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@bluejay, @anna-brie, @sarah-h, @overcomer, @gretald, @ingridrd, @jess, @daeus, @kate-flournoy, @christi-eaton, @acacia-kate, @dragon-snapper, @corissa-maiden-of-praise, @emma-flournoy, @dancefree7, @hope, @winter-rose, @aratrea. Here’s a short story I wrote for a school assignment a while ago. It’s a little wordy here and there, a I had to include certain criteria, but it was fun to write. I based it on the poem “Fuzzy Wuzzy Angels.” I’m not sure all you Americans would have heard of it, but I’m pretty sure @bluejay and @anna-brie would have. If you haven’t read it, you should go look it up. It’s a good poem. And now…Enjoy!*bows impressively*
With furrowed brow and tight clasped hands, Clara Beros gazed out the window of her husband’s new automobile. Life in Australia in the late 1910s was hard; the Beros’ cattle station was so dry, they had stopped bathing themselves every day for the sake of keeping the cattle alive. A wealthy relative from Melbourne had given them the car. Cleverly parked with its side to the field to use as little space as possible, it had been an incredible God-send. Now they could reach destinations far more quickly.
Lifting the baby from her lap and placing him on the seat beside her, Clara turned to have a better view out the open window. Baby Bert was teething noisily on an old, but clean, corn cob. His mother closed her eyes and thought of the last words she had said to her husband before he went to join the other racers.
“While you’re out there, John, please do be careful; that horse is awfully skittish and he always loses his head when he runs.”
To which he had replied, “That old bag of laziness? He’ll be fine, dear, don’t you worry your head about me.”
“As if I didn’t have full confidence in your skill! It’s only my affection for you that’s worried, darling. I love you.”
“And I you, darling,” he replied as he bent to kiss her, “Best sit in the car, it will be much cooler for you and Bertie.”
Suddenly, the starting gun cracked and Clara awoke from her reminiscing. She was just in time to see John raise his hand to her, before he was swept away like a wave into the turmoil of stormy, frothing sea that the horses well resembled. Though she had proclaimed her assurance in his capability, she wasn’t so certain of the other racers or John’s horse. She hoped he would be careful.
A great shout arose. She caught the words, “Oh, He’s down!”
“Dear me, who was it?”
“Dunno. I think maybe ‘twas number eight: Beros.”
Faint with terror, Clara leaned back in the seat of the automobile and clutched her baby, whispering over and over, “It can’t be John. No, it can’t be!”
———
Bert laughed. Smiling proudly at her tall son, looking so becoming in his uniform, Clara Beros laughed with him. Her boy had a great sense of humour and was always going to great lengths to amuse his mother.
Balancing on the precarious stool, Bert remembered back to when he had been a small boy. After his father died, he and his mother had moved to Melbourne to live with her well-off brother. When Bert was 15, he had finished school and gone to be an apprentice on a cattle station. Within 2 years, his employer had deemed him ready to begin his own station, and Bert’s uncle had helped set him up. He and his mother had lived and worked on the station for several years. Most of all, Bert had loved being able to support his mother. Bravely, they had pushed on through rain and shine, bush fires and good crops. When the war broke out in 1939, Bert and his mother hadn’t expected it to affect them. By the time February of 1942 arrived, however, Bert had known that he needed to sign up. If the Japanese could be so blunt as to bomb Darwin, an Australian city, then there was no knowing how soon they would conquer Australia as a whole. Bert wasn’t taking any chances. He joined the Australian Army. He wanted to help them. Training to be a sapper, Bert had worked very hard. Sappers, also known as pioneers or combat engineers, were soldiers who did military engineering duties like bridge-building, laying or clearing minefields or road and airfield construction and repair. It was a difficult and dangerous job, but his mother was thankful that he hadn’t been assigned to a fighting position.
Drifting slowly back to the present, he gazed at the lens of the camera about to take his photograph, idly wondering if it was similar to what it felt like to look down the barrel of a gun. Bert quickly tilted his slouch hat to the correct angle, grinned at his mother, and, then gazed at the camera. The flash was blinding.
————-With his bandaged eyes lifted to the sky, the young man groped for his guide’s hand. Cautiously, he stretched out his foot, feeling for the ground in front, checking that the next step was safe. The dark-skinned, almost-naked man came back suddenly and clutched at him.
“Mi stap. No ken wari.”
Bert turned away, a wave of nausea hitting him like a tsunami. Why did he feel like this? In months gone by he had stayed strong in the face of terrible horrors; men groaning and crying out in pain, far past the point of trying to be brave. Sadly, some of the things he had witnessed had been so dreadful that he didn’t think he would ever be able to speak or even think of them. This, however, was too much. To see a man without his sight, which left him completely in the dark, forever, was, in his opinion, the worst thing that could happen to a fellow.
Rubbing his hand across his eyes while he walked deliberately to the edge of the camp and sat down, Bert contemplated the conditions of this type of warfare. He sighed. When would this misery end?
When Bert had been trained as a sapper, he was sent to the Kokoda track in July 1942. His captain was highly pleased with him and often sent him far ahead to prepare the way for the other soldiers.
Watching the local men carrying the white soldiers, Bert have been amazed at the tenderness and care that these unrefined savages showed to their charges. The tattoos on their faces, the holes in their ears – they weren’t strictly beautiful, but they sure were an awful lot like angels.
“In a way, their hair is rather funny,” Bert thought with a smile, “and yet I suppose mine looks strange to them, too. Blessed black angels; we sure do need them here. How I hate this horrid track.”
Glancing up, he saw a slight movement in a tree nearby.
“A Jap sniper!!” Bert stretched out his hand slowly for his gun, hoping the sniper was looking the other way. As he did, he saw the blinded man and his local guide again. A gun cracked.Epilogue –
Bert gazed groggily at the nurse in front of him. “How did I get to a hospital?”
