November 2014
Ashleigh has written a moving account of life in the trenches during World War One.
Here is an excerpt from the diary of a young soldier:
Statement
of Intent:
This
is a diary entry written by William Kent a soldier during WW1. William has
written on Christmas Eve 1915 and has reflected back on the last year he has
experienced while fighting in the war. He was aged 19 when he wrote this diary
entry. William's grandson is reading this entry today as he has discovered his
grandfather's belongings in his parent’s attic.
24th
December 1915
My
family keep writing to me, telling me it will all be alright and I will come
back home eventually, everything will all be alright. But it won't be alright.
It never will be.
What
my family don't understand is that you can never go back to normality after the
sights you have seen and things you have done. You allow yourself to be put
under the military's mind control, just to get you through that one single day.
They haunt you, and appear in your dreams at night, in that same horrific way.
Seeing your friends and even your enemies choke for their last breaths, as they
hold their organs out in their hands praying for the process to go faster.
Watching them choke to death from the green monster which is lurching around
our trenches, hunting down it’s next victim, then their bodies go limp and drop
down heavy to the ground and the monster moves on to the next kill. This can
never be forgotten.
Tonight
is Christmas Eve, 1915 and instead of having a jolly time with our families, we
are sitting huddled in trenches, far too petrified to come out. Eating the
usual dry mouldy bread, cream on a shingle and tuna. This food, if you can call
it that, have no flavour, no side arms, it’s like I have no taste buds
left and I may as well be eating dirt. All I want to eat is my Mother’s mock
turtle soup. It was my favorite ever since I was a little boy, I try to think
that the mouldy bread is the mock turtle soup. It’s the only way to get it
down. Last year, 24th of December, 1914, was a lot more festive. Something
miraculous occurred. Both sides declared a truce and sung Christmas carols and
shared food and souvenirs. We also played a football game between our dingy
trenches, and the German's posh and luxurious trenches. This was the first time
I was exposed to humanity. I realised that I was no different from my enemy.
This game changed everything. It showed me that we could get along, and even be
considerate of the people who we were killing just yesterday. This experience
was short lived however, there is no room for humanity in war. We have been
ordered to shoot anyone who tries to bond immediately. It made me question what
the hell I was doing here! Why do all these innocent soldiers need to die for
their country? Is it really sweet and fitting to die for your country? ‘dulce
et decorum est’, you will be forever honoured for your bravery and courage.
What a load of bilge.
The
Battle of Somme still haunts me. Over 1 million innocent soldiers killed,
30,000 in one day. During the battle I remember ripping a strip of my shirt off
to wrap around my face to protect me from the toxic air lingering around us
like a lost pup. The cloud of green smoke advanced like a concrete wall,
knocking soldiers down as it progressed through it’s one-way journey in our
trench. The smell was awful. I could taste it on my tongue – metallic – all the
way to my stomach. I had swallowed something that was decomposing. While
fighting the urge to throw up, taking one step after another, I looked around
to see the horrors which were the aftermath of the attack. Soldiers, who were
once strong noble men, lying motionless on a dirty wet graveyard. All cold
fish. Were they alive? Had they coiled up their ropes? All I could think of was
their poor families back home, oblivious to the hell their loved one was
fighting in. Enlisting in the war is like signing up for a premature death.
I
am also extremely lucky that I don't have shell shock. Most come from a slug to
the head. I see my fellow soldiers and friends’ muttering to themselves about
goodness knows what, they are camp happy, cutting paper dolls. I wish they
would put a sock in it! I feel terrible as some of them got it before we hit
the trenches, and have been struggling ever since to cope with reality. Sitting
in the same spot for days on end is torture. After sitting for that long you
start to feel numbness in your bones. I cannot remember a time where my ears
were not ringing with gunshots or soldiers yelling. There is never a moment of
peace in our lives. Endless orders for us to get up and start a journey of
endless horrific conditions. Even more things to haunt our nights for eternity.
You
would think I would hate the enemy. But I don’t. They are exactly like me. They
all have families back home who they desperately want to go back to, they all
signed up for this just like I did, thinking it would be everything that it’s
not, and they don’t want to be here either. I feel compunctious for them, that
they have to suffer the same way.
