This is a flash fiction of 250 words. A fictitious a letter sent from the home front during the 1914-18 war. I remember my grandfather telling me this story when I was a little girl. He called my Grandma Girlie and she called him Boy. Is it true? I don’t know. He was a tunneller on the Western Front and my hero. Picture Courtesy of the Australian National Archives. My Grandfather Percival Norman Morse.
December 26, 1916
It’ll be well into 1917 before you receive this. I’m writing from “somewhere in France”. The Christmas package you sent was wonderful. The minute I opened it and smelt the cake I was back to our kitchen watching you bake and the big scrubbed table was laden with Christmas food. Oh well, it’s been pretty bleak here food wise. Rations are short. You would not believe what happened yesterday, a young Jerry marched across no man’s land with a basket and a white scarf on a stick. Silly bugger he nearly got his head blowed off. He left the basket about 20 feet from our trench, called out Merry Christmas in English and took off back to his lines as if the very devil his self were after him. You remember young Alfie Schultz, well he said he could smell fresh bread and he crawled up and out of the trench. He slithered across and grabbed the basket. Bowl me over it was full of fresh baked bread. The Officers tried to take it, but they backed down pretty quick. Tried to tell us it was poisoned. Well, I ate it and I am still here to tell the tale. You know Girlie this isn’t what I thought it would be like. I could be fighting me cousins, ’cause grandpapa was German. It’s not right Girlie. It’s not right. I’m not a coward and I’ll fight, but they’re not all bad.
All my love,