Creative Writing: All Quiet On The Western Front

Hello, this is Kelsey Maley reporting from a battlefield in France during spring of 1914. As you can most likely hear, the battle is booming behind us. The gunshots and cannon fires can be heard from miles away. From where I am standing one can also hear the cries and screams, and running horse hooves from the war below. Looking down we can see the khaki and grey uniforms either riding horses or hiding in trenches and with guns or swords. It is hard to concentrate on these men in uniforms because of the dirt and smoke covering the air around them. Walking up here is difficult because of the bumps in the ground. One may be able to feel the rumbling and shaking ground every time a cannon is fired. Each side is obeying the screams from their comandor

After the battle of Somme, I was alone. All the men I had signed up with were gone. There was no time to grieve for them; Our division had to meet up with the others at Vimy Ridge. Immediately, we were handed maps of the Ridge. It was odd. We all had our own map to keep and study and we were explained exactly what to do. We even had to go through a scale model to know the lay of the land. Talk about overkill. It was nerve racking because of our tactic called a Creeping Barrage. After firing shells at the Germans for three weeks straight, we slowly aimed higher and higher while we followed the line of fire slowly. That way, the Germans would not be able to leave the trenches until it was too late. In those days that lead to a victory, Canada

only for an hour or two but 1 day a green light gas came threw

By March 1915 the influx of refugees from Belgium was almost at an end and Epworth played host to a social reunion consisting of games, dancing, and songs to bring together all those who had been housed in the Isle. Part of the entertainment featured songs from Mrs. W. Hirst and Mrs. R. Stephenson and a pianoforte solo by Mrs. Breeze. The month saw farmers becoming increasingly rueful; the fine weather created ideal growing conditions but a shortage of men and horse hampered progress. Indeed, there was concern that horses in the Isle were being ‘worked to death in order to make up for the lack of numbers.’ Members of the Belton VTC celebrated the opening of their new rifle range where Mr. G. H. Newborn exhorted them to use it well to learn

He saddened every time he thought of his mother and couldn’t bear the consequences of leaving her behind. Luckily, Friederick was always there for him, comforting him along the way.

Jimin wakes up to the sound of explosions and fire. A thousand and some men meet their demise each day, and Jimin prays at night he’s not one of them. The war rages around him, and he gets off the make-shift bed to get changed into his gear to help out. He caps the patterned helmet and looks at himself in the mirror. His reflection stares back, sad and weary, a youth gone wrong. He smears camouflage onto his face, high on his cheekbones until there is nothing left of him but an empty vessel of war.

At some point, their ears had finally given in to the echoing shots and yells and had dulled to the point where they could barely hear anything at all. The students - cut, bruised and bloodied - lay upon the ground. Dead or hiding. Hoping for mercy, for that’s all they had left to hope for.

The gunfire was loud and black smoke hung in the air, the date, 25th of April 1915 and I am Walter Green of the 39th Battalion of World War I. I just hopped out of my boat and and stared up at th steep rocky cliffs with blood smothered over them and dead soldiers lying ond the dry grass. I grabbed my Crossman 1077 (rifle) and headed towards the cliffs and began clambering up towards the highest summit of the landing. Just as I brushed passed another soldier a massive Mark VI (1000 lb bomb) exploded 20 metres ahead of me sending large boulders shattering infront of me. The night was freezing and the sound of bombs kept me up thought luckily I new I would be safe with my mates for I had made it over Gallipoli landing and safly to our tent,

I know that it must be hard knowing that I am off to war. I am sorry that I didn't tell you that I was enlisting but I knew that you would be upset and maybe even be able to persuade me not to. I wish it didn't have to be like this, but our country needs me. I was placed in the trenches, there are many other people here. There are many other people here, more dead than alive. Their bodies lay for us to find as we run through no man's land. Yesterday I watch one of my comrades get to the other side, but then tripped and fell into barbed wire. We had to leave him behind. I got through making sure not to follow in his footsteps.

(G) This war is starting to really affect my men. (C) I understand George but, I cannot give you my men. (G) Yes General I know you can’t and I will not force you. I just ask that you think about it not for me, but for the people. (C) As you wish George, I will think about it but do not get your hopes up. (G) Thank you General and I will not. (C) Your welcome George. How is your wife doing? I haven’t spoken with her in a while. (G) Thank you for asking she is doing just fine I will let her know you asked. (C) So George, what is your next attack plan? (G) I am not fully sure there General, it is as if the British can read my mind. They are always alert on the attacks. I was planning a surprise attack but I am not so sure if I should go on with it now.

Russia was dreary and barren. It looked similar to America, the same yellow-grey hues that had been around for years. They approached a trench, his boots were coated in thick dark mud, making it hard to walk. The bags he carried on his shoulders were weighing him down. Consequently, this made him one of the last men in line. Suddenly, they found the muggy grimy trench, already there was a unit in the trench, they had been there two days before us. The men were cold, drenched and exhausted. Their eyes were soulless and their bodies looked disheveled. Two days and this is how they looked. Christopher’s unit climbed down into the rain filled trench, its murky waters seeping into their boots, fog stretched across the sky as they walked among the

I would leave because it was cold and the huts had no ventilation in their huts. They had no good supplies. A Lot of people died or got sick. So I would go because I do not want to die. They were in the snow with no shoes, no fod so many people were dying.

I can't feel my feet with this cold. I'm hungry, I'm scared. I thank god I am breathing another day but I don't know, will I still be breathing tomorrow? I don't think it's fair, I'm fighting a war I don't have anything to do with. It's unfair how our country forces men to fight for a war they caused.

I write to you today from a hospital bed in France. I know that may sound bad, but truly I am one of the lucky ones. I have lost so many friends in this past battle. I am sure you have probably heard news of this back home in England already. The first day of the battle on the Somme was a dark day indeed. I have heard it word here that it could have been one of the bloodiest battles to date. I do not even know how to begin describing the war, but I have to describe it to someone. I would never want to tell my parents of these horrors I am facing; it would be far too much for them to bear. You are my closest friend back home, and I know if it were not for your health issues, you would be here fighting too, so I feel I can tell you about all this. I know I volunteered for this, but I never in a million years could have predicted what war would truly be like. Looking back on it though, we are truly lucky that Britain is a country that relies on volunteer

War is unforgiving. He’s seen the bodies scattered around the fields, hastily buried in shallow graves before they begin to fester and rot. He’s seen them shot down before him, bodies hitting the ground and sinking into the mud- whether friend or foe, it matters not. They’ll all die here in the end. All he can do is wait it out, pray to survive until at least this war is over, and return home to a life of suppressing the memories and forgetting the images of men wiped out and dying, forgotten, in these turgid pits of death.