Love story set in World War One :: English Literature Essays

Love story set in WWI A shell struck near the trench, forcing debris towards Robert. He awoke with start. His friend laughed at Robert's startled expression. "Are you still not used to that?" Dougie said wryly, knowing that no-one could ever overcome the shock of the trenches. "Here, I saved you these." He handed over some biscuits. Robert thanked him. He tried to break the biscuit to see how hard it was. He found it very difficult to snap so he wet it and smashed it to small pieces with a brick. He had learnt the hard way that biting biscuits could very easily break teeth. "Young Tom died" Dougie said nonchalantly, whilst picking lice from his head. Robert watched as he threw them into the flame of a candle. Dougie had been in the war since the start and found it easy to not get affected by the sort of things that went on. "Oh." Robert and Tom were fairly good friends. They had spoken days earlier about how they were looking forward to seeing their wives. A lump formed in Robert's throat. He spoke with a choked voice. "What happened to him?" What affected Robert the most in situations like this was that they reminded him that his life was virtually meaningless to the country and that he was in serious danger all of the time. He knew that he could very easily be dead within the hour. "He was shot on his side, about here," Dougie pointed to his lower back. "He fell down and couldn't get back up. He drowned in the mud." A shiver tickled Robert's spine. He had heard many stories of injured men drowning in the swamped ground. He had always considered it to have been the worst way to go. Sinking into the mud. Feeling your mouth fill with the slimy, watery soil. Having it in your throat. Not being able to breathe. Knowing that you could stop it all by standing up, but being unable to. Passing into unconsciousness. Dying. Robert checked the rota. He was on sentry duty. His body ached. He was eating poorly, having little sleep and working too much. The conditions in the trench added to his bad health immensely. Fleas covered his body and his frustrated scratching had meant that there were areas on his body where he had clawed his skin off. His open wounds were often infected because he very rarely had the opportunity to wash.