Journal Entry

• Zhiwu Song, Grade 11
• Poetry
• 2011

A journal entry
15/6/1916 Muddy

It has been over one year since I joined the war against the Krauts. Over and over, it seems the shadow of death is edging nearer, and drifting farther. But here I still stand. I don’t know if it is luck or destiny; or, could it be those prayers from home that are bent on making their presence felt? I miss you, London.

It’s hell here in Verdun. I am inured to the bad conditions of the trenches but if there is one thing I still feel for, it’s death. This morning, John died, killed by shrapnel. God damn it! What are the chances of getting a metal shell right through the eye? Poor John, and his wife. ‘I regret I only have one life to give my country’. These were his last words. Was there anything more personal to his family? Captain Roach was inspired and gave a speech to boost our ebbing morale:
‘Some must die. At the prospect of death, we all want to rise above life, but how? Defend our country in her hours of danger!... Our country falls or rises with the war! Do you want your children to speak English or German?... I promise, I promise you the peace in store that must be exchanged with a war; a war to end all wars… We will fight the Krauts ‘til the last Englishman!’

‘Hang on, so many innocent souls have perished. Supporters for war must be demons!’ Hear the conscience of millions calling? The Captain shouted with a self-assuring conviction. ‘Do we stop the war because one or two gets killed? Solemnly, he swept his eyes across his battle-hardened men. ‘I salute you all for putting national interest above self-interest! If we want peace, then, soldiers, be ready for a long and costly war. Everything has a price, including peace and our very way of life…’

So am I justified to kill? If all men must die, then I guess that in the face of death, everybody is the same, despite nationalities. So why fight for countries? To ‘rise above life’? What is the point of life when living to kill? All I see is war adding to misery.

Last Friday as I was in town for a drink, a stunning lady appeared. With a sense of anticipation that was etched all over her face, she periodically gazed in the direction of our camp, each time, more apprehensive. Hours later I saw her, but in tears with all that has remained of her man- a bullet-studded helmet. My God, how I was ashamed of my uniform!

I want to desert from war, but if I do how will Father be able to keep his chin up amongst his friends? How will I ever possess the heart of Amelia? Am I staging the death of many on the theatre of war for the tenderness of one woman?

My heart is heavy in such dilemma…