Shell Shock

No PTSD back then..

July 27th 1918

I remember hearing the front gate opening then pushing past mum and running to the front door screaming " dad, dad, " at the top of my lungs.
He smiled, dropped his battered old suitcase and scooped me up in his arms.
I buried my face in his neck, my tears staining the collar of his navy shirt.
He held me tight, so tight that I struggled to breathe, but I didnt care,
at that moment I wanted him to hold me forever,
to never let me go, to promise that he would never leave us again.
I heard mum tell him how much she loved and had missed him,
could hear the tears in her voice.
For the next hour we sat at the kitchen table, me on dad's knee
mum next to us, them drinking tea and talking
whilst I sipped a small cup of lemonade, a treat, whilst clinging to his side.

September 14th 1918

I lay in my bed, could hear them arguing.
Dad was drunk again, was telling mum she wouldn't understand,
could never understand, whilst she,
over and over told him to talk to her, let her try to umderstand.
I heard the front door slam.
That was the first night dad didn't come home.
I cuddled in with mum, her telling me everything would be okay,
to stop crying, that dad would be alright.

November 12th 1918

Charlie Whitburn, a near neighbour ( also 8 years old) came running to me in the playground,
he excitedly asked if I'd heard about the body found in manor woods.
They were saying, he told me, it was an escaped convict who had frozen to death in last night's frost,
although later it turned out to be a local man that had hanged himself.


November 14th 1918

When dad still hadn't come home, mum told me he had gone away to get better, that he needed help, and not to worry because uncle Tommy,
dad's youngest brother, would help around the house.
Over the next month or so she cried often, trying her best to hide it from me,
but I knew from seeing her red, rimmed eyes when she had been crying.
Gradually though this became less frequent,
eventually replaced by laughter,
this invariably whilst in the company of uncle Tommy,
who now seemed to be always at ours,
often staying over in the spare room.


December 24th 1918

I saw mum kissing uncle Tommy.
I was sneaking downstairs to see if Santa had been,
what he had left, when I saw them,
on the couch, kissing and laughing.
Before they saw me I cept back to bed,
cried myself to sleep.
I miss dad so much.

December 25th 1918

Mum gave me a present, said it was from dad.
It wasn't his writing on the tag.
I hate Christmas.


April 30th 1920

At first I had asked many times daily as to when dad would come home,
but gradually, as the days turned to weeks,
weeks to months, I stopped asking.
Not because I didn't care or miss him as this would always be so,
no, it was more a case of a growing realisation that he wouldnt be back,
which seemed odd really, as when he had left in 1914 to fight the hun over in France,
I knew he would back, just knew it...
Now however, he was never mentioned, not by me, mum, or his brother,
and I knew, deep down inside, I'd never see him again.

Author's Note

Hope you can follow this..

Reviews

[h d e rushin]

I love war stories, but truth be told, this is never a war story. Not the high-spirited child in the beginning
tying to understand absence. Not the resolved child at the end who knows that even a strangers writing could not take the place of that same, throbbing absence . You can't hide s**t from children. They know, even when their too young to know.
I, for one, could care less about the time line since dates in poetry is when the reader reads it, not when the writer thought of it. Yet wasn't WW1 a time of great international confusion? Before the league of nations and before the nato alliance, no one knew who was an ally or why, only that US forces were reluctant to enter even when France and Great Brittan were getting their a*s kicked in Flanders.
It must of been just terrible to be a family back home when the war dead bodies were counted in the thousands and the tens of thousands . great poem.

I have to try one of these time line poems on just to see what happens...../dana

[Gee]

Thanks Dana.
1914- 1918 must have been the most brutal ear ever fought, death toll into the high hundreds of thousands,perhaps more,
bodies never recovered, cemeteries littered with unmarked graves and those that survived, the lucky ones....yeah right. I would imagine death in the battlefield a blessed relief for many and survival a living nightmare for many more.
Thank you for taking the time to read and comment, very much appreciated.

[Samuel Dickens]

The dates threw me, but the message was clear. Seeing things through the eyes of a child enhances emotion and lends credibility to the story, as you have demonstrated so well. Those of us who endured broken and dysfunctional childhoods (like me) can feel the young narrator's anguish, pain and fear in our bones. An excellent write.

