One night as he lay awake and other chaps snored around him, William found himself wondering if all armies were like that. Even the Germans. No. No, the Huns were evil. Otherwise what were he and his friends fighting for? He sighed. He wished his father were still here to give him advice. What would he have said about his younger son?
William had become friends with the red-headed Jerry. You couldn’t see much of the red now, thanks to the stubbly haircuts they’d been given. ‘You’ll be glad of those haircuts in the trenches,’ smirked the corporal who’d been at Gallipoli. ‘Makes it easier to find the lice.’
Jerry had been a shearer before he enlisted and he’d never been further than the nearest town. ‘The blokes say we might get to London!’ he exclaimed. ‘I wonder if we’ll see the King? Do
