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11th November 1918, several whistles sound. The sound of the whistles are ringing in my ears, the loudness of them impacting on my eardrums. The general steps forward in the trench where I am sitting with my rifle and bayonet clutched in my hands tightly. “Right lads, the war is over!” The general explodes loudly with his toothpick moustache swaying in the cold winter wind. The war is over. I couldn’t believe my ears. They must have been impacted with the sounds of the whistles, no way was this war over. The Great War people were calling it. I don’t see it that way. This war has been anything but great. “Did you hear that Billy boy? The war is over, we can go home!” screamed John, my best friend in the war in my ear, he has a toothy grin on his face which is also smeared with blood and dirt. John was a small man standing only 5 ft 6 but he had a personality that made up for his height, he was loud and boisterous; always excited about something. John has a mop of bright red hair which was flyaway under his helmet which looked like it was sewn onto his head. “I heard the general John,” I said less excited than John. I just couldn’t believe this war was over. Four years of hard fighting and now it was finished in a second. My name is Billy Smith and I’m twenty-one years old. I have spent my teenage years fighting in this war and it has given me a negative outlook on life. The rest of my comrades started packing up their very few belongings in the trench and I started to do so too. I only had a few precious belongings; a photograph of my beloved Betty who was hopefully still waiting for me back home in Bellshill, Scotland, a photograph of my family, my mother, father and three siblings, all of whom were too young to enlist when the war was announced. As the oldest, I enlisted right away wishing to do the best for my country. I was assigned to the regiment known as the Black Watch, a regiment of excellent snipers and stealth, as a thin boy, my build was perfect for a stealth role. “How are we getting home?” I wondered loudly to John as he packed up his things too. “Horse and carriage to get out of France,” He said “Then a boat to take us back to England, don’t know how we’ll be getting back to Scotland though,” He finished. There was a mad rush to get to the horses. I’m struggling to run on my feet because I have something called Trench Foot. Trench Foot is a disease of the feet by having them constantly wet and dirty, not something I’m proud of but due to the lack of postal service these last few months I’ve been unable to write home in order to get my mother to send me fresh socks. My feet are aching as I make my way to the horses. Several of my fellow soldiers have already boarded carriages and are making their way out of France. I climb aboard a carriage with John and three other young men. We all take our seats and stare out of the windows for one last glimpse of the trench and no man’s land. You can see where the bombs had hit the ground with the massive potholes in the ground big enough to fit several men inside. The smell of death hangs heavy in the air as it always does. The smell of death is tricky to describe but one you would never forget in a hurry. The opposition had their orders to pack up and leave too as we see the Germans on the other side of no man’s land getting into carriages too. As the horses started to move, moving the carriage along with them I stared out of the window at no man’s land. Several times we had been given the orders to ‘Go over the top’ which meant throw yourself out of the safety of the trench and step onto the unforgiving soil of no man’s land. The last time I went over the top I made it all the way to the German trench. Don’t ask me how I managed to dodge all the bullets, bombs and mustard gas, even though my feet were sore I was still a fast runner. The German trench looked very similar to our trench; full of mud and water. The trench seemed deserted with every man fighting on the battlefield. I made my way slowly through the trench looking for intel when all of a sudden, a German solider ran straight into me. We stared at each other for a couple of seconds, frozen to the spot. The German solider mumbled something in German I could barely hear him let alone understand him. He had his rifle and bayonet in one hand, grasping it tightly and I did the same, waiting for him to shoot me. We were stuck, frozen to the spot still when the German solider became unstuck and ran straight past me. My heart was pounding loudly in my ears with the adrenaline pumping around my body. The German solider had let me go. I had also let him go I had to remind myself. I was so stunned to see someone in the German trench that I froze. Relief flooded over my body that I wasn’t shot or stabbed as I made my way out of the German trench and back onto no man’s land. I didn’t dare tell anyone, not even John, my best friend that I had let a German solider walk free. I guessed I would be judged for it. Back in the horse and carriage carrying us out of France was moving steadily through the French countryside. The countryside had seen its fair share of the war too as a lot of it was destroyed. Massive holes in the