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what would you write in your diary if you just arrived in the trenches in WW1?
I have a homework assignment where I have to write a diary of trenches in WW1. What would you write if you just arrived there/ do you know anyone who was there-what did they say? Also what would you write about the first fight you ever did? Thanks for the help!
Arrived on a Thursday in November under cover of darkness so the Boche couldn't pick us off with sniper fire. The trenches are cold and wet and muddy, and to help us to walk along them, there are wooden planks laid on top of the mud. The water has got into my boots, and my uniform is damp. I cannot see what the place looks like because of the dark, and as I move to my position I see many soldiers lounging on the floor on any dry bits they can find. Most are smoking, with grimy, weary and tired-looking faces that have experienced battle. Eventually I reach my quarters, a hole dug in the side of the trench with a blanket of sackcloth covering the entrance. I pull it aside and enter. The place is lit dimply by a kerosene lamp, and I smell it's comforting odour as I enter and feel the warmth from the bodies of the seven soldiers inside. One of them, a sergeant, welcomes me and indicates a corner where I can sit. I drop my kit bag and rifle on the floor besides me, and slump thankfully onto a pile of grey and dirty, but dry blankets, that form a sort of bed. I am introduced to everyone, and tell them my name. I am a replacement, as are some of the others, from the Reserve Battalion. So many are killed daily that it is hard to keep up with reinforcements. I am offered a cigarette, which I take and, after lighting it from the match that someone holds out, draw the smoke deep into my lungs. The sergeant tells me that there will be an offensive next day at seven a m, and I should be ready. I try to sleep, and it doesn't seem any time at all before I am awakened by the sound of the big artillery guns loosing salvo after salvo of shells at the German lines some 300 yards away in the murky morning mist. I rub my eyes sleepily, and crawl out of the hole to take my first look around. The sight is one of devastation. There are no trees left standing, and the place is just a huge sea of mud, which has been churned up by the falling shells like a gigantic garden of the gods. A couple of soldiers come along the trench carrying a cauldron of steaming porridge, which we all dip into eagerly with our metal ration holders. The porridge is sour, but hot, and we eat gratefully. The sergeant tells us to hurry, as we are due over the top in ten minutes. Suddenly I am scared. I hadn't thought of it before, but now I am to face death for the first time. I am pushed roughly into place, and I check my rifle to make sure it is fully loaded and, like the others, fix my bayonet for close combat. A soldier next to me wth red hair, Sandy they call him, smiles reassuringly. I look over the parapet. The smoke from the exploding shells covers most of the enemy lines. but it is clearing. and I see the barbed wire and shattered wooden stakes sticking up out of the ground like accusing fingers pointing to Heaven. Suddenly a whistle blows, and the whole trench comes alive, with soldiers pouring over the edge of the parapet. I climb the short ladder and follow them. Suddenly the crack of bullets flying past me rings in my ears, and the soldier who smiled at me suddenly crumples and falls lifeless, as a German bullet rips open his gut. I stand, transfixed, until the sergeant roars orders at me to advance. Like the rest of them I do so, and find that I am running ever faster towards the enemy. In a few short minutes we reach the German trench. I fire my rifle repeatedly at anything that moves. How many I kill I do not know. My ammunition is exhausted, and I strike with my bayonet at a soldier coming towards me. The bayonet sticks, and it is hard to wrench out of him, but I do it. Another German is upon me, and I swing my rifle butt into his face as hard as I can, hearing the awful sound of crunching bones, before he falls lifeless to the ground. I hear the gutteral sound of German voices as the enemy troops turn, and begin to run away. We have won. They are in retreat. I look at my watch. The whole episode has lasted just fifteen minutes but, in that time, hundreds af men lie dead or dying. I drop to the floor of the enemy trench exhausted. It is now ours. We have advanced just three hundred yards, at the expense of hundreds of lives, both ours and those of the enemy. My sergeant finds me. He tells me that he and I are the only survivors of the party that set off twenty minutes ago. He tells me I am now his Corporal, the other is dead. After a short time burial parties are arranged to recover our dead. The enemy are left where they are. I cannot believe what I have witnessed. Is it worth it? Probably not, but I must obey orders, or be shot as a coward. How much longer will this war last? It has been raging for three years now. November 1917, and I realise that in three days it is my birthday. I shall be 19. Wonderful. I hope I reach 21, when I shall be a man. If I do not survive, I hope my mother gets my diary. I should like her to know what it is like here. If you read this Mother, God Bless You.
