My 13yrs old daughters WWI diary entry (Creative Writing)

My 13yr old daughters Word War I writing assessment

Dear diary,

I was trudging across dreaded communications trench, feet and clothes damp and cold. The mud had gone hard as it was crunching under my worn out, over sized boots. I was considered lucky to even get boots. It was a narrow trench that was shared by many young and innocent soldiers who were limping to the fatal front line; I looked up into the sullen and weary eyes of a petrified soldier with curly black hair like a plate of broken noodles. His clothes were tired and filthy with a foul and putrid stench. He looked stunned and dark eyed and at that moment he limped and crawled away, so obviously had just been to the front line. At that second I jumped slightly in anxious fear as I heard rifle fire and machine-gun fire in the distance, the fear and darkness was beginning to penetrate my body. There was a crackling pop of the flares going up and lighting up the dull and rainy sky above that made my eyes aware that it was nearing afternoon. I felt extremely discomfited and miserable missing home. I was close to the front line. I heard a large boom followed by screams and then silence. I was smart enough to know what that meant. Soldiers suffered slowly and steadily. Anxious. That’s all I felt right now.

As I stumbled on, through the endless grey rain, many small black shapes emerged from the trenches. People. Some, more alive than others. Some were moving and some were not. There were dull and weary soldiers behind me that were in a line with each one holding one another, making sure they don’t fall over into the uneven, wet and soggy floor. This scene was as dull as a broken lamppost. We were at the front line. We found our dugout at last! They were small brown hallows in the front line trench. There was barbed wire at the top at the top of the trench as prickly as a black rose. There were rats everywhere! Rats in the coats, rats in the mud, rats crawling over dead de-composing bodies. Everywhere. Each one of us was yearning only for sleep then; it had been a long and drowning march. Some young soldiers weren’t quiet enough, They had been shot by German troops with a wondering eye on our hidden communications trench. The walls were not that high, high enough so soldiers have to climb to get over and go into what could be a fatal battle.

I laid down in my small dugout which was shared by three lonely soldiers, all wrapped up in clothes and coats. There were lice everywhere! Lice in your skin, lice in your hair and lice on your clothes. Everywhere. A soldier walked over and offered us some soup and biscuits. At this stage we were starving. The soup was rationed and had gone cold. It smelt unique and balanced with a suggestion of coriander. I drank it slowly and savoured it, as this may be my last meal. It came in a petrol can and I felt the cold tin against my cut hands. It smelt of petrol also. The biscuits had gone hard and were hard with no particular odour.

I laid down to go to sleep. Every second I wait for the Germans to shell us. That second never came. It’s just like the captain said it would be. Quiet. I looked around and my gaze fixed upon a young English soldier who slouched down against the dirty wall and dirty floor. He wore a name-tag. William, that was his name. His hair was brown and glistening in the un-ending drenching rain. His face was pale as a ghost with small scars and bruises, each one telling a different story. A few new marks on his arms which still held a visible trickle of blood from where the wire had cut him. He was of average height and build. His uniform was ripped and torn with faded colours with a foetid smell that stunk even from here. We long for a nice warm bath, I wanted it so badly I forgot about the lice in the folds of my skin and I started to feel water on my face, I opened my eyes and to my disappointment, it was just rain. But most of all, I long to be dry and with my family once again.

I have not had dry feet since we got here, I’m lucky not to have had trench foot already. I go to sleep wet, I wake up wet and the cold soaked through my sodden clothes, into my aching bones. I was on sentry duty. I un-willingly got up and climbed up carefully over the wire but failing to succeed at this, I looked at my arms and I had a few cuts like William’s. My hat had been knocked off in the process while a cool breeze chilled my hair. I watched for the first time, across no man’s land and towards the enemy trenches. The land was grey and disturbed by the curse of warfare. Everywhere I looked I saw rats and dead bodies. A splash of back and red.

This is what we were waiting for, suddenly the German shells came in and my finger staggered over my rifle impulsively. Purple gas came out of the shells in contrast to the dull and dreadful mud and rain. There were screams. A lot of screams, mostly mine. Soldiers panicked and shuffled into each other, each one clasping their necks and hands searching for a gas mask. Panic. A lot of panic. I grabbed my mask and put it on quickly. This was as hectic as a melancholic Monday morning. My gas mask was securely on. I looked around. Purple, black and red. That’s all I saw through this droned out and murky vision of these goggles. I saw soldiers who were too slow and watched them being dissolved insides out. This was a tragic experience. I saw William. He was also too little too late. Rats began to crawl over William’s now decomposing body.

After a while it all cleared away and I was alive. I laid down in devastation and my mind began to fill with suicidal thoughts. It had been a long night. It was over. I want out.

 

Hi Shanthi,

I read out your comment to my daughter...she was really happy that someone other than her Mum thinks that her writing is good.

Thanks,

 

Thanks Sanvee! This time she didn't believe me when I read it out aloud. She wanted to see it herself. Thanks for your encouragement

She needs a bit of motivation now and then. This is forum is providing her exactly that :thumbsup