ground again where the bombs had been set off, houses and cottages barely standing and fields bombed to absolutely nothing. I begin to feel bad. Poor France, as they had acted as host for this war it was their country which was lying in ruins. After many hours of sitting in silence in the carriage, we finally made it to the boats. There was a sea of soldiers waiting to board one, there was a sea of green, black, brown and khaki colours with many of the soldiers still wearing their helmets even though there was no danger anymore. Everyone had departed with their rifles, I certainly had. I had left mine back in the trench. I hated my rifle. I had to remind myself several times a day that this rifle was keeping me safe but it made me feel awful knowing how many people I killed with it. All those sons, brothers, uncles and fathers that I had wiped out with the rifle made me feel uneasy. I was glad to be shot of it now. There was several hours wait for the boats. John and I passed the time by playing cards. “What’s the first thing you’ll do when you get home Billy?” John asked for the hundredth time. “See my family and Betty,” I replied. “How about you John?” “Get this bloody uniform off and back into normal clothes,” John said, “I miss my old clothes and I cannot wait to change my socks my feet are killing me” John had Trench Foot too then I guessed. It took several hours waiting for the boats before we finally boarded one. It was a large boat, big enough to fit fifty odd men. The boat was crowded with everyone pushing along to get a better look at England. We finally set off in the boat with a loud roar from the engine. We were finally on our way back to England. The water was choppy and uneven making the journey difficult to those with seasickness, the young man in front of me began heaving and vomited over the side of boat. “I hate boats,” I heard him mumble in between vomiting fits. I feel queasy too, the sea was certainly very rough today and I had trouble keeping my lunch down. Not John though, John was the most excited I’d ever seen him. “If you almost close your eyes, you can see Dover!” He exclaimed loudly. It took a few more hours to get to England but before I knew it, we were landing in Dover. Thankful to have my feet on solid ground again, I made my way out of the boat, following John who was almost skipping off the boat. “Now what?” I asked John. “We could take the train back to Scotland,” John explained. The train, why hadn’t I thought of that! As soon as we could, we made our way to the train station. “We can get a train from here to Liverpool then Liverpool to Glasgow!” John shouted over the noise of the other soldiers making plans on how to get home. So, that’s exactly what we did. We boarded a train to Liverpool. As I sat on the train waiting for it to move, I began to feel uneasy. Nervous almost. What if my family don’t recognise me anymore? It’s been a hard war and I’m sure you could see it on my face how hard a war it’s been. I feel like I’ve aged about thirty years and not at all like a young twenty one year old. What if Betty didn’t wait for me and agreed to marry someone else? My heart was pounding as I began thinking of this. I love Betty with all my heart and if she married someone else I would be truly heartbroken. I can almost see her now with her long blonde hair down to her waist and hazel eyes shimmering in the sun. “No, I’m sure she has waited for me” I thought to myself, partly to keep myself sane. The English countryside whizzed past on the train and it looked perfectly normal. No huge holes in the ground, no smell of death. It was a welcoming change from the death and destruction we were normalized to in the war. After a few more hours on the train, we made it to Liverpool. At Liverpool, we changed trains to Glasgow which was leaving in five minutes. We rushed onto the train as not to miss it as another train was an hour away. We took our seats and sat down, we got many stares on the train as several other soldiers made their way onto the train too. It must’ve been a sight to see, all the soldiers coming back from the war and taking up the majority of the train. The train begins to move and we are finally off to Scotland. The countryside whizzes by in an instant as the train moves at top speed. Before we knew it, we were stationed at Glasgow Central Station. It looks grand with the large building and high ceiling. John and I depart from each other as he goes off to Falkirk and I go off to Bellshill. We say our hurried goodbyes and promise to write to each other before we board our final train. The train to Bellshill is quick as it only takes twenty minutes to get there. As I exit the train, I can see Bellshill in all its glory. It’s exactly as I remember it. The main street is filled with shops of every variety, the green grocers is still there exactly where I remembered it. I walk down the main street drinking in the sights as I make my way to my house which is a stone throw away from the main street. Finally, I see my house. I can see Betty and my mother drinking tea and talking through the window. I knock on the door and they come running out. “Billy!” they both exclaim as I bend down to hug both of them. This is it. I am finally home.