Ahead, an old, rickety barn, sandwiched between a thick, dark copse of trees and a French farmhouse. This all seems so peculiarly familiar, I can’t think why though. The barn is adorned with a distinctive, rusty weather vane in the shape of a proud cockerel. I remember now, it is the last brick building that I stayed in until the culmination of my contribution to the Great War. …show more content…
There is a mixture of emotions clouding the air: fear, excitement, nerves, pride to be doing our bit for our king and country.
I clasp my spinning head with my old, wrinkled hands; my brain returns to the present time. I keep ambling along down the dusty road, then, to my right, I spot an uneven path and I decide to explore it. There ahead of me the crimson smudge that I noticed earlier; I move closer, the shapes turn into distinctive heads of flowers. Poppies. Ruby red poppies flood the vast field like a sea of blood. I start to quicken my pace a little and step out into the ocean. I recognise where I am now, this is where my teenage self was first stationed when I came to