Creative Writing: All Quiet On The Western Front

I am Ella Karcewski reporting to you on this gloomy Spring evening, hoping that this war may soon be over. I am currently experiencing a day that I will never forget. The images that I am seeing, and the heartbreaking pain that I am feeling will never be erased from my naive mind. I feel nearly speechless and am saddened for those drastically affected by this war. I am encountering a tragedy as soldiers and horses alike are collapsing to the ground, screams of pain coming from their courageous bodies. Pouring rain is drenching horses and soldiers, and darkness is curtained over the gloomy sky. Ominous clouds fill the atmosphere above, and it seems that the sun wouldn’t dare peek out on this bellicose April day in 1915. All of this French territory

Hi Mom! Hope you're doing well. I'm sorry that I haven't been writing to you in a while, things have just been pretty hectic here. None of us have been getting any sleep around here because we are all stuck in these trenches and are always on guard. Every morning, we'd get up and look around. We always have to stay in the trenches unless our "leader" yelled "Over the top", which means the call to attack.

William, entrenched for months had not gone topside yet. He was in his early twenties, but considered the “old man” in his unit, still inexperienced in the reality of war and was dreading the day he was called to go over the top, into No Man’s Land. He had begun to recognise despair in the eyes of his mates, physically shaking before they climbed the ladders from the trenches, so courageous but yet weak with hunger, there was a constant muttering of “please God save us”. Most barely 15 years’ old when the deadly whistle blew, the order came, “Over the top boys, for Victory, Queen and Country!”.

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.

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

Swords crashed against shields like a field of doors slamming shut in the wind. Arrows whistled through the air; a murder of tiny crows swarming above us vulnerable soldiers. The grunts of men impaled by hafts and sliced open by steel join the cacophony of a battle raging into dusk. Wet warmness would splash across me in response to the dying cries of my comrades as one after another of those we battle would push our shields apart and break the line. The ground was wet and sloppy, dried earth had been turned to slush by a rain that did not fall from the sky. The ground was rendered difficult to manoeuvre through, encumbered by the lifeless figures of soldiers now without the allegiance that lead them to a face in the dirt.

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.

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

Narrator: It was the year 1917, WWI was coming to an end and many men were returning back home, hoping to return from violence to peace. Although happiness and joy greeted these

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

Whatever attempts were made to lift spirits it was clear to all that, on the domestic front, the war was causing growing shortages. The price of meat increased sharply and housewives found themselves paying more for the Christmas joint. In the trenches Christmas was quite uneventful. One soldier wrote, ‘The Bosch was rather quiet. Our orderly officer set up his gramophone and did a good day’s work. 11a.m. a Padre turned up and we had a service in the mess. We had mince pies for lunch and they were very good. At 6p.m. we were invited to a concert. The singing was not very great but quite cheery. The Christmas pudding came in on fire in great style. So ended Christmas in this weary waste of France.’

“I thought this would be a good idea for me. Also I did not want to be drafted.” Before he made this huge decision in his life he worked at a bubblegum factory. When he decided to join the military he was only 18. “I was probably the most nervous person there.” he said. Tom was very brave and Frank his brother was strong. They both went over to Vietnam and they stuck together throughout the war.

There was little cheer as the war entered its fourth year; living with war had become the norm. There were some who found it difficult to recall a time before war had broken out. Europe struggled beneath winter’s iron grip; action on the Western Front had slowed and the outlook on all fronts was bleak. The people of the Isle shared the nation’s sullen obstinacy; they had come to hate war, something they had entered with a clarity of purpose but, to which, they saw no end. The Epworth Bells commented that it was as though everyone was experiencing the same bad dream. The paper began the year showing photographs of the Epworth men killed in the past six months. It was conceived as a patriotic gesture, with overtures of remembrance, but it did

This thesis has aimed to widen local studies on the memorialisation of the Great War. The study of remembrance is ever expanding, with historians, local researchers and organisations aiming to broaden the spectrum of research on the topic. Historians have researched memorialisation from local to international level and the wide spectrum of studies allows for a better understanding of how people and communities reacted to the Great War.

Because of the German defeat, plans for a gradual demobilisation, as drawn up in 1916, were forgotten about. The terms of the armistice treaty stated all German troops must be returned home within 31 days, which was accepted and a speedy demobilisation was further encouraged with the soldiers’ determination to be home for Christmas; ‘…the troops could ‘think of only one thing’: ‘we want to be at home for Christmas.’’ Because of this urging desire to get home as quickly as possible, many soldiers decidedly made their own journeys home, which was found to be not as chaotic as expected, but actually made the process of demobilisation easier, as Bessel insinuates, ‘Rather than make more difficult the task of getting the soldiers back home, it may have done just the opposite.’ Therefore, with the means of demobilising the troops being simplified in such a way, and quickly acted upon, the course of returning the soldiers home was surprisingly successful, especially after considering the demoralised and hurried nature of the process.