Nine Thousand Boys

Madison had been on the bus for seven minutes now and it was getting boring. Next to her, Gemma was lost in the music of her i-pod and wouldn’t respond even to sharp elbows to the ribs. Madison pulled out her phone and texted her second-best friend Tiffany.

Hey Tiff wasup? So BORED rite now.

Seconds later, Tiffany responded:

Hey Mad. BORED 2 death in Coms lecture atm. Where U at?

Madison replied instantly:

On the bus. Gem out of it as usual. Bus full of smelly old people, old dude opposite dribbling and talking to himself. Shd be put down.

Lol. Probly gunna hit on U.

Eeewww think hes checkin my boobs.

Haha old perv. Mad’s got a boyfrend!

EEEWWW old ppl R so gross.

 

Duncan realised that he was mumbling and checked himself. It was a habit he’d got into when his mind wandered, which it did more and more these days. He enjoyed riding on the bus, especially now that it was free for senior citizens. He had never imagined that he would make it to ‘senior citizen’ age. So many didn’t. His dad was only twenty-seven, killed in that murderous landing at Suvla Bay. As a boy, Duncan had worn his dad’s medals proudly, head full of glory, never understanding what a landing under fire was really like, and never having known his father. And Gwen wasn’t even fifty; everything they had been through together, then when it was time for a bit of a rest, a bit of joy, she’d been taken with the cancer.

And, of course, the boys at Normandy, who would always remain boys in Duncan’s mind. Nine thousand boys lying dead on the beaches. His brother Harry. His best mate Lew. As always, Duncan was back there in an instant. He would never be free of the screeching shells, the brutal body-blows of explosions, bloody human parts and bits of kit all mashed together, the grey sea washing up pink along the shore for miles. Hand to hand fighting, taking that beach foot by bloody foot. Nine thousand boys. Sergeant Giles, a funny bugger and tough as nails, saved more than a few of them before he copped a bullet to the neck. Henderson, the smart one, always inventing stuff and wondering about life. He could have been someone, that Henderson. Barnes, just a kid, calling out for his mum in those last minutes as Duncan had held him.

Duncan breathed deeply and shut his eyes as he gradually got the shaking under control. With a great effort of will, he sat straight and smiled. It had been worth it. Their sacrifice had been worth every life cut short that day. They had stopped the Nazis right there, turned the tide of the war. Those nine thousand boys dead on the beaches of Normandy had ensured that all western nations would enjoy freedom for generations to come. The lovely young girls sitting opposite, for example, could take their freedom totally for granted, and Duncan was glad about that.