History Stories

Dancing in the Rain

I turn to Mr Allen's door and flick my eyes up and down the corridor. Mr Allen would not want me snooping through his things, but I need to show Robbie why he should stay here. My pulse quickens as I slip into Mr Allen's office and close the door quietly behind me. The fire is burning out and the ashes are a burning orange; I smile. It is so cosy. I go over to his desk and sit down nervously on his leather chair; I sink into it, not used to the comfort. It is still warm from Mr Allen's presence; I chew on my lip and sit cross-legged as I search quietly for the letter. I find something in his top drawer that looks promising and I unfold it carefully. I flick my eyes over Mr Allen's neat writing, not taking in the words. I swivel the chair so I am facing away from the door, and staring at the large family portrait that Mr Allen keeps over his desk. I look down at the letter and my heart pounds furiously against my ribs and fear fills me. Do I really want to know the contents of this letter? Yes, I snap irritably, I have to show Robbie how stupid he is, I think firmly; I take a deep breath and let Mr Allen's words paint a picture in my mind... 

Soldiers walk with difficulty through the mud, it clings to them and seems to force their feet deeper into the earth. Soldiers yank their feet out forcefully and wriggle their cold toes in their socks. Most of the time, they give up walking and flop on upturned boxes next to another soldier. The trenches may protect them from the other side, but the cold seeps in and gets everywhere. It has been stalemate for a while now; neither side dares to make a move. For now, it feels like peace. Not that it should be war for Britain, this is only Britain's problem because of that damned alliance system. If this is anyone's problem, it is Austria and Serbia's. If you ask a large number of the soldiers why we are at war, they will not know what they are fighting for, or what put them there in the first place. They will have been told, I am sure, that this war is for a worthy cause, but is there a cause worthy enough of the bloodshed this war has caused? 

I stare at the words again. If this is anyone's problem, it is Austria and Serbia's. Rage fills me. If this is not a problem Britain needs to deal with, why are we at war? And what the hell is the alliance system?! Questions pour into my brain and cram up all the spare room .... How am I going to get Robbie to see these terrible things? 

The deaths on all side of this war are larger than any ever seen before. There is little or no time to pay your respects to the dead in battle and as a result, the large number of hungry rats feed off the corpses that litter the ground. Death in battle is not as peaceful as those who die in their old age surrounded by their loved ones; in war, men are gassed with the most terrifying weapons. A poisonous gas, that as you breathe it in, it fills your lungs and as it solidifies, it turns to liquid. You drown from the inside. Or Mustard Gas, which can take up to five weeks of agony to actually kill you. It is deadly and colourless - making it unnoticeable until the symptoms start showing 12 hours later. Mustard Gas gives you the most agonizing blisters on your skin, your eyes ache and soldiers bleed from the inside out. Does anyone deserve five weeks of that? 

I look at the letter and feel myself feeling slightly ill. No wonder Mr Allen does not want to fight, it sounds like suicide. I let my eyes wander over the words and tears fill my eyes. How many men have done what Robbie plans to do? They believe the sketches of the war they see in papers, they think that war will make them heroes, when all that happens is they are slaughtered for another countries issue. How many mothers have encouraged their sons to join the army and fight for their country, unknowing of the horrors that await their son? I imagine my older sister, Brooke, and my heart aches. Her husband went to war, now I fear he will not come back and my sister will be widowed along with the thousands ... millions of other women who unknowingly sent their men to war. 

With a shaking hand, I put the unfinished letter back in Mr Allen's drawer and stand up to leave. Why does the Government think it is so terrible not to fight? I wonder as I walk silently out of Mr Allen's office; I close the door behind me and walk into the small back room that we keep dark. I go in and lie down on the sofa, tears slipping down my cheeks. I curl in on myself and cannot understand how Robbie does not see how foolish this war is. Before I can stop myself, I am muffling my sobs in a cushion and my body trembles with fear and horror. How can humans be the most advanced creatures on the world when we kill our own in masses? Light fills the small, dark room and I still my body, holding my breath and tensing my muscles.