If I Move My Foot, a short story by Russell Culclough at Spillwords.com

If I Move My Foot

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If I Move My Foot

written by: Russell Culclough

 

My legs are feeling heavy, bit wobbly, but I’m ok. I bet my young brother Sam is at school now, well what’s left of it, after that bomb fell nearby. They are getting a bit of a pounding back home, bad show all-round I must say. Our boys in the spits will send them on their way, we’ll give them a drubbing they won’t forget. I do so worry about Sam and my beloved mother and father. Their shelter is deep so they should be ok. Mother likes so much to sing around the house, so father goes down to the shelter for a bit of peace, although he can still hear her loud voice. Father said, if the bombs don’t bring the house down, her singing will. He has written a letter to Winston Churchill asking for his shelter to be soundproofed, as it is more than a man can bear, but no reply as yet. Father will have his joke, although the truth is, they are truly inseparable. I do so miss aunt Agatha’s afternoon tea. Her little cottage, so lovely with its thatched roof, the white picket fence, and the rose garden. Her scones and jam are quite delicious. I must confess I always have more than one, but mother reminds me of my manners, I don’t think aunt Agatha minds. Afterwards, I visit the ‘Rose and Crown’ to meet my dear friend Charles. We have a glass of beer and a good old chin-wag. Father thinks it’s time I got myself a lady friend, but my feelings are different on that subject, although never to be aired in public. Maybe one day when the fighting is no more, differences can be understood, instead of being frowned upon. This is a sad day, I’ll never see them again, as a lot of these brave lads, bad luck I suppose. We put on a good show, our first innings not so good, but our second will send them on their way. I’m feeling awfully scared now, heavenly father forgive my sins. I offer my soul, don’t be too hard on me, I bowled a few googlies, but on the whole, I’ve been a good sport. I have written to old farmer Johnson, with an apology, and payment for the petrol I stole. Just a prank with my chums. As young men, we do so like excitement. The war came along, transforming boys into men. The excitement of youth lost to the reality of war. So here I am, why do they not shoot, finish the bloody job! They just walk on by. I will miss my people in dear old blighty. Not sure how long I can stand on this land mine.
I know what will happen,
If I move my foot.

Russell Colclough

Russell Colclough

I am new to writing. I have only been writing for one year. I have had no education on writing, although I have always been interested in words. With family responsibilities, bringing home the bacon so to speak, I have not had the chance to write. Being the youthful age fifty eight, I am not ready for the field, so I work, and learn to write. It does take time to learn, the river flows so small, yet gains in size, it travels so far, no shortcuts along the way.
Russell Colclough

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