Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: Trust and Obey (don't write about the song) (05/21/15)
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TITLE: Ad Honorem | Previous Challenge Entry
By Ann Stocking
05/28/15 -
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Jack’s face is shining with wet darkness, and I grip the scorched and tattered fabric of his sleeve. I retreat, pulling him with me.
To Jack’s left, lies another motionless mound. I roll Jack into waiting arms and leap back into the chaos.
William Frederick Briggs of Newcastle was
awarded the Victoria Cross, Britain’s highest
medal, for distinguished and meritorious service
during the Battle of Le Cateau in France,
rescuing five wounded comrades from No
Man’s Land during the night of August 25.
Briggs, known as Billy to his chums, remained
unassuming and thoughtful when interviewed,
insisting he “just does as he’d told,” claiming
he carries out orders as directed by his
Supreme Commander.
To this day, I cannot remember what raised me aloft, a prompting or summons from Above, perhaps. For one moment I was firing into the haze, and the next, I was tussling with a trio of Germans who were attempting to march off with our Corporal Harris at the business end of their bayonets. I made short work of the three, obliging them to release the corporal. Maybe I’ll be rewarded with an extra dab of jam tonight.
For assisting the French in obstructing
advancing Germans at Mons, William Frederick
Briggs was presented with the “1914 Star.”
Private Briggs is known for his committed
dependability and his keen sense of duty.
Home by Christmas, that’s what they said. A bit of lark we’d have, that’s all, sending Fritz packing, trouncing them soundly after a few solid rounds. But we continue to travail, and it’s no tea party. The trenches are awash with mud and rats and blood, our boots sodden, our rations putrid, but by God, we’re relying on Him to help us see this thing through.
I have an objective; He’s assigned me to be my brothers’ keeper, has He not? The brothers wallowing in the trench, certainly, but especially brothers and sisters at home, those too little, too old, those not yet born, brothers all. They’re trusting us to get the job done.
BRIGGS, WILLIAM FREDERICK - Born
12 January, 1892, in Newcastle, died at home
in his sleep Friday. He was 64.
Briggs served during World War 1 and had
multiple honours bestowed upon him,
including the Victoria Cross, for outstanding
bravery and heroism. He lost three fingers,
was blinded in one eye, and suffered
numerous shrapnel and gunshot wounds.
I fly through the swirling smoke, how I don’t know, for I am wearing boots of granite. Machine gun fire sizzles past me; I feel its heat.
I splatter kerosene over the camouflaged pillbox, then ignite it. The nets and shrubbery bloom in a brilliant blaze, and I run for it, knowing the flames have put me in the spotlight, and sure enough, I catch something on my shoulder. I fall, roll, then crawl as if the devil’s after me, finally tumbling into the ditch.
The truth is, I’m not a brave man. If you only knew how my insides run like curdled milk, and my legs are but flimsy sticks. If it weren’t for His insistent prodding, I’d collapse. If it weren’t for the certainty He has my back, one way or the other, I’d wail like a puling baby.
After the war, Briggs worked as a
labourer at Hillsbury Farms in Durham. To
his disappointment, he was rejected for
further duty in 1939 because of his injuries.
Briggs is survived by his devoted wife,
Eleanor; four children, William Briggs, Jr.,
Jane Anderson, Susan Tattersall, and
Thomas Briggs; fourteen grandchildren.
Friendship’s a heartbreak, for the next time you see Ralph or George, it could be he’s a mangled piece of flesh clutching a buckled rifle. Not wise to dwell too much on the frightful aspects of our likely fates. Better to keep our sights set on carrying on, and we cheerfully promise each other to meet up for a pint when we’re back home.
Home! I’ve given my heart to a sweet gal to hold for me, and if I get through this, I hope she’ll still have me.
He was loved by many.
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I especially liked the MC's reference to being his brothers keeper.
Superbly written historical piece.