WWI

All posts tagged WWI

18 July 2025

Published July 16, 2025 by rochellewisoff

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PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

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Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100

Another WWI hero denied his due in his own time.

WHAT DID YOU DO IN THE WAR, DADDY?

Twelve-year-old Elsie listened with rapt attention to Uncle Jim, Daddy’s army buddy from the war.

            “There I was, bleeding in that French field, waiting to meet my maker. Then here comes your daddy, larger than life, slings me across his shoulders and runs back to the bunker under enemy fire.”

            “Daddy never told me.”

            “He’s too modest. It angers me that he never got the Congressional Medal of Honor he so deserved—because he was a Jew.”  

            War’s not about medals.” William Shemin shrugged. “I love my country.”

            Elsie ground her teeth. “Daddy, someday I’m going to right this wrong.”

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16 May 2025

Published May 14, 2025 by rochellewisoff

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The next photo is the PROMPT. Remember, all photos are property of the photographer, donated for use in Friday Fictioneers only. They shouldn’t be used for any other purpose without express permission. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor credit. 

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

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Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100

ANY DAY SPENT WITH YOU IS MY FAVORITE DAY

“Colebourn, you’ve got rocks in your head,” said Harry’s tentmate. “The army’s no place for a bear.”

“The beast was going to shoot her” Harry caressed the cub. “I’m calling her Winnie after Winnipeg.” 

As WWI raged, he realized the best thing he could do was to find her a temporary home.

At London Zoo he buried his face in her fur. “I’m coming back for you.”

When he returned four years later, Winnie had become a children’s favorite. They loved her with treats and cuddles. She returned their affection. Harry bid her a final fond farewell. Winnie was home.

Harry Colebourn and Winnie named after Harry’s hometown of Winnipeg.

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27 December 2019

Published December 24, 2019 by rochellewisoff

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The next photo is the PROMPT. Remember, all photos are property of the photographer, donated for use in Friday Fictioneers only. They shouldn’t be used for any other purpose without express permission. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor credit.

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

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Due to my scheduling error, this has gone live on Tuesday instead of Wednesday. Consider it a Christmas or Hanukkah present. Easier to leave it than take it down and start over. Oops. :/

Shalom,

Rochelle

Happy Holidays to those who celebrate! This week I’m taking a break and posting a retread from nearly six years ago. Some may recognize the story. (different photo) A special thank you to those who have been with Friday Fictioneers as long or longer than I. 

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

A SOLDIER OF THE GREAT WAR

            In 1918 Dad deployed to France singing “Over There” and returned, months later, a sullen shell.

            Then, for Christmas 1919, Grandma gave me a stub-tailed, bull-terrier puppy. 

            Instead of the “you-can’t-keep-it” snarl I expected, Dad grinned.

            “He’s the spittin’ image of the bravest soldier in the 102nd. Bullets and mustard gas couldn’t defeat him.”  

            “He looked like a dog?”

            “Not ‘looked like,’ son. I’d a never made it outta the trenches if that pooch hadn’t…”  

            Dad coughed and blinked, took my pup under one arm, straightened to attention and raised his hand-hook to his brow.

            “Sergeant Stubby, I salute you!”       

6 May 2016

Published May 4, 2016 by rochellewisoff

The disc and the dragonfly

FICThe following photo is the PROMPT. Keep in mind that all photos are the property of the contributor, therefore copyrighted and require express permission to use for purposes other than Friday Fictioneers. Giving credit to whom credit is due is proper etiquette. This week’s photo is from Roger Bultot for whom there is no link. Thanks for letting us use your photos Roger. 

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

LOST BATTALION

            Molly made a face at her brother. “You birdbrain.”

            “Am not!” Jimmy scowled. 

            “That’s a compliment you know,” said Grandpop.  

            “Why?” asked Molly.

            “You never heard of Cher Ami?”

            “What’s that?”

            “Not what—who. He was a hero of the Great War.” Tears stung Grandpop’s eyes. “The Krauts shot a hole in his chest, took out his eye and blew off his leg. Nothing could deter him from his mission.”         

            “Wowsers!” Jimmy’s jaw dropped. “He was tough.”

            Molly sighed. “Was he good looking, too, Grandpop?”

            “I’ll say. Two hundred of us dough boys owe that handsome carrier pigeon our lives.”    

Cher Ami

  CLICKCher-Ami-message-NA-web-lr

3 January 2014

Published January 1, 2014 by rochellewisoff

HAPPY NEW YEAR AND WELCOME TO FRIDAY FICTIONEERS!

May it be a good year, filled with prosperity, happiness and publication dreams fulfilled. 

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Henry David Thoreau said it best.

“It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.”

In 2014, as in 2013, writers are encouraged to be as innovative as possible with the prompt and 100 word constraints.

THE CHALLENGE:

Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. (No one will be ostracized for going a few words over the count.)

THE KEY:

Make every word count.

THE RULES:

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  • Shalom,

             Rochelle

Tree Climbing Poppy

To start off the year with a bit of whimsy, I’m posting my daughter-in-law’s picture of their tree-climbing dog. She assures me that this is untouched and not photo-shopped. Yep, that’s my granddaughter watching. 

    

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

This week, just for Elmo, I’m writing a somewhat happy ending. 😉  At any rate, no one dies.

A SOLDIER OF THE GREAT WAR

(With Apologies to Mark Helprin)

               In 1918 Dad deployed to France singing “Over There” and returned, months later, a sullen shell.

            Then, for Christmas 1919, Grandma gave me a stub-tailed, bull-terrier puppy. 

            Instead of the “you-can’t-keep-it” snarl I expected, Dad grinned.

            “He’s the spittin’ image of the bravest soldier in the 102nd. Bullets and mustard gas couldn’t defeat him.”  

            “He looked like a dog?”

            “Not ‘looked like,’ son. I’d a never made it outta the trenches if that pooch hadn’t…”  

            Dad coughed and blinked, tucked my pup under one arm, straightened to attention and raised his hand-hook to his brow.

            “Sergeant Stubby, I salute you!”        

           

Sgt Stubby

Sgt_Stubby's_brick_at_Liberty_Memorial

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