Dear Diary,
Here I am in the trenches, it is night time and I can hear everyone dying beside me. I am on the front line and I have to sleep on a thick watery mud on a plank.
I am very frightened of trench foot and I think I might have it because I can smell a very smelly smell. It might be my friends so I don’t really worry that much.
My friend died yesterday in honour. He died because he got blown up by a bomb. Now I am thinking it would be better to die after all. I was very shell shocked.
Oh I wish I could see my family again, I wish I wasn’t tricked by the dreadful poster that said ‘come and fight, see the world!’. I really hate it in these trenches. It said we would make friends which is the only thing that is true. My buddies are the only people that give me hope at the moment.
I have a terrible feeling that people might steal my precious spoon. The only food we can eat is corned beef, bacon, a quarter of bread, cheese, mustard, spam, jam, tea and two tablespoons of rum ( I guess that’s why the spoon is so important ). We also have a knife to use too.
We have to sleep on a wooden plank, as I told you before called a firing step and its so uncomfortable. When it is really rainy nobody can move, it is impossible to move. The muddy water is waist length and its really difficult to do anything at all, and to make things worse, we have to grow a moustache. The mud is like a sinking field, you can’t actually move in it. We have barbed wire to protect us while we are sleeping. The mud is slimy and
And my boots are wet and there is a bayonet that is really cool.
I have seen other people try to escape but they failed and died or went back to the trenches. I wish I could go home and have some apple pie. There is frostbite and it’s freezing everywhere and cold and there are miles of trenches. I think I am sure I am going to die of exposure. I am so glad I have my periscope with me because I will have a less chance of dying.
There is just too much mud, lice and fleas. There is just mud, mud, mud wherever I look apart from dead bodys around me. There are also dog sized rats. I came from a background where everything is sparkling clean. There are no helmets and everyone is dying. The war only started this year and I really want some apple pie from the shops.
I will write to you again tomorrow if my arm is not shot off. So bye if I’m alive tomorrow.
Written in Year 6 – 2020