Dear Diary
It’s been five months since we arrived in France, I heard a rumor from Jack the soldier in my trench saying that we were winning and soon we will be going home, I hope it’s true. The stench of dead bodies is overwhelming and I don’t think I will ever get used to sleeping next to rats the size of cats and the constant itch of the fleas. After watching countless men who I have spent many days with die in battle, I am almost numb to the pain. In the army, it is frowned to show much emotion. A couple of days ago a bomb exploded so close to me I went flying through the air and landed on a pile of sandbags. Luckily I was able to crawl on my hands and knees through the icy cold mud and into the trench before anyone could see me. I still have a high pitched ringing in my ear that hasn’t stopped since then.
I received a letter from my beautiful wife Rose and my son Finn today and I wish more than anything to be at home with them on the farm. I long for a breath of the clean country air and the smell of freshly cut grass in the morning. I remember waking up looking out my window and seeing golden hay bales and the rolling green hills that seem to go forever. I miss the feeling of knowing that I am safe and nothing could harm me, the feeling of being completely content and happy as I watch my boy laugh and play as I teach how to milk the cows. I worry about my Mother and Father also, they have already lost one son in the War, my brother John. He was killed in action by shrapnel. I only found out months after he had died, occasionally I read the last letters he wrote to me even though half of the writing has been crossed out with harsh black ink. The officers had to censor out any information they thought could be leaked to the enemy. that I feel myself slipping away and I turning into the person I used to fear, a person who’s not fazed by ending someone’s life. Just another soldier in the army who will eventually die or live but be haunted by this war forever.
Oh, how I long for someone my mother’s freshly baked bread still warm with Golden butter melted on a thick slice. I have now given up on trying to swat away the flies of my bully beef, it’s not like I would want to taste the bland canned meat anyway but for now, it’s all we have. We are desperately low on supplies, we ran out of coffee and jam weeks ago so for breakfast to have flavorless malt biscuits so hard they could break your teeth if you’re not careful. The disease is taking over the trench nearly every man is suffering from the red trench foot, my friend Ernie is so sick he can barely move his agonizing moans from the pain keep us all awake at night, I do hope he gets better as there are no more hospital beds for him.
Daniel
Dear Diary
I don’t have a lot of time to write as we are about to go into an attack. Yesterday I received a tin of golden brown ANZAC biscuits from Rose. For a second I thought of hiding them away but I knew that I should share them with the other men as we are all in the same boat. I handed them around and as soon as I ate one a rare, sweet, oaty sensation filled my taste buds and transported me back home. I wish more than anything to be with my wife and boy Finn. The odds don’t sound as if they are in our favor for this attack and I fear this may be the last entry I will ever write. Many of the men are putting any personal belongings that have into their uniform pockets. I am going to bring my stack of letters from home. Ernie is muttering a prayer next to me, it seems as if all hope is lost
Daniel
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