Anybody ever meet anyone who did not know when to stop shooting?
The French sentries peered down the street. Rain lashed into their faces from the dark November night and over the single coil of barbed wire across the road. The guns on either side fell silent and as their eyes strained into the gloom a car was heard, and headlights flashed. The French officer shone a torch and answered the flashes and a car bearing four German diplomats came slowly down the pave.
'Vos Papiers' demanded the officer as the Germans nervously handed over their credentials. 'Passe'- he said and waved them on. As they passed a sentry spat on the car - no-one said anything. The guns began again.
Three hours later, somewhere in the Forest of Compiegne, with tears running down their cheeks, the Germans signed the document handed to them. The arguing, the fighting, all dispute was now over, decided by force of arms
At 11.00am three days later, the church bells began to sound. British cavalry charged over a bridge they wanted to take just in case the fighting started again, hunting Germans like mice into the alleyways. In the air men were shot down and crashed after the bells had sounded the hour. All along the western front men stopped killing. In most places the troops sat in their dugouts staring into space; they had made it. No wild parties, no whooping or hollering, just an exhausted stare and a stunned awareness of silence.
Then a gun fired.
And another.
And another.
Telephones whirred into action. Who was disobeying the Armistice ceasefire order?
The explosions were from the American sector - were the Germans launching one last desperate sneak attack?
No.
It appeared that some American gunners wanted to be able to say that they had fired the last shot in the war of 1914-1918. Even after telephoned orders from HQ came thought they still carried on popping and officers had to go to each battery and give direct orders, threatening courts martial before the final gun sounded at 11.17am.
The threads of the Great war ended.
Anybody ever meet anyone who did not know when to stop shooting?
Well if you don't usually read long posts it's damned nice of you to read mine. Thankyou.
Do you think we should not indulge ourselves here then?
Every post should contribute to the general good?
Or read by people with the attention span of a gnat.
Just because you aren't interested in what was posted by John, there was no need for your sort of contribution. John was simply starting a thread which was different to the usual crap on here, (most of which is by me), to garner others thoughts on a terrible time in our history, so if you ain't interested, move along, there's plenty of other threads for you to read.
I benefitted by that last year. There's a woman I know whose husband went out duck shooting and sent them to some company that removes the shot and vacuum packed them - and he put them in the freezer. She would not touch them, gave them to me and would not speak to him for 3 days.
Nor would his kids.
But the ducks were nice - he didn't go shooting again though.
Similar story here. Hubby's friend hung them, plucked them & froze them. I still refused to cook them. Anyhow, I didn't mean to take your thread off-topic so I'll bow out now.
Oh you are not off topic - it is an allegory after all. People may take those however they wish.
I love shooting myself - not killing things. I did that when I was 12 and did not like it. Just the buzz of aiming at a target and taking out the bull.
But once the target is destroyed, the point of firing more eludes me.
Anfield, having made your point about Cattach, what's your take on John Little's thread?
LMAO!!!!
At last I have a post I can read.What the hell was it?
In every dustbin there's a Daffodil.-Eric Sykes.
Yet you comment.
Some read.
None are forced.
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