The first in a series of war stories from my Grandfather. I was only a boy at the time, but for some reason he felt able to tell me things he had shared with no one since the war. It was really only after his death that I began to realise that I was the only one who carried these stories. This is my attempt at keeping them alive…
I drove a lorry full of infantry to the assembly point ready for the attack on the village. One of the first shots fired from our heavy guns ricocheted from the church steeple and landed in the field those boys were crossing.
The field had been mined.
Later that day I had the very same young men in the back of the lorry. They were covered in their blankets. The army issue blanket had two purposes: to keep you warm and to bury you in it.
I was glad to make it home in mine.