Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER
Charlie looked at the port of Marseille from the deck of the ship. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen. Not like Melbourne where he’d boarded. Nothing like Fremantle where they’d stopped to board more troops. It was quite different to Durban, where brown-skinned boys had rowed out to the ship to sell fruit and cigarettes.
High up on a hill above the city was a church, with a golden statue on top, shining in the morning sunlight. The light was bright, intense, but not the same as the light of Shepparton. There were a few moments to consider all of this. He rolled a cigarette, and leaned against the railing, smoking. The air smelled of the sea, of fish, and of other scents he didn’t recognise. Soon enough, there were orders shouted. Time to form up and get ready to disembark. He threw his cigarette butt over the side, and watched it fizz out in the oily water below, then hoisted his kit bag and rifle onto his shoulders.
Charlie lined up beside Davo, Harry and Reg, and proceeded to the gangway. Called to attention on the dock. Then – at ease. Shore leave.