ShockTroopers — Remembering
Jeb was dragged into an old French farm. He could smell the shit of horses and hay as he was thrown into one of the horse stalls.
His face smashed into day old manure and he coughed profusely from the stench.
Jeb wrestled his way around the mud, blinded by the shit in his eyes.
He heard shouts in German.
Hands grabbed him from darkness.
He clawed at the closest face he could get his hands on, digging his fingernails into the mass of flesh of his captor, looking for eyes or nose to wreak pain back on.
A man shrieked in pain but before Jeb could do more damage he was yanked by more hands and pinned to the floor.
No sooner did he find his aching teeth become acquainted with a a tight fist of knuckles. They struck home to his exposed nerve on his right cheek and the shot of pain that thrust into his brain sent shock-waves that knocked Jeb unconscious.
Jeb saw darkness.
He looked about and saw time moving rapidly. Jeb looked for something to brace against but he couldn’t find anything and in the panic, he found himself lying flat on his face in grass. He raised his head and was shocked to find himself back at the University of Toronto.
How long had it been since he was here? two? maybe three years?
There were young people bustling about the university’s beautiful Victorian landscape. Jeb gazed from the site of his home back to his clothes. No longer in military garb, he was puzzled how he had donned his navy sack suit and straw boater hat.
His hands were so clean and he rubbed his face finding no trace of horse stall manure and smelling quite musky.
It was summer as well and the sweet smell of flowers along with the a rare cool breeze carried Jeb to an almost forgotten sense of calmness. In his stupor, he walked through the courtyard of the school, across all of his favorite places while he had been enrolled. Before war.
He enjoyed the pleasantries of the famous Philosopher’s Walk at the center of the school. He was listless in his pace, staring at the busts of the world’s famous minds, wondering what he was doing.
“Why am I here?” He spoke.
He continued to meander through the university grounds. It was as if nothing had chagned since he had left for the war, along with many of his colleagues. They had grand plans then, his group of friends and him. They were pursuing their education at the new faculty of education house by Bloor and Spadina street.
There they had learned the craft of teaching and would spend their free time either debating the great histories or enjoying a merry game of football. Jeb recalled his small company.
His friend Teddy was the son of a blacksmith who had decided that his son should seek an education in a rapidly changing world.
Teddy had been properly schooled while helping his father and when Jeb and Teddy had met during their undergraduate studies, Jeb had immediately been drawn to Teddy’s down-to-earth and jovial personality. Their third friend, Edward, would always comment how Teddy would ground Jeb’s fantasy and idealistic thinking.
Jeb remembered Edward, a man of a great build and deep voice. He had come from an almost-aristocratic background. His father had served in the Boer War and had instilled in Edward a strong sense of discipline.
It was Edward who would get the boys ready, endearing them to wake very early and begin their works, of which later would allow great play and amusement.
Edward had joined their gang later, at the start of teacher’s college, having been drawn to the orderliness of teaching. He had later looked forward to becoming an officer and leading men to victory and glory when war was declared.
The three had been the best of friends.
Until war came.
