Black Clouds


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1. Farewell

1/11/1916 16:00 hours, Train Station

I dream of giving birth to a child who will ask, "Mother, what was war?"  ~Eve Merriam
 

The ninth lot were gone, dead to put it bluntly, and the tenth group of recruits had been called to the station to say their farewells before they died too. I am not in anyway using this as another heartless rant, in fact, there is a lot of heart in what I will say, but I cannot see myself agreeing with this fighting that has taken place over the past two years. I for one will not allow my husband to fight in that war, no matter how hard I have to persuade him not to, war is a blood thirsty way of living, and at the end of this, our country will not win. I waved goodbye to Uncle Tom, I have no idea why. I did not want to encourage him into fighting, more persuade him to take part in running the factories and mills. He will be dead soon and Aunt Dora will be receiving a letter of condolences. No matter what the soldiers and sergeants put into the letter, it will not change the fact he is dead. I have taught myself to deal with this, so I can stay strong when we receive this letter. But until we do, I shall speak no more of it. The children will be leaving in a day or so too, which means it is essential to ensure they have packed appropriately. I just pray to God they end up in a decent home, unseperated. I cannot deal with having to say goodbye at the station so I will be waiting at home for my husband to come back from the departure. Honestly, I have no words left that can describe my feelings for something so daunting so this is why my entries will be short but fullfilling (I hope). Also, I wish that someone finds this along with the dust, rubble and my crumbling corpse to know what life is like here - that is if anyone is left - but then again, what use would that be? No one respects most of my work anyway. Thats why journalism is not a job for the faint hearted.

 

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