The Muse Of A Nurse In 1916 - unfinished

It was going to be an ordinary afternoon, the 7th of July 1916. Ever since it was declared that war had begun on the 28th of July, the whole country had been busting and screaming at the thought of the combat. Most men were jumping at the idea of volunteering, bragging about their strength and how it will all end by Christmas. I would have liked to have thought that, but I simply didn’t have the luxury. My father was 47; too old to be enlisted. He was married anyway, so he couldn’t. The war had been on-going for little less than 2 years.

A letter came through the post this morning addressed to me, but I had neglected to read it, as I had to be at the local hospital to tend to some accidents that had occurred on the railway. By the time I got back, I was itching to read it. I had to do chores first, however, before I could even look at the letter. Ironing, feeding the chickens and pigs, pulling up the potatoes, checking Jimmy hasn’t grazed his knees falling out of the tree and then cleaning out the hay in the stables. It took about three hours, which was infuriating. To top it all off, Jimmy insisted on getting yet another demonstration on how to climb the oak tree. He’s only 9, bless him, and he just can’t seem to get the hang of keeping the strength in his arms and wrists.

“Jimmy, I don’t really want to do this right now…” I told him, trying to pry him off my hip. He was about half my size, since he’s 9 and I’m 23.