Creative Writing: All Quiet On The Western Front

Dear Mother, It’s been a long time since I had the opportunity to sit down and write you a letter. I miss you and father a lot. I am overjoyed to be writing this letter to you. The mood here is one of jubilation. Our assault on Vimy Ridge began at 5:30 am on Easter Monday, eight days ago. We lost a lot of good boys but I am so very pleased to inform you that the Canucks got the job done! What the French couldn’t do for two years and the Brits too we, Byng’s Boys did in three days. I was assigned to the front line in the trenches as part of the 7th Canadian Infantry Brigade attached to the 4th Canadian Division. This is actually the first time all four divisions got to work together as a unified Canadian Corps. They

I made it through the first wave I am alive, The sights are not so great as you can imagine it is a war after all. I am currently in a trench writing this letter. There is a fat rat right in front of me. I hope I don’t get trench foot because if I do you’ll never see me walk again. All my friends I made are dead I miss them they were the only ones I had left going for me in the war.

Right now I’m in these trenches writing a heart-filled letter for y’all. But these unbearable conditions have been unsettling to me. Everytime I want to get away from the gruesome war, I think about you. The shots of the machine guns, getting exposed to mustard gas, and having to see my fellow soldiers having to deal with trench foot, all makes me feel hopeless of me staying alive. All day and night, we had to be on the lookout. Planes from the sky makes us vulnerable for air attacks. All aside from all of those problems, the one main goal is to one day find my horse Joey. Maybe both of us will somehow meet me once again during or after the war. I’m very sorry to you guys if I don’t make it home alive, but I’m going to make a big promise, never in a day or night, will I forget about you guys.

Our regiment - the Seaforth Highlanders - is doing its share. About the beginning of March ... half a dozen of us were quartered in an old farmhouse, about a quarter of a mile from our first line trenches. We had scouted round and found wood and potatoes and had got a nice stew nearly ready when we heard noises in the air, followed by a loud explosion behind us. Two or three more came along, each one getting nearer, so we decided we had better move somewhere. We ran out behind a couple of stacks about twenty yards away, thinking we would be safe there. All the time the shells were getting nearer, but as we were getting hungry, we dashed across the open to the house, fetched the stew and served it out behind the stack. I know the potatoes were bolted whole and big pieces of meat swallowed without being tasted, for the shells were dropping each side of the stack by this time. A few of the men were like ostriches, for they had buried their heads in the straw so as not to hear the shells coming. The stack next to us was used by the artillery as an observation post and an officer told us to “beat it,” as that was what they were after. Some of us stayed and some “beat it” to headquarters - dugouts. In a little while they ceased firing and we left the stack to look for pieces of shell. The nearest shell hole was about six yards to the side of the stack and it was a wonder none of us were hit. The artillery officer told us that if they had used a different kind of shell we should have been blown to pieces. That made us think we were rather lucky to be still alive, but we were complimented when he told us that all we thought about was our blooming stew. The worst of shrapnel is that you can hear it coming and you spend anxious moments wondering where it is going to burst.

These past couple of weeks haven’t so been easy for me. I know I went through a lot at home, but the stress is even worse here. The trenches are horrible, the fighting is horrible and the food is horrible! The trenches are muddy, cold and just horrendous. It smells like rotting dead bodies everywhere I go. Every hour, there’s a grenade flying over my head and I know that my luck is running out. There’s going to be a time when I am not going to be able to pick the grenade up fast enough to throw it over the trench. That isn’t even the worst of it. A bunch of my comrades and I are coming down with trench foot. Our feet are swollen, cut up, wet, cold, muddy and disgusting. I’m hoping the war will end fast enough so that I won’t have to get my legs chopped off. And you