I
am afraid of dying. It is my worst nightmare. There is no glory in death for
your country. The look on the face of a dying soldier hits me hard, that it
could be me in that position, helpless and in pain for the last few minutes of
my short life. But sometimes all I want is to die so that I can get out of the
hell hole and not have to suffer anymore. All I want is to sit in front of a
warm blazing fire in my home, with silence surrounding me. Or even just to read
a book and relax, or write on clean paper without anyone ordering me to get
moving. Sit in a comfy chair instead of sitting in wet and mud for several
hours on end. But I know that you can never go back to your old, normal life
after you have experienced the true realities of war. Sleep is difficult to
come now, as you are always on full alert for the next raid or attack. I
imagine when this is all over that I will never sleep again, and just relive
every day of this endless war that I enlisted myself in.
July 2014
The winners of the 2014 Kapiti Children's Writers' Group Teen Writing Competition are:
1st place
- Jaden Fearon (12) Waikanae School
2nd place
- Alexandra Schaefer (17) Otaki College
3rd Place
- Claudia Gittins (14) Kapiti College
Congratulations
to the winners for their great achievements.The winning stories are published
here for you to read and enjoy.
One Chance!!! by Jaden Fearon
My muscles were tight with tension, and
my brain was erupting with the sudden possibilities, rushing through at a
million kilometres per hour, like lightning bolts crashing to the ground with a
roar. The unique arena was filling up with hoards of cheering fanatics hoping
for a spectacle. My 250cc beaut of a
motorcycle was being serviced and my helmet was being fitted with a state of
the art gopro camera. Suddenly a rumble shook the room, like a magnitude 6
earthquake, the roof of the technical building was opening for the first time
in its history. The cry of the four Boeing CH-47 Chinooks’ blades were steadily
getting louder like a howl of a wolf in the dead of night. The wind began to
circle around the crowd, dispersing the discarded litter along the stands like
the spray of sea foam in a violent storm. The moment was nearing and I could
feel the soft beats of my heart gradually getting swifter. I would soon be a
world record holder. The cream of the crop. No mortal man finer than me.
The substantial helicopters were in the
delicate building now and the time had nearly come. The countdown on the big
screen was down to five minutes. I was starting to feel queasy and having
second thoughts about the jump over four helicopters. It was a case of do or
die.
Before I knew it, a man in a plain white
t-shirt with a lanyard around his freckled neck, tapped me on the shoulder. I
followed him around the back of the tremendously tall ramp and stopped where my
motorcycle was being guarded by my assistant, Julie. She had blonde hair with a
distinctive mole in the middle of her left cheek that I still couldn’t help
staring at as I pulled my helmet on.
It was all down to me now. She handed me the bike with a weak smile and
I started to wheel it into the elevator. The elevator was especially designed
for myself and the bike. It would take me all of the way to the top of the
ramp. I would be launched and there would be no going back.
The elevator ride was the longest of my
life. It could also be my last. The clock was on 10 seconds now. The moment the
crowd had been hoping for had finally become a reality. Here I go in 10.., 9..,
8.., 7.., 6.., my past life swirling before me.
5.., 4.., 3.., 2.., 1 and I was off! Shooting down the ramp like a
bullet blasting out of a gun. There was only one thing flashing through my
mind. I can do it!!!
Within a matter of seconds, I was down
the monstrous ramp and had been slingshotted through the arena. I didn’t dare
look down for what could be the end of my life. Then as my front wheel caught
the downwards ramp at the other side… I started to fall backwards...
The Black Folder by
Alexandra Schaefer
“Your turn’s next, Brainy Smurf.”
I rummage through my bag. My notes are in there
somewhere. I know it. I can do it! I just have to find those notes.
I know they are in there. I put them there last night.
Deep breath. It will be fine. Just find the notes…
“We will make it fun, Clint.”
My hands get hold of the black folder. That’s it. I
can do it. I take the folder out of my bag and put it on my desk. Then I take a
moment just looking at the folder cover. A moment to calm my nerves. The black
folder has a simple white sticker about three quarters of the way up on the
cover. The sticker says simply Paul Smith, History. It’s stuck a bit too far to
the right, which makes it look odd.
“Staring at our book, aren’t we?”
