Sunday, November 6, 2011

First Person Post

Dearest Kitty,

What am I doing? I don’t want to do this. But there are posters everywhere saying that I should. I don’t want to disappoint my family and friends. Especially Ma.

But this subject is too gloomy for us to go over, dearest sister, for I simply had it to “get it out of my system” as Mr. Morgan’s serving boy would say, back at home. Oh, how I miss Kithvale.

It was a lucky break that I nearly had a turn for the worst in my health; I am not fit to enlist yet.

Everything is so changed, Kitty. A week ago we were all so happy and now I just can’t find myself at all. I’m lost. You would walk down the street, from where I board, and you would see various posters of shapes and sizes. There’s one in particular, that I despise the most. “Today the German Monster threatens the World with Bloodshed Slavery and Death” it says boldly. A scene of a thunderstorm with a large beast in a German helmet, crushing the earth. I shall not say no more.

I do not believe this war will end in one or two months. Do you think a war for which Germany has been preparing for twenty years will be over in a few weeks, Kitty? And do you know what will happen if she conquers? Australia will be a German colony. I don’t see why we should fight England’s battles; she’s quite able to fight them herself.

I don't mince the matter to myself. It's a relief to own up even to you, Kitty. I wouldn't confess it to anybody else. But I hate the whole thing ­the horror, the pain, the ugliness. War isn't a khaki uniform or a drill parade, ­everything I've read in old histories haunts me. I lie awake at night and see things that have happened ­see the blood and filth and misery of it all. And a bayonet charge! If I could face the other things I could never face that. It turns me sick to think of it ­sicker even to think of giving it than receiving it ­to think of thrusting a bayonet through another man.

Before this war is over, every man and woman and child will feel it­, ­feel it to your heart's core. You will weep tears of blood over it. The Pied Piper has come ­and he will pipe until every corner of the world has heard his awful and irresistible music. It will be years before the dance of death is over­ years.

But I would not have myself stay, when the others have gone, when I think it is my duty – I would not have myself so selfish and small-souled.

Someday, the Piper will come over the hill up there and down Kithvale, piping merrily and sweetly. And I will follow him – follow him down to the shore, down to the sea, away from you all. I don’t think I’ll want to go – it will be such an adventure – but I won’t. Only I’ll HAVE to – the music will call and call and call me until I MUST follow.

Forever yours,

Kenneth B


References:
- The Piper, by L.M.Montgomery

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