[Gee]

Thanks Sam. Will sort the date order if I can do without re typing.

[Julie McCarthy (juliesp..]

this came up in the feed im glad it did i read it again with much intrest put it in my fav now thanks for such a write brilliance

[Gee]

Morning Julie, thank you.

[Ken Simm.]

Such a touching story that is personally, very easy to identify with. Its not only that, however it is the way this is composed that impresses me. The epitome of a good story poem. Lots to pick up on, lots to relale to and a fine job in bringing all together in such a poignant fashion.

[Gee]

Chuffed to bits you enjoyed Ken. Although nowhere near her standard have been inspired by the writing of b
Beccy to try and pen something worthwhile lately. However , daft is never far away
Hope you are well, cheers

[Neville]

Hey Gee, I must confess to being just a little bit stuck for words... I think you have done an incredible job of pulling together a credible and emotionally charged prose narrative account of what we now know to have happened more often than will ever be spoken about... There is absolutely nothing I dont like about 'Shell Shock' if you know what I mean... and I salute ya.... Oh' and for what it's worth, when I was in the RAF, I was taught never to salute anyone unless they were wearing their cap badge..... All Good Things, Neville

[Gee]

Cheers Neville, gobsmacked to receive a review such as this. Appreciated more than you will ever know. Cheers

[Neville]

Because ya worth it.... a really memorable write... N

[Gee]

Cheers......

[tedefroberts]

I REALLY like this! Innovative, keeps the reader interested (I re-read it a few times!), characters not overly developed (too many of this genre over-do that aspect). Pardon the repitition, but I REALLY liked/enjoyed the piece!

[Gee]

Cheers Ted, glad you enjoyed

[tedefroberts]

Pleasure was mine! I love good writing!

[Gee]

Thank you...

[m.s.early]

Powerful. Exquisite. Avant garde. Exciting foreshadowing with uncle Tommy.
You had me on every line

[Gee]

Thank you, appreciate your review

[Einstein Noodle]

Interesting experiment on prose/free verse story telling. I really like it ... you can use poetic licence to emphasize pauses and importance but edit it down to "almost" paragraphs. The time shift threw me a curve ball just a little ... expecting more of that I felt grateful it settled into a sequence ;) Time warps can be challenging for an old man :)))
I feel the emotions of your protagonist ... who better to express such loss and pain than a child .. the "Dear John" behavior of the mum and uncle put a sharp edge on his grief
our world has changed and is changing so much .. our "Great Wars" came and went with a very different pace than Viet Nam ... I am a baby boomer, my Da in WWII never spoke of it at all. most never did nor do... but they were welcomed home as heroes .. Viet Nam changed all that as our service men and women were pummeled with insult and rejection ... and slowly we started talking about it .. about the trauma, the spiritual devastation and turmoil of things undone by war ... i really appreciate your story telling style in this and the message ... relevant and so important .. well done says i!
E.

[Gee]

Great review E, thanks.
In the construction industry we are getting more and more ex serviceman joining at junior management level. They come with stories and not surprisingly mobile phone footage.
I tip my cap to any man or woman that has served their country.

[Einstein Noodle]

i am with you on that sir! 100%

[Lorry]

This reads like a story familiar to millions, that have lived through the horrors of war, and those left back home, trying to hold it all together while everything was falling apart. Out of all that survived, I doubt there were few if any that were unscathed. What they came from and what they went back to. Forever changed by the madness of war.
I like the way its been set out, diary like. Like an actual account kept at the time.
PS... Clydebank, where I was from, only had seven houses left standing after the second world war, so Christ knows what they all did come back to.

[Gee]

Morning Lorry. My mum was from Liverpool and that too was bombed to buggery.
I should think that whatever they came home to was better than from where they came.
Hope you are well
Cheers

[Lorry]

Very true. I am good. Just had a three hour bath, after being in the middle of a forest for 10 days. Think I need a shower now :)

[Chris Shaw]

That was how it was then. Hard to believe now isn't it? Also they were shot for desertion when they were suffering from shell shock. That's what you got fighting for your country. You gave your all and got next to nothing in return. I would imagine, this could have happened many times over. They were terrible times. You have written this well Gee. It leaves a lump in my throat.

Chris

[Gee]

Thank you Christine.A savage war with most roads leading to death.