The Journal
By
JT Lewis
Copyright 2012-2014 by J.T. Lewis
June 17, 1918
The current rise of temperature has brought out the stench of human waste in our little trench home. I fear my feet will rot in my boots from sloughing around in it constantly as we hunker over to avoid the enemy’s bullets.
Seems there is always someone available over there to fling bullets our way, some with deadly effect.
Willy Jones caught one yesterday, I was with him as he passed. Never have I seen such fear expressed in someone’s eyes as when he took his last breath. I had to work to remove his hands from my tunic after he grabbed my collar at the end. A desperate attempt to hold on to his life I suppose.
Was the fear in his eyes from his lack of belief in anything after this life, or the certainty of it?
I pray often…hoping there is something….someone there listening. But it seems less likely the longer I live in this hell.
And yet…it’s the only hope I have.
I closed the old leather journal, taking a moment to trace my finger across the strange tooled cross on the front of it. Gabriel’s cross they had always called it, my grandfather Gabriel.
I sullenly stared at it, thinking back on him, missing him already.
He had lived like no one else I knew of. Just up and dying like he had… it seemed so out of character for him. No adventure, no plan… he just didn’t wake up.
I sighed as I laid the book on the bed and walked over to the window. The yard was full of people milling about in their Sunday best. Most had come to pay their respects, some just for a free meal. I desperately wanted them all to go, to leave us to our sorrow so that we could make peace with this new reality.
At sixteen, I had very little experience with death. I had even less dealing with that of a close family member’s passing. I felt an errant tear making its way down my cheek and quickly wiped it away with my sleeve. My emotions had been all over the place today, it was hard to keep it all in sometimes.
Turning back toward the bed, I again glanced at the journal. I thought how strange it was to read about his experiences in the Great War. He would never talk to me of these, saying it was just something that he had done, no more, no less.
I did remember him telling me once however, that he hadn’t laughed at anything for six months after it was over. When he finally did, he described how strange it had felt at first…and how wonderful. He had enjoyed the sensation so much in fact, that he hadn’t been able to stop for twenty minutes.
When finally he had excised it all, he had realized that he had finally started healing…and that it was time to move on with his life.
And that’s what he did, never looking back on the war from that day forward.
But I was interested.
I felt the irrational need to look farther into the mind that was my grandfather. Experience his war, his thoughts. I was not ready to say goodbye yet.
Sitting on the bed, I opened the journal again.
June 20, 1918
I have gotten addicted to the French cigarettes that they ration to us daily, it helps pass the time…giving us something to do besides kill and contemplate our own death.
Alexander Hill and I were on duty earlier today with the rest of the squad. Being “on duty” here currently means we take turns shooting at the enemy…trying to keep their heads down. We created quite a game out of the shooting…whenever anyone got a hit, everyone would give that guy a cigarette. There was a time early in the day where I was two days ahead in my ration! I guess all of that rabbit hunting back home paid off after all!
The fun kinda tapered off though after Bill Shelton caught one in the neck. We patched him up as best we could, but it didn’t look good for him.
The rain is back now, and we are stuck outside, leaning against the slimy wall of the trench. I have found a small amount of protection from a walkway board overhead, allowing me a small area to write.
We are all smoking, nothing else to do. My biggest joy at the moment is watching the smoke gather under the lip of my helmet, creating my own little cloud around my head.
Wishing I were home.
“Gabe …You up there?”
I put the old book down with a sigh.
“Yeah…I’m here,” I said, wishing my mom had forgotten about me.
I heard her coming up the steps. “What are you doing up here by yourself?” she asked as she turned the corner into my room. “Everybody is asking about you downstairs.”
I shrugged indifferently as I rolled off of the bed.
Noticing the journal lying on the bed, she asked, “What do you have there son?”
Shrugging again, “Granddad’s journal, from when he was in the war. He said I could have it when he passed,” I said, suddenly defensive.
She walked over to the bed and picked up the leather-bound book, studying it intensely. “I’ve never seen this before,” she uttered as she slowly sat on the bed, never taking her eyes off of the volume. She ran her fingers tenderly over the cross on the cover as I had done earlier.
Snapping out of her trance, “Where did you find it? I’ve never come across it in the twenty years I’ve lived here?”
“He had it in his safe,” I mumbled, “He showed it to me a long time ago.”
Mom smiled sadly, patting the bed beside her for me to sit. Looking up at me with her large brown eyes, I saw tenderness in them as she smiled at me.
“He sure loved you,” she said, taking my hand, “I know you will miss him more than anybody. You two were always thick as thieves.”
Putting the palm of her hand on my face lovingly, “And that’s why I’m more worried about you with all of this…I don’t want you to withdraw from life because he’s gone. He wouldn’t have wanted that either.”
“Your grandfather could get more life out of things than anyone I have ever met. I would hope that if you change in any way because of this, it would be to be even more like him than you already are.”
“I’m ok mom, I just miss him is all.”
I leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek.
“Good! Now come down and visit with your family…they all loved him too.”
“I will, I promise,” I said standing up, “in a minute. I just want to read a little bit more, ok?”
She smiled, “Ok, but not too long, we will be eating soon.”
I nodded at her before she turned and made her way back down the stairs. Sitting back down on the bed, I again picked up the journal and turned to where I had left off.
July 4, 1918
All thoughts of Independence Day festivities were dashed early this morning when we were awakened at sunrise by a loud noise approaching overhead. The lightening sky was darkened by an armada of German Zeppelins and Gotha bombers as they rained our positions with deafening and deadly explosions.
Bill Russell jumped on the Browning machine gun and started blasting away at one of the huge airships with little results. Finding myself devoid of anything else productive to do, I joined him, feeding the ammo belt while he inoculated the sky with lead .
Although I’m sure our efforts did some damage somewhere, it seemed at the time very ineffectual. Men were running frantically back and forth in an attempt to find some protection from the falling bombs. The screams surrounding me attested to their lack of success in that matter.
It all looked pretty bleak for us as the trench filled up with blood and body parts of my comrades, I was amazed that Bill and I had escaped any harm at all as we continued to fill the skies with our little bullets.
Suddenly one of the enemy bombers turned on its side as smoke came out of the engine. It then nosed over and headed for the ground, crashing to earth and exploding no
t fifty yards from us in a hail of fire.
Having ducked down to avoid the flying debris, we raised our heads and were met by a delightful sight. One of our flyboys buzzed our position after he had followed the bomber down to confirm his kill.
A cheer rose up from all around us as we spotted the whole of his squadron taking on the large bombers with ease. Soon the enemy planes were more worried with escaping than bombing us as one after the other fell from the sky.
I admit I was grinning ear to ear as I watched the spectacle in the skies above, but my joy disappeared quickly as we got started collecting our dead. We had been hit hard, nearly half my unit decimated by the overhead assault. We would be combined with another unit I was told, at least it wouldn’t be a bunch of virgins this time.
Many were my friend that I helped gather up today, and I would miss them. But the sorrow I used to feel for their passing is not in me anymore.
They are the lucky ones.
“There you are!”
Startled out of my revere, I looked up to see May standing in the doorway. Beautiful May, my next door neighbor who I was secretly in love with. Friends since infancy, we were the best of buddies…a status she didn’t seem inclined to change.
“Hi!” I sputtered as I sat up quickly, trying to act cool.
May came over and sat next to me on the bed like we did it every day. She then took my hand in hers as she looked deeply into my eyes with concern on her face.
“I’m really sorry about gramps, I really miss him too.” A tear pooled up in the