This is the opening to a novel I've begun writing and intend to continue writing over the next year or so, I'd like to get some opnions, specificially as to what you think of the opening paragraph. It's a fictional World War I novel about a man who describes how his life lead to this week, the first day of the Battle of the Somme.
I need honest opinions people so do give them please.
REMEMBRANCE
By Petros L. Ioannou
Remember them. Remember them in your soul and in your body. Remember them in your heart and in your head. Those who gave life and limb for the sweet honour to die for their country. Those who's blood drenched the fields of Europe and gave rise to the red stained flower. Those who at the going down of the sun and in the morning, we will remember them.
Robert Fletcher; that's my name. Yes indeed through all the millions who fell in the trenches during the war to end all wars, we still had our names. In fact, it was all we really owned, for our clothes, our arms, our blood, skin and bone, belonged to England. Our heart and soul belonged to the country. You could say they belonged to the Generals and the Admirals, the commanders-in-chief. Those who sent us marching over the edge of the trenches and let the rattling ripple of the machine gun fire tear through our uniform and sent us to the ground in the drenched in the dirt of the mud that lay all along the earthen fields of France and Belgium. But even they, safe back miles behind the front lines, even their heart and soul belonged to England. It was not just England however that felt the roaring pain of death and despair as her children were slaughtered like cattle, mustard gas scorching our flesh asunder. There were French, Russians and even the Italians joined the next year, dying on our side of the war. The Germans, the Austro-Hungarians, Ottomans, the major players as our nemesis. We were trained to hate the Fritz and they were trained to hate the Tommy. It was our mission, our duty to England. Were the demons of Lucifer to rise to the field as swiftly as the sun in the East, they would turn their eyes away and return from whence they came. For I feel that in hell at least we are all equal no matter which circle we are placed in, we are all doomed to it. Here, we came by choice; we volunteered looking at the posters of Kitchener telling us that England needed our help, that without us the British Empire would crumble before the rising might of the Kaiser and his brigands. It seemed too personal to us at the time that no matter how we tried to resist the temptation, even I, one who spoke out against the war was eventually taken by it. The finger pointing, he was pointing to you and simultaneously pointing at the whole of the country. The whole nation saw him telling us that it was our duty to our country, our duty to England to give everything we had.
When war broke out in the height of summer 1914, I had just finished my education at Oxford completing a degree in history. Unlike many others I wasn't rushing to the front of the queue to sign up for German target practice. I stayed behind in disbelief as to how it had all spiralled out of control. One man thousands of miles away is shot dead by terrorists and now the whole world is being thrust into conflict. I studied history to learn about the flaws of humanity and how would could learn from them yet it seemed that no-one else wanted to, the nations of the world were in the progress of making one. Studying at Oxford was a joy, the heart of the education system leading the way to the future. And history at some point was someone's future. Now it's our past and now it's our turn to learn from those who came before us just as I hope people shall someday learn from us. This war that has been an atrocity against the earth, against life; what can the future learn from our flaws and our mistakes when today becomes history?
As a well-educated man I seemed understand the consequences of war in comparison with the rest of the men under my command. I was a young officer, promoted to the rank of Captain about nine months ago, I was given the duty to lead them and their lives were dependant on my commands and my actions. It was a responsibility that no twenty-three year old should be undertaking at this point and it wasn't how I saw my life panning out. I never expected to be walking through trenches of mud, drowned by torrents of rain but I'm sure that no one else did either. Yet here I stand on the 1st June 1916, in boots and uniform, deep within a trench yet feeling naked to the cold air and almost in preparation for the bite of a bullet. I stand here in northern France, in a small part of the Picardie region, an area named after the river that flows through it.
I had been ordered by Captain Richard Weathers, one of General Rawlinson's subordinates to find a spy within our midst. I couldn't believe my ears when I heard the news, Weathers, who didn't seem as shocked as I, stood there as he told me that an intelligence officer named Jack Thomas, an American who worked for our intelligence agency, was being sent to help investigate and discover the spy in the ranks of my unit. It wasn't bad enough that we had the Germans trying to mow us down with those damned merciless machine guns, now we had our own people working against us? It was a lot to take in but I had my orders. I had to find the spy before the planned big offensive, where my unit and I would go over the top of the trenches into No-Man's Land one month from now. That's what they called it, the whole area, whether it is in Verdun, or here, near the River, which they named this area after; the River Somme.
