Made in Myrtle Street (Prequel) by B A Lightfoot

now. Would the same bright moon that was lighting up his trench be lighting up their bedrooms and pointing those bright silvery fingers through the slits in the curtain and on to their sleeping faces?
    Thank God she wouldn’t know that in a few hours time he would be leaving the safety of his trench and running up this ravine into enemy fire. Whilst she was giving Sadie and Mary a sugar butty he would be trying to kill the Turkish soldiers before they killed him. Turkish soldiers who at this moment were further up the valley, gazing up at these same stars and thinking about their own wives and families in their homes. Please God he would make it and Laura would not be getting that knock on the front door from the telegram boy.
    Edward looked around him at the high sides of the valley that were capped with a covering of fir trees. The stream near where he lay ran down from the enemy positions about five hundred yards away and the land between was a rocky scrub land that would provide only limited cover for them behind the small hillocks and gorse bushes. Running off from the sides of the valley were a number of smaller gullies – each with its own surprises. Throughout the night the whine of exchanged shellfire continued with odd bursts of rifle fire between as the trench watches on both sides shot nervously at imaginary enemies in the shadows of no-man’s land.
    The small stream that ran down the ravine was full of slime and was blood-coloured in patches around the unreachable corpses. It was also home to hundreds of frogs that eventually added their loud croaking to the chorus of noise of Gallipoli. From nearby he heard a strained, mournful animal sound. He looked round and saw Liam, hands cupped around his mouth, croaking in counterpoint to the frogs.
     
    ***
     
    The following morning, shortly before 11.00am, there was a brief and barely noticed artillery attack on the Turkish positions. They had earlier had a briefing from Major Fforbes-Fosdyke who had given them a theatrical, almost comic, address on the need for discipline under fire, showing courage in the face of adversity and for setting aside personal safety when fighting in this noble war. They were told that they should feel honoured to have been given this opportunity to pay the ultimate price for the glory of the King and the British Empire. The Major had come to Gallipoli only two days before, landing on ‘V’ Beach, but spoke the role of a heroic survivor of the first landings in April. He took a perverse delight in talking about the men who had died and how they must be prepared to meet death themselves to avenge the loss of their comrades.
    Edward stared at the taut, white skin of his knuckles as his hands gripped round his rifle and wondered whether the King would look after his wife and kids if he was called on to pay this ultimate price. The NCO’s had been calling out the five minute time signals for twenty minutes now. 10.50am – only ten minutes left.
    Big Charlie carefully wiped his Lee Enfield with his polishing cloth and Liam, slumped on the firing step, muttered prayers for safe deliverance.
    Around him he could see the tense bodies of his mates, rifles held in front of them, eyes staring into the ground. He looked at the soldier on his left. He was younger than Edward and came from near the gas works but he was the type who never said that much. Kept himself to himself really. Edward had played football with the lad’s older brother, the aptly named Chopper Hennessy, and had had a more recent bruising encounter with him on a rugby field in Egypt. Young Hennessy had only recently joined the Terriers, having been brought along by Chopper ‘to get him out a bit.’ Edward noticed that the lad had taken off his glasses. Lines of shining dried salt traced down his cheeks. The tension was showing in the tight ridged muscles of the young man’s neck and Edward asked him if he was OK. He got no reply. The eyes never flickered and the only sign