蜜芽传媒

In all of us lives courage, locked safely away for when we need it the most.
Periodically, something will happen in the world that unlocks that courage en masse.
Robert Reid 2004
(To the reader: This is a work of fiction dedicated to all those who lived and died during the war. It is hopefully an inspiration to some, a comfort to others and a Thank you to those who were there. The story is followed by a poem written by one soldier during the invasion of Normandy. If in this writing I have inadvertantley offended anyone, please let me know immediatley and I will remove it from the site.)
Sincerely
Robert Reid

Courage 漏
By Robert Reid

He looked so smart in his uniform. As he stood there with his polished brass and leather gleaming in the sun, it all came back to her why she had fallen for him. So very handsome. But now world events were taking him away. Away to a far off land to fight for a cause that she could barely comprehend. His calm seemed natural enough but she knew him well and she took the gift he was trying to give her and forced it back upon him. She knew he would need it far more than she in the months to come. With a passionate kiss she bid him farewell and whispered in his ear, 鈥淲e鈥檒l be waiting right here for you when you get back.鈥� She patted her slightly swelled tummy to acknowledge the 鈥渨e鈥� part of the statement. He gave her a genuine smile and reached down for his rucksack. With the slightest hint of a tear welling in his eye he turned and headed down the path to the waiting taxi cab. She smiled and waved the whole time until the taxi turned the corner and was lost from sight. She bowed her head and moved back into the house. The door closed behind her and, in the protected privacy of their modest home she dropped to the floor, shattered. Would the next uniform that approached her house be one of his comrades in arms bearing the sad message she hoped never to hear, or would it be him? The love of her life. The reason she rose and lived everyday, waiting until the moment when they could be together again. In spite of this feeling, she never regretted giving him the one thing that she so desperately needed right now. She knew he would bring it back to her. No matter what happened she knew he would find a way to get it to her.

The last one hundred yards of sand and blood he had just traversed had been like crawling over ten miles of broken glass. Each step threatened to puncture you and let your life drain away out on the beach. The weight of his wounded Sergeant draped across his broad shoulders slowed him, but not once did it burden his desire to reach safety. Safety for the man he had risked his own life to save, and for himself, to live another day closer to fulfilling his promise to come home to his wife. The foxhole he was trying to reach loomed closer. His mates were huddled in it, shielded from the screaming shards of metal that whirled over their heads. All of them encouraging him, cheering him closer and closer. On the brink of the relative shelter of the hole it had happened. His arm felt like it had been torn from his body. For six months now he had walked this hell on earth unscathed. He had been in battle off and on throughout that time. But this time, this time it was different. This time they were on the enemies door step. The enemy was no longer the aggressor. The enemy was now defending their own way of life and they fought with a new savagery. They no longer wanted to overtake. Now they were protecting their homeland. Why, oh why hadn鈥檛 they been able to see this in the beginning? All of this senseless killing could have been avoided. With each pulsation of his heart his life poured out on the beachhead they were fighting to establish. Adding yet more value to this previously worthless piece of real estate. The blackness had crept from his peripheral vision and the light was now just a point at the end of it. It was in this tunnel that he came to understand what had given him the will to take each step forward into the jaws of such danger. Through the pain he suddenly felt honoured to have been here. He collapsed, his last words, a dire warning, drowned out by the searing crackle of an artillery shell on its way to claim more lives. 鈥淲atch out Lads, now the buggers are playing for keeps.鈥�
He vaguely was aware of the many hands reaching out to drag him and his charge the last few inches to the sanctuary and protection of their fellow soldiers. And at last, just before the light of the battlefield faded for the final time, a brilliant light burst forth. A lone loving hand reached out for him and a gentle voice guided him forward. 鈥淵ou have fought well my son, but now it is time to come home.鈥�

She hadn鈥檛 seen him for over six months. One never got used to that, one only learned to live day by day in spite of it. The knocker on the door rattled. Balancing her four week old infant in one arm she pulled the bolt with the other. The heavy blackout curtain did not allow her visitor to be revealed until the door was near fully open. It only took the briefest of pauses for her to take in the man who stood before her. His face told of things he had seen and done that no man should ever have to see or do. His uniform, faded by time and turmoil was clean and creased, announcing his unwillingness to yield. The empty sleeve pinned across his chest, a banner at his disappointment that he now had to leave the fight to others. But his eyes. His eyes were what she had hoped never to see. They told of the devastating sorrow for the reason he stood before her. They held a sadness that he was not her soldier. The soldier she had yearned for all these months. Though he had not yet uttered a word she knew the reason this man stood before her. She invited him in at his request. Maybe if he told her of her husbands last act on earth it would soften the blow for her. Of how that act had allowed him to return home to his loved ones. Over a cup of tea she prepared herself for the news she was about to hear. She listened intently to how they had all tried so gallantly to stem the flow of blood in her dying husband. She needed every detail, no matter how slight. Somehow she needed to understand why he had been taken from her. The Sergeant told her of his lost friend as one would speak of a much beloved brother. He told of how they had met, of how they had parted. He told of the silliness between engagements and of the terror during them. He told of his great honour to have served with such a man. His emotions fluctuated throughout the conversation. From pride to regret, pain and laughter, hope to despair. An emotional see-saw
He felt so guilty for being the one to survive. He would give anything right now to trade places with him. She realized he truly meant it. He would gladly take the place of the man who had saved him. At the end he took out a few items and placed them on the table in front of her. These were the last remnants of his life. The only things she had to remind her of what a fine man she had chosen. When all was said they shared a mournful embrace. He paused at the door as he was leaving. 鈥淭here is one more thing.鈥� How could he possibly explain this? 鈥淛ust as he passed away a sudden calm came over him. It was like he knew something. He actually smiled.鈥� The Sergeant looked at the infant cradled safely in the arms of his mother and reached out a hand to touch him. 鈥淵ou look just like your Dad.鈥� Then the Sergeant took his leave. They each were left to grieve in their own way and in their own time.

