Do you remember that summers day, when we were both twelve? You had snuck off from Mrs. Davisham’s watchful eye, and I had gotten the day off from the bellows, and we had set off into the woods together, searching for wild blackberries. It came to mind the other day as I trudged through a forest in training, and came across a blackberry bush. I was with Connor at the time, and upon finding the bush he set upon it with a passion, stuffing the berries into his mouth, just as you and I had done all those years ago! Of course, just as we learned, blackberry juice is want to stain, and heavy on the stomach, so that within several minutes the bush was stripped bare, and he was clutching his belly in pain. I helped him recover, only to have him receive a whipping from the sergeant for getting his blouse covered in blackberry juice, just as you returned home to a furious mother who had to clean your entire dress which was soaked in the sticky nectar! Ah how I remember those days fondly. I also remember blackberries fondly, if I am to tell the truth for our chefs seem convinced that we are actually on a ship at the high seas and must ration our meager supplies, rather then in the middle of the bountiful and plenteous countryside! We are lucky if our morning and evening meals are anything more then biscuits and salted beef, and they seem to dole out the greens with a miserly precision that would lead me to believe a massive famine has struck the country.
While we all bemoan this fact, no one is more vocal about it then Isaac, much to our irritation, for nothing is more horrid then agreeing with someone you hate. The worst though is the negative attention it draws upon us. Why, the other day, we were waiting for our food in line as we usually do and he began to berate one of the men handing out the meal! He claimed that it was fit only for dogs and that he would not eat an other bite, demanding real food. While we did not disagree with him, it is a common logic to never offend one who controls your food, made true by the measly portions that the rest of us received after Isaac’s outburst. That night the men were mutinous and I must admit I did not disagree with them. Many a sinister idea floated around us and it was only the prudent supervision of the sergeant that saved Isaac his hide. This sort of experience is typical of the man. He brings scorn and derision upon us when we would be all but the most admired squad of the regiment, and survives only by cowardly protection from the high ups and the good grace of myself and the rest of the squad. He is a thoroughly despicable and disgusting man, and foreign as I had suspected. His parents were turks, and he was raised with a traveling circus. To top this off he is a criminal as well! When caught stealing he was given the choice of prison or the Legion, so he is not even with us out of patriotic duty, which we could respect. He is a dark and swarthy man, several inches shorter then I but stalky and wide. He seems to maintain a suit of flab around him no matter how hard we work, and cultivates a thick black mustache in a thoroughly un-english fashion.
But enough of this horrid man. Life continues on. We have begun to learn the mechanics behind a howitzer, a topic I excel at do to my time spent in the shop with father. Colin has proven to be a wizard with math and has put us near the top of the other gunning squads for accuracy. I remain grateful for my placement with the big guns rather then continued foot slogging, for they appear to be worked to the bone daily, just as hard as the day we arrived. There has been rumors that when our training ends we will be given leave to return home for several days before we are shipped off. I pray daily that this is true, in the hopes that I might perhaps see you again, the mere idea of which sends shivers down my spine.
Love
Johan B Hackworth
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