It was dark, that morning, that final day of July, in ’17. They told us there would be a light at dawn, but it was not to be. Shortly before the fourth clock, they said we were to move towards the stream. I made my peace with God, and asked Him to forgive me for leaving my girl and the baby behind. If I was to leave this Earth, they would have no one. I was seventeen, and yes, I had lied like many other boys to be here. There were eight of us that morning, and only I made it to the afternoon, only I saw another day, another Sunrise. It didn’t have a name at the time, the battle. And in it, we were just children pretending to be men, and in the end, that is what we became. We lived and died as men. I made it to the stream and no further. I was caught behind a clump of trees which was my only defence against the Hun. I still think of those months, and yes, I did make it home. But at what cost? I left my heart, my soul, my mind and my brothers back there, in Passchendaele. God forgive me.
bobby stevenson 2017