a young lady of her station yet I’m glad I persuaded Father to let her become a VAD. It’s only right that she should do her bit just like everyone else. I hope she’s coping alright not fainting at the sight of blood or the like.

I hope they’re all well back at Clifton terrace and that they like my Christmas card, it wasn’t easy to get hold of that.

The doleful sound of weary men singing carols drifts through the open door, I hum along while rising from bed and dressing. Not much to dress in really just my muddy boots, captain’s hat and my

jacket that itches with lice and reeks of dried sweat, smoke and goodness knows what else.

There’s a sudden disturbance outside that causes the carollers to stop and voices to be raised. Immediately I venture out to investigate. Striding out into the muddy trench I’m pummelled with rain, what a useless hat this is.

Eventually I find Lieutenant Johnson and I ask what the cause of all this commotion is. My face turns white at his reply.

 “It’s time Sir; we’re going over the top Sir. Get ready Sir, It’s time.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

 


 

 


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