• Join over 1.2 million students every month
  • Accelerate your learning by 29%
  • Unlimited access from just £6.99 per month
Page
  1. 1
    1
  2. 2
    2
  3. 3
    3
  4. 4
    4
  5. 5
    5
  6. 6
    6
  7. 7
    7
  8. 8
    8
  9. 9
    9
  10. 10
    10

Original Writing - A Soldier's Diary

Extracts from this document...

Introduction

Original Writing Surreptitiously, she placed the corroded, antiquated key into the timeworn lock of the decrepit leather trunk, glancing circumspectly over her shoulder to distinguish whether or not she was being watched. She wasn't. Her tenuous, slender fingers trembled with tangible trepidation as she gradually rotated the ancient, rusty key. Click. The lock was open. Breathing heavily, she apprehensively raised the lid of the chest, blew away a mountain of dust and extracted a dense, elaborate chronicle. Inscribed on the exterior in ornate, interwoven characters were the words, 'Kenneth Walker: Diary of a Warrior'; the familiar sight of his delicate, meticulous handwriting sent a heartfelt shiver down her spine. Poignantly, a solitary tear rolled soothingly down her cheek as she caressed the intimate journal of her recently deceased husband. A fifty year old memoir was all that remained of her loyal, affectionate spouse. His innermost thoughts and feelings from bygone days were concealed in one neglected account that she had previously never contemplated touching. Would this be the day that she finally summoned the vast amount of courage necessitous in order to peruse this confidential journal? She broke out into a nervous sweat whilst retiring to Kenneth's cherished armchair, inhaling his lingering transcendent aroma. The aroma of a hero. An oscillation of nausea swept over her as she tensely opened the front cover. Delicately fingering the discoloured pages, she began to read... January 18th, 1915 I have done it! I have pledged to taste the salt of life, I have scaled the first rung on the ladder of prosperity, I have enrolled in the British Armed Forces! Hurrying down to the local recruitment office with my comrades, exhilaration pulsated rhythmically through my veins. The four of us eagerly expressed our patriotism, confabulating the depth of our enthusiasm at the prospect of assailing the nefarious Fritz on the Front Line. Gordon affirmed that he would never wish to endure the sheer humiliation of being deemed a coward and forced to wear a degrading white feather in his cap. ...read more.

Middle

Uncharacteristically, I'm beginning to wish I did not join up. 16th June, 1916 My beloved Lily, Initially, I must show gratitude for your amorous response to my preceding letter. I am sincerely appreciative. Reading your solicitous words and seeing your elegant calligraphy brings a myriad of tears to my eyes. It feels as though there is an element of you within each of your missives. Presently, I am industriously serving in the perpetually pernicious trenches of Sierre, France. As I write, I am partway through the eight week duration of my invigorating term in the reserve trenches, approximately three-hundred metres behind the front line. Regrettably, due to my increasingly busy schedule, my letters to you have been sporadic within recent months, However, I intend to discontinue this tendency by corresponding frequently. Trench life is thoroughly spiffing! Possessing a Lee-Enfield bolt-action rifle makes me feel amply equipped for battle and scrupulously primed to assail the malicious Fritz. Furthermore, the food here is decidedly palatable; the bully beef and maconochie stew are utterly appetizing. It is a considerable improvement on the substandard cuisine that was served at Redmires. Occasionally, we are permitted a ration of bacon, cheese or jam as a merited indulgence. How spiffing! Last week, Percy caught a Blighty one. Spending days on end immersed in contaminated water had led to him developing Trench Foot; the calamitous open sores were unmitigatedly repulsive. Catastrophically, Percy's symptoms exacerbated, resulting in his decomposing foot requiring amputation. I hope his condition improves rapidly. Yesterday, the chaps and I waved goodbye to him as he returned to Blighty. How are you managing? Although I habitually pine for you, I find solace in the certainty that the sunrise I perceive each morning is the same sunrise that you witness. In the end all that matters is love. Love Always, Kenneth x x x 16th June, 1916 "Trench life is thoroughly spiffing!" ...read more.

