Chapter 6. Twine

Winston wasn't sure where he was.

He was lying on a blanket in the open and wounded

soldiers were being left on the ground beside him.

As he rubbed his eyes he noticed some straw coloured twine

around one of his wrists. Looking closer he saw it was a

necklace that had been twisted and wrapped around

his hand. It had a small pendant with a "V" on it.

He had no idea where it had come from or who it

belonged to.

"Welcome back to the land of the living."

He recognised the voice.

"Don't sit up Winston."

It was Harry Patch - one of the ambulance transport officers

who sometimes came forward to retrieve the wounded from

the regimental aid posts.

"How'd I get here Patch?"

"You don't remember?"

Winston tried, but couldn't.

"Do you know where you are?" Harry asked.

The question bothered him, he often asked wounded

soldiers the same thing to judge their level of

consciousness. Winston looked around.

"Outside the casualty clearing center by the looks of it."

Harry nodded.

"You've got a head wound. The Doctor will come and

have a look at you after he's finished with the worst of the

other lads. That bullet parted your hair quite nicely when

it bounced off that thick Yorkshire skull of yours."

A wave of tiredness washed over Winton, he closed his eyes.

Harry put his hand on Winstons' shoulder.

"I'm sorry to say old son that it's not enough to get you a

ticket home - rest up while you can."

*

When Winston sat up again, Harry was gone.

He was still on a blanket outside of the casualty

clearing center and wounded soldiers were still being

laid out beside him. Sheets now covered the faces of

some of the men closest to him.

Winston started to remember what had happened.

He hadn't felt any pain when he was shot in the head.

He'd stumbled forward as if he'd been unexpectedly

pushed.

He remembered being shot in the back.

How was that possible?

The bullet had exited out of his chest and he'd felt his

breath pulled out of his body.

In a panic Winston felt his chest. His uniform was heavy

with crusted blood, but there was no wound - there was no

soreness, there was nothing.

He'd seen this sort of thing before.

The morphine that was given as pain relief sometimes

played tricks on a shocked soldiers' mind.

Winston lay back.

He put his hands over his eyes and almost at once

re-lived being shot in the side of the face.

The sensation of being splashed with boiling hot water.

Blind in one eye, he'd put a hand over the wound and

his fingers had touched the exposed bone of his cheek

and eye socket.

Why did it seem so real, if it didn't actually happen?

Winston tried to gather his thoughts.

There had been someone else there with him...

they'd been talking.

He knew who it was - Finn.

*