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

Even so, we are grateful for every little change here. I forgot to mention in my previous letter that the horrible Ross rifles were officially replaced with Lee-Enfields, to everyone's great relief. Also, we have been given big, heavy, black boots. 'Ammunition' boots, I believe they are called. They are truly wonderful things, my love, for now we need not worry about wet feet. Despite all this, the mud in the trenches is still as thick and deep as ever and every step in the trenches brings about unbearable squelching noises. The slimy mud is often knee-deep and mixed with bits of ammo, sticks, and human bodies. Dead men are found everywhere here: lying on no man's land, stacked on the trench walls, and pelted on the floors of the trenches. The trenches are no place for the living, love, but for the dead. I'd wager that more dead men rest in these pits than the living. There are so many dangers snuggling right next to us soldiers in these stagnant trenches that are not the Fritz. The rats here are unbelievable – the size of cats I dare say. They are fearless and daring monsters who shamelessly feast on the corpses of dead soldiers. Terrifying creatures, don't you think? It is impossible to sleep at night just thinking about those filthy creatures and listening to the continuous artillery fire outside. Cooties are another pest that thrives here in the trenches on the bodies of men- living men,

In your letter, you asked me to tell you something of what I am going through. I can not go into too much detail, because all outgoing mail is censored by our officers, but I feel it is time I tell you something of the war.

Much obliged to you for your letter. I have missed you very much; I have not stopped thinking about you. I know how worried you must have been. I did intend on writing to you sooner, then again, I have been very busy indeed. The Germans attacked very soon. They released thousands of barrels of chlorine gas at the French. The French had no masks and chose to flee because they believed they were not prepared, leaving us to fight alone. Two days later, the Germans released gas on us and attacked soon after that. Despite the gas, we continued to fight. Tragically, we lost thousands and thousands of men. It is so hard watching all your friends die before your eyes. You start to lose hope. In addition to that, we are all hungry resulting in fear

I hope you are well. Send my regards to Father and my sister, Mary. I miss you all very dearly and hope to see you soon. I have been meaning to write you for weeks, but we have been very busy fighting lately. Today has been the calmest of all my days here, so I can finally tell you all about what it’s like in this Great War.

There was a Giraffe named Harambe and it had a little bit of gorilla in it but he did not know that yet so Harambe was living a normal life of a Giraffe just like all of them. So one-day Harambe was walking through the thick forest it was as green as money and harambe were looking for some good leaves to eat. he was not paying attention and wandered into gorilla territory and they went wild then this gorilla came out of nowhere and she looked familiar but she ran away Harambe decided to follow her when he caught up with her she was super shy and Harambe said: “You look familiar.” “Do I know you.” surprisingly she said “Yes.” I do not know where from but she knew me and out of nowhere she said: “I am your mother.” I was so shocked I ran all

Finally, I have the chance to drop you a few lines. I miss you guys so much. How are you guys doing? For me it's not really that great. Despite everything, I recall how excited I was going for the war. I still remember how I was reeking with curiosity to what's to happen. But now I don't know anymore. The trenches are very narrow, just room for me and Joe to push by one another. In front of each trench is a barricade made of sandbags, these are more or less bullet proof. We fill them up and they look after us. I know that sounds funny but it's true. We don't generally utilize sand, sometimes it is simply soil and earth. If the Germans fired at us; the bullet, normally hits a sandbag which prevents it from getting to us. In any event, it

I finally have an opportunity to write to you; work has been very busy around Ypres, Belgium. Firstly, I would like to thank you for your caring letters, it really helps me a lot dealing with stress. I never knew how protected I was until I enlisted. I was shocked the first time I seen so many bodies needing to be buried. At this moment, I am writing this letter while resting in my dugout, listening to the relentless artilleries. I can’t believe that this is the first letter after boot camp. I must ask you, how are you? I hope you are doing well. I am terribly sorry for missing Christmas with our family, I hope my precious brother Henry can wait for the next Christmas. I know that there is a shortage of grain, but you and Henry have to adjust,

two kids; perhaps a boy with blonde curly hair and green eyes and a girl with dark brunette hair and brown eyes. Of course our marriage would be out of necessity rather than want. I’ve always loved Gus but in a sort of platonic friendship way. We both know things about each other that no one else but our parents know.

(opens the journal and starts to write) I remember it like it was yesterday, it was December 24, 1914. We had an unofficial truce. The spirit of Christmas was in the air, and it was The most irregular zone to be! It was in a region of World War I on the battlefield as I sat in the rock and bullet shells with my allies by my side. My allies and I were talking. “I wonder if the general will find out.” One of them questioned, “HA! Right like they will ever find out.”replied another. They did, though, but it’s ok. The German, British, and of course our troops laid down their guns and bombs and celebrated