“Shush. The bookworm just can’t help himself. He loves
his books.”
I finally get the courage to open the folder. My
notepapers are exactly where I left them. Neatly put into a clear file in the
black folder with the out of place nametag.
“Hey, bookworm. Ready to fail?”
I can do it. I can. I really can.
“He never talks.”
“He has to. In a minute anyway.”
I stare at my notes. My heart is pounding loudly. Can
they hear it? They must, it’s so loud. There’s a steady boom, boom in my ear,
together with a swoosh. I feel dizzy. But I can do it.
“Can you see his face from back there?”
I can do it. It’s just a presentation. Not even a long
one. I just have to walk up front and talk. Up front. Talk. To the whole
class. My legs start shaking and I’m not even up yet.
“He’s bright red. Like a tomato.”
A presentation? That’s easy. I can do it. Talking to
the class. Come on. I can do it. I have to.
I …
“Oi, little tomato. You know that we’ll have to beat
you up, if your presentation wins?”
I can do it. I won’t win anyway. Just five weeks of
work. That won’t be enough anyway. I’ll just get up and …
“I think he needs a little reminder. What do you
think, Olly?”
“Nah, our bookworm is smart. He’ll recall yesterday.
Don’t you? You’re a smart one. You recall yesterday and what happened to your
lunch money.”
I keep looking at my notes. They are not even good.
Just some work on a presentation.
“Paul Smith. It’s your turn.”
I really tried. But … Why take a chance? I do
remember yesterday. I remember it all too well. My stomach still hurts.
“Sorry, Mrs. I must have left my notes at home.”
The black folder disappears back in my bag where it
belongs. Back to safety. Back here next to my safe seat.
“You know, that I have to fail you then?”
“Yes, Mrs.”
I close my bag.
I Can Do It! by Claudia Gittins
I sit up,
hugging my knees to my chest. My head aches and it’s too quiet in here. I wish
mum and dad could visit… these plain four walls are getting boring. Even simple
things like flowers are banned because of germ risks. Unfortunately, people
also carry germs. My white blood cell count is so low that my immune system is
being affected majorly. It’s so easy for me to get sick, well, sicker than I
am.
I crawl out of
bed, as soon as my bare feet connect with the cold ground; I feel a sudden urge
to throw up. But I don’t make it to the bathroom. I drop to my knees, and the
impact throws me forward onto my hands. Bile rises in my throat, burning my
throat raw. I cry out when I see the blood streaming from my lips, bubbling on
the floor tiles.
My nurse Molly
soon returns to find me in a pool of my vomited blood.
“It’s alright,
Emily. It’s just effects of your chemo…” Molly assures me. But even so, she
looks worried. I can’t stop shivering, and all my muscles ache. I climb back
onto my bed as Molly cleans up the mess.
“I’ve called
your doctor, he should come by soon.” she mumbles. I hope that I get just one
more chance; I want to fight this battle. This is the third time I’ve vomited
blood today.
Isolation is
horrible. I feel so vulnerable, like anything could kill me. I feel like my
body’s giving up on me. All I want is to see my parents. What if this disease
kills me? and I haven't said goodbye?
“Ms. Grierson!”
Doctor Davies exclaims, entering my room.
He pronounces my name like I’m actually
important, not yet another worthless bratty teenager he has to deal with.
I
like Doctor Davies, he’s honest and doesn’t hide you from the cruel realities
this world presents us with.
He closes the
door, sealing us in. He drags a chair over from the corner of the room and sits
down, keeping his distance.
“I understand
that your treatment is very hard on your body at the moment.” He announces, getting straight to the point.
“And
you’re already in isolation. You see, Emily.. We are trying our best to help
you. But we need to pause your chemotherapy. It’s really taking it’s toll and
we just can’t risk it. If we decide you are making improvement, then we will
continue the treatment plan. As you know, your leukaemia is at a very bad
stage. Now it is no longer about getting you into remission, but prolonging
your time.” He says carefully.
My body is frozen with shock. I feel
like screaming, but all I can do is stare. I am determined. Determined to get
out of isolation, and to see my parents. All I want is remission. And I will do
it. I can do it. I will not lose to this cancer, which has consumed me.
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