There was to be no public display of emotion at the train station. The Wharton brothers, Joe, Harry and Ernie, strode off to battle, grins etched on their faces. Out-of-step strides carried them through the cheers that echoed by.
Joe was the eldest of the brothers, his eyes telling a different story as his mind replayed the sombre farewell scenes of home. The disconsolate look on his father’s face, his mother’s courage as she fought to keep the tears from falling and the urgent hugs from his sister, Cissy, before dashing from the room. Poor Cissy, like Joe in so many ways, she was unable to hold her usual composure this time.
Joe’s eyes scanned the crowd. Where was she? Where was his girl? The thuds of their regimented strides resounded eerily through the streets, swallowed up by the immensity of the spectacle, as the three marched off to war, and into history.
