Remembrance Sunday Diary Entry!

Well, at my school's creative writing club we were writing about WW1 because it's Remembrance Sunday soon. My diary entry is about Colonel John Clements and what he thought of "going over the top" and his expressions. Just to tell you, he was an author before he joined the war, so now you know that, the last paragraph might make more sense!


1. Dear Diary

Dear Diary,

Yesterday we went over the top. So few words could describe the feeling in my heart, and the thoughts in my head. I’d never been out of the trenches before yesterday. I’m not sure I remember much of what happened. Perhaps it was the loss of my limb that left me memory less of yesterday’s events.

As I climbed the up the splintered wood, my mind flew instantly to my childhood love, Marie Woodencraft, I might never, ever, taste one of her scrumptious sweet peach pastry delights. But as my hardened leather boots touched the muddy field that we call “No Man’s Land”, my mind went blank. I don’t know what I saw as I ran in formation with the other men. I couldn’t see them, nor could I see the German guns, or their pale faces behind the triggers. My mind has erased the memories of that run across the field. Rubble rained down upon us, yet we still ran. Explosions chucked dirt at us constantly, yet we still ran, until my feet slid from beneath me and I lay sprawled in the dirt. I lay, unable to move, perhaps paralysed by the coldness. But not the fear. I felt no fear, it was over too quickly.

My ears were oblivious to the sounds of feet in squelching mud, screams from fallen men and gun fire. Yet my ears could clearly hear the ticking of the grenade, sat in the mud beside me.  My instinct told me to run, yet I was still paralysed from the fall. I just stared at the bomb. Waiting for it to go off. I could feel my heart against the cold ground beat in time with the ticking. I was tired. I would be glad to get off this wretched piece of rock and go somewhere peaceful. Maybe a beach, or nice countryside view.

Then the bomb exploded.

I can’t say I felt much pain as I flew across the sky and landed in a pile of barbed wire. But the stickiness of the blood oozing from my right shoulder where my arm should lay was pain in itself. I would never be able to cuddle my wife again. Never wind up my child’s toy car. My life wouldn’t be the same. But neither would any of the men’s. If we hadn’t lost a limb, the fear drove some of us crazy. Old Dickey died from madness.

I won’t bore you with details of the hospital. I will finish today’s entry now. Doctor says I need my rest now. But I’ll tell you, it feels good to see my words in ink on paper again. I miss my typewriter but for the moment, Dear Diary, you will do. You will do.

I shall express myself soon again.


Colonel John Clements

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