She sat for a short while and stared at the small box among all the other bits and bobs sitting there. She did not know what was in it. With shaking hands she picked up the box and opened it. A sad smile spread across her face and she removed the item from its velvet lined resting place. She dangled it in front of her infant son. A glint of light caught the shining metal and made her handsome little boy squint. He waved his arms and smiled as though he too now knew. As his Daddy鈥檚 Victoria Cross entertained him she told him. 鈥淚 knew he would find a way to bring it back to us.鈥�

The young man entered the pub and looked around for a quiet place to sit. There didn鈥檛 seem to be anywhere other than at a table with a man in his eighties sitting alone nursing a drink. He wore the uniform of The British Royal Legion. Obviously he too had attended the 60 year D-Day ceremonies that had just recently concluded. He walked over to him and politely asked if he could join him. The old man looked up from his reverie to see who his visitor was. He stared at the spit shined boots. The knife edge crease in the legs guided his sight upward to the tunic. The polished brass adorning the collar lapels spread to broad shoulders. Plainly visible on the upper arm, the shoulder patches of his own unit from the war were proudly displayed.
鈥淥f course he announced.鈥� With his one remaining arm he shuffled some things about on the table to make room for his visitor. 鈥淢ay I buy you a drink?鈥� he queried.
The young man鈥檚 smile was a genuine one of appreciation at the offer. 鈥淣o, Sir, I think today it should be me that buys the drinks.鈥� He tucked his cap under his arm and pulled out the chair to take his seat. He motioned for the barman and ordered a pint for each of them. And so it was, that over a friendly pint of lager the two soldiers spanning three generations swapped stories. The younger learned about what it was like in battle, and the elder reliving his younger days. From beneath his tunic the young man produced a Victoria Cross. He told the old man that it had been his Grandfather鈥檚. He told of how it had come to be in his possession. His Grandmother had given it to his Father when he had joined the service. Then his Father had passed it onto him when he had joined. Now he carried it close to his heart, tucked away under his tunic. The old man looked upon it. It had been sixty years since he had seen this token of courage. He chose not to reveal to the young man that he knew where and when the Cross had come to be. Instead he asked the young man how his Grandfather had won it. Though the details were not as vivid as what the Sergeant remembered them, this was definitely the Cross he had delivered to that poor woman so many years ago. He remembered the strong broad shoulders that had ferried is own wounded body across one hundred yards of Hell. He looked again at the young man鈥檚 face. Suddenly he remembered and could see the uncanny resemblance to his friend from the war. In the young man鈥檚 eyes he saw that his and his friend鈥檚 sacrifice had not been in vain. There would always be those willing to pursue the folly of unwanted aggression. But there would always be those that would stand in harm鈥檚 way to stop them. 鈥淒id your Grandmother ever say who gave it to her?鈥� he asked. 鈥淣o.鈥� replied the young man. 鈥� She only ever said that it was given to her by an Angel with a broken wing.鈥�
The End

At this point I would like to include a poem penned by my Father during the invasion of Normandy. Not part of the story, just something he and so many others did for us.

A Soldier鈥檚 Reflection

As I look up to a cold grey dawn
And to the lines ahead
I think of a sun that soon will shine
Upon the glorious dead

Those who have died
But not in vain, for they by thought and deed
Will live again in others,
To crush a nation's greed

Now the sun peeks o'er the crest
And lights the morning sky
It shines upon a war-torn earth
Where still we fight and die

But those who stand they fill the gaps,
Made by those who fell
The bombs they fall, the cannons roar
Amid that awful hell

Now that pulsing ball of flame
Sinks slowly in the West
Where all is calm and so serene
And mankind seems at rest

It's then we think of days we knew
Days which are ahead
And whisper forth a silent prayer
As we salute our dead

Pvt. Louis L. Reid
Royal Canadian Scottish Div.
1921-1972

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