Regrets.

... REGRETS My tour of duty or should it be 'tour of hell' was coming to a very welcomed close for myself and my fellow comrades. Getting a slight shrapnel wound was not unwelcome, as it confined me to the field hospital, whittling away a few more days. My stay at the make-shift hospital seemed a lifetime away from the battle as I could only hear the occasional blitz of shell fire echoing in the distance. The frontline must have been a good ten miles away. However, I was experiencing mixed emotions about my absence from the frontline. Obviously the fact that I was only going to be around that day and the next before being shipped home was pleasing and spending my penultimate two days in a field hospital doing absolutely nothing and most importantly in very little pain added to this almost euphoric feeling. But mixed with my joy of

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