Please note this is an unedited draft that was butchered down from this to become an assessment piece. I acknowledge that it has grammar and punctuation errors.
A SOLDIER ALONE
The sun was rising after the darkest of nights. Dreams of the war haunted his slumber, he alone in his bed, but in his head, his mates were by his side. Shoulder to shoulder, covered in dirt, lice and some things you just did not want to think about. If you were going to smoke you made sure the spark from each drag on the cigarette was hidden from view, only took one stray spark to alert the men in the opposite line to exactly where someone was standing. You never shared a match, to light your mate’s cigarette could put a bullet in his head at night.
He never imagined that 75 years later he would be alone. He had somehow managed to outlive all of this mates that made it home. Not that there was a lot of them. He could remember every name of the men he served with, most especially the ones that stayed in Tobruk, they couldn’t bring them home; there was not enough pieces to tell who they were any more.
His memory briefly flew to his Corporal, Jack, he should have come home, he was his best mate. He should be sitting beside him in that ANZAC day parade jeep. Instead, he was the bravest of them all, ultimately giving his life saving an officer in their unit. This memory ran deep in his soul. They had shared a love of football as children, had plans of to be the next Jim Davies, their favourite football player.
Taking his memories to breakfast, he sat alone at the table, thinking about the days of footy and fun before the war changed his life forever. The sun was now up, he could hear the neighbourhood waking up, next doors dog barking at mysterious things. It made him smile, he knew the part that he had paid in making this country a safe place to live. Although that fight was always tinged with sadness.
His injuries coming home from World War Two left him with a permanent limp, he was able to get back to his work as a framer, he worked for the company since he was 14 years old, he had learned the craft of making frames from scratch, carving them out of beautiful oak and cedar. But that too was gone now. People around her did not spend money on hand made beauty, they went to the local discount store and bought fames for their photographs now. He looked up at the photograph of his late wife on the wall. He had made the frame for that picture of her in the wedding gown.
They had married very quickly before he was shipped out. She did not actually get to where that dress at their wedding, so when he came back, they got dressed up and had the photos taken at the local photographers. He made sure that this photo was taken of her. She looked stunning that day. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes on. He was so proud that she chose him. They had a daughter together. She was grown and lived far away now. She had given them a grandson who visited occasionally. But most of the time he was alone with his memories.
After retiring at 65 years of age, trips were planned, a new life for them, travelling in their caravan, seeing Australia, then suddenly she was taken from him too. He was alone again. 30 years had been a very long time to be alone. He felt lost without her. His mates grew old with him, but they had families, and they too passed with time. He had been the youngest in his unit. Now he sat alone. On ANZAC Day, he was surrounding by people, but he did not know them. They were veterans, but not from his war, not from his unit, they did not see Tobruk. They talked about their stories, shared memories, but none of them were his.
His memories were wrapped up in Tobruk, his unit, his childhood. Not one person shared that. Not anymore. The young people that marched to represent their schools, their families, honoured the memories of those lost but they did not know them. Some of the kids were the grandchildren of his friends, but they did not know him. He was simply a forgotten soldier. The life of a soldier coming home, was applauded, and thanked. They were given accolades and parades. The returning soldiers were given medals. But what they were not given was a guide to how to get through his nightmares, through his memories, and now through his loneliness. What can you do with a retired soldier, with no family at home? No one who shares your memories, no one interested in knowing what you know.
He was always proud to have served his country, he felt oddly about how his service was now thought of. ANZAC Day and Remembrance Day, he was seen and honoured by the people surrounding him. Yet every other day of the year, his service forgotten, no one seemed to care. He could not understand why children had their faces stuck in phones, or on computers. He knew that once a year they got someone to come to school and tell them about the war. He used to get asked to do the presentation, but after Afghanistan and Iraq he was no longer relevant. His war was very different to modern warfare. The children did not want to know about barbed wire and trenches, they wanted to know about guided missiles, and technology.
He washed his breakfast bowl and finished his coffee. Time for his day to begin, just like yesterday. He showered and put on his clothes, cream-coloured trousers, his singlet, and a white shirt today. He was stiff this morning, so found some difficulty in putting on his socks and shoes. He thought about that gadget he had seen on the television. The one that helped you put on your socks. He decided he was not that decrepit yet. He was sure the day would come.
Putting on his Akubra he headed outside, his faithful walking stick in his hand, to get his newspaper and empty the mail, he had heard the postman stop already. One letter and Junk again. He put his newspaper under his arm and headed to the lounger. The weather was getting cooler, so he would soon need to move it around to the sunny spot in front of his window. He dusted off his lounger, junk mail comes in handy sometimes. As he turned, he looked at his walking stick for a moment. He had made that in the workshop after he came back from the war. He did not like the one the army had given him. He had carved the symbols of his unit into the handle and the initials of his mates into the stick. They were still supporting him almost a century later. He smiled as he sat.
The front-page headlines were about Russia and Ukraine, it was terrible to read these things still happening in the world. He shook his head at the thought of the lives being lost of totally innocent people. Exactly like he had experienced. The reason he fought for our safety was to hope that this would never happen again. War, why was it the choice of men of power, this was something he had never understood.
As he continued to read his newspaper, checking every page for something interesting, he mused over the fact that his grandson had given him an electronic device, a Tablet, for Christmas. Apparently, you could read the news on it anytime you liked. A tablet, as far as he was concerned was something he took every morning and night for his blood pressure. This device was not for reading on that was for sure. He had learned to use it to get emails, the only way his daughter communicated with him. She did not have time to visit. It had too jobs, email and to keep photographs she sent him and the photos of his grandson playing guitar in different shows, and in concerts and university.
Looking at his watch he realised it was almost time for lunch. He folded up his newspaper, put his shoes back on, he had taken them off to lay back on the lounger, sometimes he wondered why he just did not wear his slippers. He stood up and looked around his garden, picked up the hose and briefly watered his two big pot plants. He wondered what was going to be for lunch today.
He did not have to wait long to find out, his lunches came from Meals on Wheels, and the car was just pulling up. He smiled as he knew the two men getting out of the car. They would sit with him while he ate his meal. They would ask about the photos on the walls, his old job, his service. He always enjoyed their visit; it was the one time of the week he was not alone. When he could actually have a conversation with someone other than the cat, who of course came running as soon as she heard the containers for his lunch open. She always joined him for lunch, leaving her post on the top of his wife’s dresser that she had claimed as her own.
He was a soldier alone, but her realised as he sat enjoying a hot roast lunch that he was not completely alone. He was grateful for the small things he had in this world. The things he knew that he was lucky to have. The things that many did not have. When he thought about it, alone was not great, but at least in his loneliness he got moments of joy, of friendship, and a cat, that would play zoomies at 5pm every day just to make him laugh.
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