I need honest opinions people so do give them please.
REMEMBRANCE
By Petros L. Ioannou
Remember them. Remember them in your soul and in your body. Remember them in your heart and in your head. Those who gave life and limb for the sweet honour to die for their country. Those who's blood drenched the fields of Europe and gave rise to the red stained flower. Those who at the going down of the sun and in the morning, we will remember them.
Robert Fletcher; that's my name. Yes indeed through all the millions who fell in the trenches during the war to end all wars, we still had our names. In fact, it was all we really owned, for our clothes, our arms, our blood, skin and bone, belonged to England. Our heart and soul belonged to the country. You could say they belonged to the Generals and the Admirals, the commanders-in-chief. Those who sent us marching over the edge of the trenches and let the rattling ripple of the machine gun fire tear through our uniform and sent us to the ground in the drenched in the dirt of the mud that lay all along the earthen fields of France and Belgium. But even they, safe back miles behind the front lines, even their heart and soul belonged to England. It was not just England however that felt the roaring pain of death and despair as her children were slaughtered like cattle, mustard gas scorching our flesh asunder. There were French, Russians and even the Italians joined the next year, dying on our side of the war. The Germans, the Austro-Hungarians, Ottomans, the major players as our nemesis. We were trained to hate the Fritz and they were trained to hate the Tommy. It was our mission, our duty to England. Were the demons of Lucifer to rise to the field as swiftly as the sun in the East, they would turn their eyes away and return from whence they came. For I feel that in hell at least we are all equal no matter which circle we are placed in, we are all doomed to it. Here, we came by choice; we volunteered looking at the posters of Kitchener telling us that England needed our help, that without us the British Empire would crumble before the rising might of the Kaiser and his brigands. It seemed too personal to us at the time that no matter how we tried to resist the temptation, even I, one who spoke out against the war was eventually taken by it. The finger pointing, he was pointing to you and simultaneously pointing at the whole of the country. The whole nation saw him telling us that it was our duty to our country, our duty to England to give everything we had.
When war broke out in the height of summer 1914, I had just finished my education at Oxford completing a degree in history. Unlike many others I wasn't rushing to the front of the queue to sign up for German target practice. I stayed behind in disbelief as to how it had all spiralled out of control. One man thousands of miles away is shot dead by terrorists and now the whole world is being thrust into conflict. I studied history to learn about the flaws of humanity and how would could learn from them yet it seemed that no-one else wanted to, the nations of the world were in the progress of making one. Studying at Oxford was a joy, the heart of the education system leading the way to the future. And history at some point was someone's future. Now it's our past and now it's our turn to learn from those who came before us just as I hope people shall someday learn from us. This war that has been an atrocity against the earth, against life; what can the future learn from our flaws and our mistakes when today becomes history?
As a well-educated man I seemed understand the consequences of war in comparison with the rest of the men under my command. I was a young officer, promoted to the rank of Captain about nine months ago, I was given the duty to lead them and their lives were dependant on my commands and my actions. It was a responsibility that no twenty-three year old should be undertaking at this point and it wasn't how I saw my life panning out. I never expected to be walking through trenches of mud, drowned by torrents of rain but I'm sure that no one else did either. Yet here I stand on the 1st June 1916, in boots and uniform, deep within a trench yet feeling naked to the cold air and almost in preparation for the bite of a bullet. I stand here in northern France, in a small part of the Picardie region, an area named after the river that flows through it.
I had been ordered by Captain Richard Weathers, one of General Rawlinson's subordinates to find a spy within our midst. I couldn't believe my ears when I heard the news, Weathers, who didn't seem as shocked as I, stood there as he told me that an intelligence officer named Jack Thomas, an American who worked for our intelligence agency, was being sent to help investigate and discover the spy in the ranks of my unit. It wasn't bad enough that we had the Germans trying to mow us down with those damned merciless machine guns, now we had our own people working against us? It was a lot to take in but I had my orders. I had to find the spy before the planned big offensive, where my unit and I would go over the top of the trenches into No-Man's Land one month from now. That's what they called it, the whole area, whether it is in Verdun, or here, near the River, which they named this area after; the River Somme.