Conclusion

Hysterically, I shuffled over to the remains and stroked the icy cold skin of the corpse. Gordon. Several bullet wounds to the chest, he was evidently dead. I cried as I clutched him to my chest. How could this have happened? A shell blast brought me back to reality. Instantaneously, I knew that I could not let myself endure the same deplorable fate as my lifelong companion. Tenderly, I kissed his deteriorating head and uttered a heartfelt farewell. Tears streaming down my dirt-ridden face, I painstakingly persisted on my journey towards protection. After what felt like an eternity, I made it. Mustering my final degree of potency, I propelled myself over the perimetric sandbags and into the shelter of the British trench. Excruciatingly, I landed on the nauseatingly filthy ground with a strident thud. Everything went black. Upon regaining consciousness, I found myself in the rehabilitation marquee. Although I have fractured my left femur during my agonizing descent, I do not wish for sympathy. My injury is severely insignificant in comparison to the thousands of lives lost in the Battle of the Somme. They are the real heroes. The culpability is overwhelming. I am unworthy of living when so many of my comrades have departed this life. I have infinite deference for all the valiant fellows who perished in honour of their King and Country. How could the merciless Fritz commit such debauched genocide? As for the Generals, they did an utterly spiffing job - only 600,000 of us have died. What have any of us done to tilt the world into this aberrant orbit? This convoluted carnage has guided me into the obscure understanding that we humans are merely pawns on a metaphorical chessboard being forced around by destiny's indistinguishable hand. No matter how much we attempt to challenge the inevitable outcome, we are never ready. We are powerless. Atypically, I have not yet verbalized my thoughts and feelings since that momentous day. Nobody will ever understand. When the corollary is so atrocious, why bother being a hero? Amy Collins Page 1 of 10 ...read more.

The above preview is unformatted text

This student written piece of work is one of many that can be found in our GCSE Writing to Inform, Explain and Describe section.

Found what you're looking for?

  • Start learning 29% faster today
  • 150,000+ documents available
  • Just £6.99 a month

Not the one? Search for your essay title...
  • Join over 1.2 million students every month
  • Accelerate your learning by 29%
  • Unlimited access from just £6.99 per month

See related essaysSee related essays

Related GCSE Writing to Inform, Explain and Describe essays

  1. Slavery - the diary entries of Kunta Kinte

    That was one lesson that I won't forget soon. My next task was to catch a bird, but the one catch was that the bird can't die or be injured. The bird must be alive. But on my expedition I came across Fanta a wonderful young woman who was at

  2. Dear Diary,

    Jackpot. We lowered it carefully, and climbed down quickly and started running. We ran towards the main road, and cars were going by real quick. " Quick," Josh shouted, " Jump in the back of this truck Britts!" The truck had stopped at the traffic lights, which was useful so we could climb in.

  1. Dear diary.... bullying.

    Tara died that very evening... Dear Phoebe, How are you sis? And how is Kev I hope the pregnancies going fine. I am okay I suppose but something dreadful has happened. I know we don't speak often and well it is not really easy seen as how we never see

  2. Eva Smith's Diary

    I'm sure he won't take it very well. This isn't looking good. 25th December 1911 Christmas day, the worst Christmas I've had really. It could be worse though really couldn't it? Eric was really shocked about the baby; he kept asking me "Is it really mine, Daisy?"

  1. The long lost diary of the mummy

    you could see some of the content of the head and stomach. The content of its stomach must have oozed out as the mummies stomach exploded it must of bloated because of the access amount of methane gas in its stomach.

  2. Creative writing - It was supposed to be a great adventure, searching for lost ...

    At night we had a nice dinner the owner of the hotel had made fresh Mediterranean fish, it was beautiful. Then we got ready for the next day. Little did we know, that there were a few surprises waiting for us. CHAPTER 4 It was a pleasant sleep for me.

  1. Dusk Descended.

    "Michael" screamed Kagi. His body fell in line with a truck wheel and was severed. His corpse mutilated; his blood on their faces. The body of Michael was gone. Egor almost slipped with horror. He couldn't speak. He felt violently ill; his stomach erupted.

  2. Creative Writing Coursework : Guilt

    "Put this on. As you know, there is a VHF transmitter sewn into the lining, and a concealed .2 lux CCD camera in your top pocket, along with the main transmitter for both devices. The camera lens is next to your top button, there, you see? It's optical fibre technology.

  • Over 160,000 pieces
    of student written work
  • Annotated by
    experienced teachers
  • Ideas and feedback to
    improve your own work