Monday, 12 August 2013


Dear Diary,

It’s Christmas day, December 25th.  We’re in France.  We just moved into the trenches.  It’s 11pm.  Guns are firing, bomb shells are being flung everywhere and smoke rises.  Dark shadows lurk in the distance of the battle field like wandering ghosts.

Kris and Nathan have been left out at sea.  It was horrifying seeing their row boat flip backwards and people screaming.

The trenches are like heaps of chewed up pieces of gum, in puddles because of the mould and snow.  Heaps of soldiers are wearing gas masks because they don’t want to risk being attacked by gas grenades.  Heaps of soldiers are quietly singing about Christmas and wishing they were with their families.

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