The Shadow of War by Jack Murray (read this if TXT) 📕

school altogether. Most of the boys left the village school atfourteen, anyway, bound for field or factory. Danny saw no reason why he shouldnot plough the same furrow.

Danny’sattendance had decreased with each passing year following his move to ‘the big ‘uns’side of the partition. He could read pretty well, he thought. There wasn’t muchmore to learn there. He could write, although the neatness was not quite at thesame level as the girls’ in the class. And he could count. Geography seemedpointless, if the folk around him were anything to go by. Everyone tended to stayin the village. Well, except those who had gone to France.

Likehis dad.

Hedefinitely had no yen to travel after seeing what it had done to those who hadleft. Many had not come back. Most never spoke of their time during the War. His dad for one. No, travel was not for him. Heambled along the road enjoying the freedom. The run had warmed him up and hewas in fine fettle. He stopped at a clearing in the forest to look down overthe valley at the twenty or thirty houses scattered around the slope. Behindthem, on the flatter areas lay the farms. In the distance he could see CavendishHall.

Therising sun had cast a shadow over a portion of the valley. He looked up. Thesky was cloudless. A few birds fluttered around. He finished his apple andthrew the core onto the ground in front of him.Getting up, he made his way towards the brook where he had agreed tomeet his pals to share the booty. His feet pushed through the fallen leaves.

Ashe picked his way through the forest, he thought about the future. He wouldsoon be expected to start earning his keep. There was work out there on thefarms. It wasn’t well paid, but Danny didn’t care if it meant he was out ofschool. Then, of course, there was the forge with his dad and brother. Neitherhad mentioned about joining them yet. Anyway, there were choices. But thechoice would come soon. He would suggest leaving school this summer. Once youleft school you were a man. This was Danny’s somewhat limited view of the world.

Physicallyhe was getting there. He’d grown at least two inches in the last year. In two orthree years he’d be as tall as Bert, although his body had not filled out somuch. He was lean but not gangly. If Bert had caught him, it would have been afairly one-sided affair even with Danny’s special ‘throw’. Thought of hisearlier adventure prompted the desire for another of the apples. He grabbed onefrom his bag and took a bite. It had been a near escape. This made the apple tasteall the better.

Ashe munched the apple, he passed a youth sitting against a tree. The youth was alittle bit older than Danny. His clothing was like Danny’s; worn, patched up anda little too small. He looked at Danny and then the apple. It was difficult tosay if there was hunger in those eyes.

‘Morning,Ted,’ said Danny with a smile.

TedTruscott was a bit daft; all agreed. Harmless, but not all there. He rarelysaid much. Education had been attempted and abandoned with little regret oneither side. His life was spent wandering in the forest. Danny went over to himand offered him an apple. Ted looked at Danny and then the apple. He took itand began to eat. Perhaps there was gratitude in the boy’s eyes, it was hard tosay. Their hooded emptiness was its own story. Conversation over, Danny lefthim and continued on his way to the brook.

Birdsong echoed around the trees providing Danny with amusical chorus as he tramped towards the arranged meeting place. He couldn’tsee any birds, though. Just squirrels scuttling up trees. Some stopped for a momentto return his gaze before boredom set in. The only other sound in the forest wasthe crunch of twigs under Danny’s boots.

Thiswas the life. He knew it would not last forever. The prospect of joining hisdad and older brother at the forge was something he neither welcomed nor wantedto avoid. It didn’t occur to him there was anything else. That was it. Life ina village was like this. The future was written in the seasons.

Thefamily were the village smiths. They always had been as far as Danny couldtell. Always would be, probably. There was no reason to change this way oflife. There was no reason, ever, to leave. His father had left. Not his choice,mind. Much good it had done him, thought Danny. Still, he’d survived. Hethought of his friend Bob. His dad had survived the War. In a manner. Injured atCambrai. One leg went that day. Gassed, too. Danny’s dad had seen what hadhappened. He lived just long enough to see Bob walk.

Upahead he saw a gap in the wood. Through the branches light danced on theflowing brook. No sign of his pals. Maybe they’d run into trouble. The milkraid was the most difficult of their plundering activities. They took it inturns. Two would do the milk: one as look-out, one to break in. Danny was onapple patrol. They rotated the farms they stole from so as not to raise anysuspicions. They didn’t take much. Just enough to feed them through the day.

Afew minutes later, he broke through some foliage and arrived at their meetingplace. Looking around he found a flat spot to sit on and waited. The brook ranfast a few feet away. He listened to it gurgling nearby where it hit the rocks.Further upstream it was deeper. They would probably go for a swim. A few monthsago, Alec had fastened a rope from one of the overhanging branches. They couldswing from it for hours on end.

Finally,he heard two voices. They sounded full of vim. A successful mission guessedDanny. He hoped Bob had brought some of his mother’s bread. She worked in thebakery and the boys loved the fresh bread she dispensed every day from her ironoven in the cottage Bob shared with her and his sister.

‘Oy,’shouted Danny, as the boys neared.

‘Oy’shouted Alec by way of response.

Dannylooked up as the two boys