The Letter from Gallipoli

1. Enlistment

Wagin, Western Australia, 1914. The winds carried whispers of war across the wheat fields, stirring something restless in the hearts of young men. Jack Thompson and Tom Wilson, both twenty years old and inseparable since childhood, stood outside the town’s recruitment office, their breaths shallow with nerves.

“We’ll be back by Christmas,” Tom said, clapping Jack on the shoulder. “Adventure, mate. A real one.”

Jack nodded, though his stomach twisted. He thought of Sarah, Tom’s sweetheart, waiting with her soft brown eyes and hopeful smile. She had kissed Tom goodbye that morning, her fingers lingering on his uniform.

“You’d better come back,” Jack muttered. “Sarah would never forgive me if you didn’t.”

Tom grinned. “Then I’ll just have to make sure we both do.”

2. Turkey

Months later, the stench of blood and gunpowder filled the air at Anzac Cove. The promised adventure had become a nightmare of mud, bullets, and death. Jack and Tom crouched in a shallow trench, their uniforms stiff with dried sweat and filth.

“I don’t think we’re getting home by Christmas,” Jack said hoarsely.

Tom didn’t laugh. He was writing a letter, his pencil moving frantically.

“Who’s that for?” Jack asked.

“Sarah,” Tom replied. “Just… in case.”

The next morning, the Turks launched a brutal assault. Bullets whined through the air. Jack saw Tom fall, a dark stain spreading across his chest. He dragged him behind cover, but Tom’s breaths were shallow, his face pale.

“Take it… to her,” Tom gasped, pressing the letter into Jack’s hand. His fingers trembled, then stilled.

3. The Return

Jack was wounded weeks later, a shrapnel blast tearing through his leg. The doctors said he’d never fight again. He was shipped home, Tom’s letter burning a hole in his pocket.

Wagin hadn’t changed. The same dusty streets, the same old pub. But Sarah had. The moment she saw Jack alone, her face crumpled.

“Where’s Tom?” she whispered.

Jack couldn’t speak. He handed her the letter.

She read it, her tears smudging the ink. When she finished, she looked up, her grief raw. “He loved you like a brother,” she said. “He wrote that… he wanted you to look after me.”

Jack swallowed hard. “I will.”

4. Comfort and Longing

Days turned to weeks. Jack visited Sarah often, helping with chores, sitting with her in silence. Her pain mirrored his own - loss, guilt, the crushing weight of survival.

One evening, as they sat by the fire, Sarah spoke. “I keep dreaming of him. I wake up and for a second, I forget he’s gone.”

Jack’s throat tightened. “I do too.”

Their eyes met, and something unspoken passed between them. A shared sorrow, a desperate need for warmth.

Then, in a moment of reckless need, Sarah kissed him.

It was fierce, hungry, a collision of grief and desire. Jack hesitated - this was Tom’s girl - she was always Tom’s girl aa far as when they started schooling but she clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulders.

“Please,” she whispered. “Just for tonight, make me forget.”

He kissed her back.

Their hands were frantic, pulling at clothes, grasping at skin. There was no tenderness, only need - a desperate, clawing need to feel something other than pain. Sarah’s nails dug into his shoulders as he lifted her, carrying her to the worn-out sofa. The firelight painted her bare skin gold, and for a moment, Jack hesitated.

“Sarah….”

“Don’t stop,” she begged, her voice trembling. “Just let me forget even it’s for just one night.” she repeated her words again.

He gave in.

Their bodies moved together in a rhythm that was as much about grief as it was about pleasure. Sarah arched beneath him, her breath coming in sharp gasps, her fingers clutching at him like she was afraid he’d disappear too. Jack buried his face in her neck, breathing in the scent of her - soap and salt and sorrow.

She came first as he felt her womanhood convulse around the girth of his phallus. He wasn’t far behind and then he howled as his thrusts reached a crescendo before he pulled out of her and shot all over belly.

Sarah had tears streaming down the sides of both eyes and she whispered a silent “Thank you” to him. He didn’t understand why she said those words then.

When it was over, they lay tangled together, sweat cooling on their skin. The fire had burned low, leaving the room in near-darkness. Sarah’s fingers traced the scar on Jack’s side - a wound from Gallipoli, one Tom hadn’t survived.

Twenty-three boys from Wagin went to fight in the Great War as they called it. He was the only one who returned alive along with the coffins of eighteen others. He did not know fate of the other five.

Silence stretched between them, heavy with guilt and longing.

Finally, Sarah spoke, her voice barely a whisper. “I don’t regret it.”

Jack closed his eyes. “I should.”

She turned to him, her fingers brushing his jaw. “But you don’t.”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

The truth hung between them, unspoken but undeniable - this wasn’t just about forgetting. It was about needing to feel alive.

And in that moment, despite everything, they had.

Morning came too soon.

Jack woke to pale sunlight filtering through the curtains, Sarah curled against him, her breathing slow and even. For a moment, he let himself pretend - pretend that this was how it was always meant to be.

Then reality crashed back in. He saw a small patch of semi dried blood on the sofa and between Sarah’s legs. It then dawned upon him that he had just taken her virginity. Something she had been saving for Tom perhaps even after marriage.

He eased out of the sofa, dressing quietly, his mind a storm of guilt and want. How did he not know? How could he not tell? Sure, Tom and he had been friendly with the girls at the ports that they stopped at on the way to Europe but surely none of them were first timers, were they? That was how Jack tried to console himself with the feeling of guilt that was overcoming him. He had just buttoned his shirt when Sarah stirred, her sleepy gaze finding his.

Neither of them spoke.

What was there to say?

But as he turned to leave, her voice stopped him.

“Stay.”

One word. One plea.

And just like that, Jack knew - this wasn’t just one night.

This was the beginning of something neither of them could take back.

5. Love and Remembrance

Guilt gnawed at Jack afterward. But as months passed, their bond deepened. They spoke of Tom often, keeping his memory alive.

He could not lie to himself anymore. He loved Sarah too…ever since he was 10 years old but she was Tom’s girl. Tom had asked her out first, Tom had kissed her first behind the haystacks, Tom was like a brother and you never hit on a brother’s missus.

When Sarah asked him to help her forget, he realised that he had forgotten that Tom’s gone and was never coming back. Deep down, even though he felt terrible about that sensual night, he also felt grateful that he was Sarah’s first. It was now time to see if Sarah wanted to be Jack’s girl.

One evening, as the sun set over the fields, Jack took Sarah’s hand. “Marry me,” he said. “Not to replace him. But because…I love you...not after that night but I’ve always loved you.”

Sarah’s eyes filled with tears. She nodded. She had also known about his feelings for her. Tom used to joke that the only other boy worthy to marry Sarah after him was Jack.

Sarah and Jack married in the spring. When their son was born, they named him Thomas.

And every year, on the anniversary of Tom’s death, they stood by his grave, their hands entwined, remembering the boy who had brought them together.

The End.