The Boys were Men

The last time Hannah saw Gerald was the day he rode the train out with hundreds, maybe thousands, of boys in uniform.  Fight the Great War…Be home by Christmas! Hannah blew kisses and waved as if her arm needed to go with him.

All the other new brides gathered at the church hall to roll bandages and pack toiletries.  Murmurs echoed across, up, and down from the vaulted ceiling.

“Why, my Joe said that Paris is grand, and some day he will take me there!  He writes to me every day, you know.”  Melissa wrapped bandages, her eyes lost in dreams.  Long white strips draped over her rounded belly.

Beginning of War from Above

In the circle of young brides. Hannah was alone with a flat belly. Letters from Gerald came every day, but were grim and spotted with mud.  His words she would not share with the round-belly brides.  They needed their dreams, while Hannah needed truth.

Christmas came and left, church bells rung and carols sung. Then another Christmas slipped by unnoticed.

Brides, now weathered lonely wives, still met at the hall.  While toddlers chased around, mothers wrapped and wrapped rolls of white cotton.  The young faces once wreathed with smiles now reflected strain of another year gone by.  Letters grew fewer and all waited for the one letter they did not want to receive.

Then the boys came home. 

They were other men who left legs and arms behind; some remained, buried in graves in France, near the ocean.  Boys now men-- some shivered at every loud sound, while others were stoic, with distant haunted eyes.

Gerald held Hannah gently.  “It was awful, never seen anything like it.”  Hannah settled her face into the fragrance of Gerald’s wool uniform.

She whispered into the wool.  “I knew you would come home, just knew it.  And, I will never let go of you.”

Ever.

World War 1 is the often-forgotten war.  Its veterans are now gone.  Honor them.

Grandpa remembers the sounds

1917-1918

Grandpa is old, real old.  

Nancy knew that because he had fought in a war called The Great War, the war he said was so big that it would end all wars.  Her dad went to fight another war.  War? What is war?

Nancy watched as Grandpa spread out his left hand.  He had big old wrinkly hands, with rough calluses and gnarled fingers, like any old man.  But she had never noticed the drawn white scars of burns, horrible burns. 
  
He lay a thin paper on the white scars, opening it with his other hand.  Again, she stared at it, in awe of the stripes and crude stitching it bore from wounds earned long ago.  Her four year old mind could not form any questions about scars, old and twisted.

Grandpa reached into the pocket of his flannel shirt, retrieving a drawstring bag.  Fingers moved slowly, easing open the drawstring, and then pouring a line of tobacco.
  

Grandpa
Copyright Susan Kane
Young man on his way the France

His hands never shook, not for one second.  They held steady and still as Grandpa licked the edge of the paper.  Hands so badly scarred had continued for fifty years, working, caressing, holding hands, living. Fascinated, Nancy watched as Grandpa placed the cigarette on a lip.  

Oh. Nancy gazed up at Grandpa, his creased face told nothing about the day. Grandpa was always silent around her, having nothing to say to a little girl.

He struck a match and lit up, breathing deeply.  She stared at his thoughtful expression and troubled eyes.

An old man walked by, tipped his hat to Grandpa.  Grandpa just nodded back, not even looking at him.  “Who’s he?” Nancy asked.

Grandpa blew out a ring of smoke.  “He’s a Goddamn coward.  His pa paid some other man to go fight instead of his own son.  Sonabitchgoddam coward…couldn't spit on his own shoe, and other words that Nancy did not understand.

“What’d you do in a war, Grandpa?” Nancy whispered, wide eyes searching for pale blue eyes staring off at the sonabitch.

He glanced sadly down at Nancy.  Turning his face away and  taking another deep drag, Grandpa mumbled, “I killed a whole bunch of men.  Lots of 'em…”

Nancy nodded.  The two sat there, one smoking and the other gazing as the smoke disappeared around them.

Copyright Susan Kane
Grandpa, age 60.
He died 14 years later when 75.
Grandpa had been gassed in trenches, and for such,
received a stipend of $25 each year. 

Grandpa in 1952

My brother Robert and I are listening to his radio. He was

in his 70s.

This is a repost from 2013. War has led to war to war to war for the entire history of humankind. Will there ever be a time when there is no war?

Not until the end of our time on earth, Matt. 24: 4-7 

Wars and rumors of wars

 

This is a  repost of 2011 I think.