“Two of the local guides carried you in on a stretcher.” She replied with a smile.
“But that’s over 30 kilometres! In one day!” He was wide awake now. Those dear, fuzzy angels!
“Yes, well, they go further than that at times. They’re used to it. Surely you’ve seen that.”
“Hmm. Do you mind getting me some paper and a pencil? I want to write to my mother.”
“Certainly. You mustn’t write for long, though. You’re very weak.”
“Alright.”
Lying back against the pillows of his hospital bed, Bert wondered what had happened to the blind man back at the camp. Had someone shot the sniper? Or was he still picking them off one by one? There wouldn’t be many men who survived this track. It would only be those the black angels saved who lived to tell the tale.
The nurse returned with a sheet of paper and a pencil and handed them to him, before moving on to the patient in the next bed. Gazing out into space, Bert remembered, as well as he could, all the times he had seen the locals at work. Then, placing the point of the pencil on the paper, he began.
Many a mother in Australia
when the busy day is done…
Official Member of the Certified Club of Aussie Kapeefers
Actually @clairec I haven’t heard of Fuzzy Wuzzy Angels. *Must look it up*
But OH MY GOODNESS!!!!! That’s an awesome story. Nearly made me cry. I was just to hooked to let the tears get in my way. I…well…I really don’t know what to say. It was AWESOME!!!!!!!!!!!!! Well done. 🙂@bluejay, Wow! I can’t believe it nearly moved you to tears. I’m really glad you liked it! 😛 (Oh, bother, here we go again!)
Official Member of the Certified Club of Aussie Kapeefers
@ClaireC Awesome story! I like it a lot. I really don’t know as much Australian history as I should. Now I have to find that poem and read it. 🙂
@sarah-h, Interestingly, not many people do know much about Australian history…a lot of Australians included!! I don’t know a huge amount either. I know the basics, but I only know about, um, *scratches head* maybe 3? of our prime ministers. So, yeah. 😉 I only know a lot about the Pacific War (the Pacific in WWII) because that’s what my current novel is about! 🙂
Official Member of the Certified Club of Aussie Kapeefers
@clairec
*exhales shakily* *sniffs and blinks back tears* This is so moving and VERY well written. I’d have to agree with @Bluejay; I was so absorbed in the story that I didn’t have time to cry! I was tearing up, though. Excellent job on the characters. Nothing to critique. Amazing job, Claire! 🙂And I just read the poem… 🙂
A dreamer who believes in the impossible...and dragons. (INFJ-T)
Excellent! Well written, and in a way that visualizing the scenes was not hard at all. I could almost taste the dust at the ranch, see the joy mingled with sorrow on his mother’s face as he grew, and feel the tension as Bert reached for his gun. That is one of the best signs of a good writer in my opinion. 😉
*goes and reads poem* 🙂
This must have taken a bit of research! Did you use only the internet, or did you have a book too (if you don’t mind my asking)?"Courage is action in spite of fear."
@clairec This was fantastic! I really enjoyed it. 🙂
Theater kid. Currently depressed because I can't stop listening to sad musicals.
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@clairec Thanks for sharing! I like how you mixed story, history and poetry together. It seemed quite realistic and since I don’t know much about Australian history, it was cool to learn a little bit of it through your story. Keep up the awesomeness!
Oh, that’s sweet. 🙂
I read the poem—nice job with his thoughts in the story matching the sentiments expressed in the poem.@clairec Wow, I loved it! Great with the characters and the story! Keep writing because you’ve got a gift from God. 😉
@ClaireC please don’t think I’m ignoring you. I’ll read this eventually; it’s just I’m incredibly busy lately and don’t have time for much extra. When I do read it, you may be sure I’ll tell you what I think. 😉
@ingridrd, @corissa-maiden-of-praise, @christi-eaton, @winter-rose, @emma-flournoy, @gretald. Thank you so much for the feedback! Wow, I can’t believe it affected you guys so much. I didn’t really think it was that great, but I am so glad that you all liked it! 🙂 @corissa-maiden-of-praise, I used the internet for a little bit of information on Bert Beros, the real author of the poem, but apart from the fact that he wrote it, everything about him was fictional (except that he was a sapper.) My great-uncle was a sapper in PNG, so I’ve heard many stories and also done extensive research for my novel (as I said to @bluejay). I had in mind the Australian series ‘Billabong’ by Mary Grant Bruce, when I was writing the setting of outback, 1910s Australia.
Again, So happy you all loved it so much.
@kate-flournoy, no worries whatsoever! 🙂 Love the profile pic, by the way!Official Member of the Certified Club of Aussie Kapeefers
Hey, @clairec , I liked your story. Basing your story on a poem is totally cool and creative. I especially liked the bit about the camera flash. 🙂
I will say though that I’m not certain the first paragraph is entirely necessary to your story. The moment he lost his father, while interesting in itself, frankly confused me as to what the story was actually about. It doesn’t have anything to do with “Those dear Fuzzy Angels.” The beginning needs to be the anchor for your ending. There needs to be a connection. Reading your story again without the first paragraph I instantly felt more in tune with the story. If I were you I’d try cutting it out.
What do you think @daeus ? I’d love a second opinion on that.
Also, is the poem a very long one? It might be even better if you could include the entire poem (or at least enough to tie it in with the story title) in your story. I’ve never read the poem so the significance was a little lost on me.
Anyway, it’s a really nice story. I think that with just a little polishing up it could be a great one. The way you managed to recreate the time period for us in so few words … you do have a gift. 🙂
@ClaireC I agree that it would mean more to us Americans if you included the poem at the end. But then, if your intended audience is Australian, I suppose it doesn’t matter.
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