A mother's diary pageA wife's diary page A soldier's diary page
CLASS 3B - Arianna B., Martina P., Nayle I.
A Mother's Diary page
My son, my only son, has joined the army and he is leaving for the continent next week.I'm so scared I can't think , act or even breathe. What will it be of him? Oh God, I'm desperate...please listen to my prayers. Let him come back safe and sound.
1916 My son the day he joined the army
Lorem ipsum dolor sit
Lorem ipsum dolor sit
Lorem ipsum
A Wife's Diary Page
Dear Diary,it has been months since I heard from my husband. I'm seriously worried!I miss him, the children and the whole family. Early in the morning I have to leave to go to the factory. At the moment my sister and I and all the women of our country work in the factory for the production of weapons, food and all tha's necessary to live at the front.It is my mother who looks after the children. All my brothers and the men of our family are at the front and now it's up to us to work and our parents stay at home and take care of their grandchildren. Every time I turn on the radio they talk about the war at the front and all those people who die every day in the trenches.
Dear
My dearest husband "on leave" - 1917
I often fear that he, my husband, will not make it because I no longer have any news about him. Even if he were still alive it would be impossible for me to believe he survived.
Lorem ipsum
A Soldier's Diary Page 1918
Lieutenant Harry Jones was a soldier in the trenches of WW1..Here is an account that he wrote to try to capture what he went through every day he was involved in the war.
The nights are the worst because it is almost impossible to sleep. All around me, men are moaning softly if they are in pain, or trying not to cry in case the others rib them. Some dream heavily and yell out as if they are being hunted by demons we can’t see. I find it hard to sleep at all. Sometimes, I’m scared to close my eyes, in case I don’t wake up again. If I do close my eyes, it is because I just can’t keep them open any more.
The days are spent trying to keep warm, or keep dry, or keep alert. We spend a lot of time waiting for orders. We wait for the message to come through that we should get ready to go. So far, it still hasn’t come.
Yesterday, I watched one of my mates being carried out of the dug out, his toes rotting because he has had no boots for weeks now. It made me feel sick, but we are not supposed to give in. Every day, I wonder whether this will be my day to die. Every day, I wonder whether I will see my mother again. And every day, I wonder whether I will see my sixteenth birthday.
Lorem ipsum dolor sit
Lorem ipsum
A Soldier's Declaration: Siegfried Sassoon, July 1917
Siegfried Sassoon, “Finished with the War: A Soldier’s Declaration”
Siegfried Sassoon’s declaration of war against the war appeared in the Bradford Pioneer on July 27, 1917. In disgust with the war, he threw the ribbon of his Military Cross into the sea. Thanks to the help of his friend Robert Graves, Sassoon was declared to have shell shock instead of being court-martialed. The British army placed him in a hospital at Craiglockhart, near Edinburgh, for the duration of the war.
(This statement was made to his commanding officer by Second-Lieutenant S. L. Sassoon, Military Cross, recommended for D.S.O., Third Battalion Royal Welch Fusiliers, as explaining his grounds for refusing to serve further in the army. He enlisted on 3rd August 1914, showed distinguished valour in France, was badly wounded, and would have been kept on home service if he had stayed in the army.)
I am making this statement as an act of wilful defiance of military authority, because I believe that the war is being deliberately prolonged by those who have the power to end it.
I am a soldier, convinced that I am acting on behalf of soldiers. I believe that this war, upon which I entered as a war of defence and liberation, has now become a war of aggression and conquest. I believe that the purposes for which I and my fellow soldiers entered upon this war should have been so clearly stated as to have made it impossible to change them, and that, had this been done, the objects which actuated us would now be attainable by negotiation.
I have seen and endured the sufferings of the troops, and I can no longer be a party to prolong these sufferings for ends which I believe to be evil and unjust.
I am not protesting against the conduct of the war, but against the political errors and insecurities for which the fighting men are being sacrificed.
On behalf of those who are suffering now I make this protest against the deception which is being practiced on them; also I believe that I may help to destroy the callous complacence with which the majority of those at home regard the continuance of agonies which they do not share, and which they have not sufficient imagination to realize.
July, 1917. S. Sassoon.
Lorem ipsum dolor sit
Lorem ipsum dolor sit
Lorem ipsum dolor sit
Lorem ipsum dolor sit
Suicide in the Trenches
Dear Diary, My son hasn't written to me for many months;
Suicide in the Trenches I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.
In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
He put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again.
You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you'll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go.
S. Sassoon
Suicidio in Trincea Conoscevo un giovane soldato che al destino rideva senza gioia La notte dormiva con la paura E all'alba fischiava con l'allodola. Nelle trincee invernali timoroso e triste, Con i crampi ed i pidocchi senza una goccia di rum, si è sparato un proiettile in testa. Del suo nome da allora poco resta. Voi, folle compiaciute ed eccitate che tifate a vedere i soldati marciare, andate a casa e pregate Dio di non sapere I quale inferno finiscono la gioia e la speranza.
* Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit
Lorem ipsum dolor sit
Lorem ipsum
Anthem for Doomed Youth - Wilfred Owen
Inno per una gioventu' spacciata Quali campane a morto per questi che muoiono come bestie?
Solo la mostruosa rabbia delle armi.
Solo il rantolo ripetuto dei fucili schioppettanti
ecco la sola rapida orazione bisbigliabile.
Niente parole ora per loro; ne' preghiere ne' campane;
Nessun'altra voce di cordoglio salvo i cori,
I forsennati cori stridenti delle granate ululanti;
E squilli di tromba da tristi contee.
Quali candelabri prendere per dar loro l'addio?
Non nelle mani di ragazzi, ma nei loro occhi
brilleranno gli ultimi santi raggi di luce.
La loro bare, saranno le fronti pallide delle donne;
I fiori, saranno la tenerezza di pensieri pietose,
e ogni lento crepuscolo, sara' l'oscuramento della stanza.
Anthem for Doomed Youth
BY WILFRED OWEN
What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
— Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,—
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.
Lorem ipsum
* Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit
Lorem ipsum dolor sit
18-19 WW1 Diary
alunno.fox
Created on June 3, 2019
Start designing with a free template
Discover more than 1500 professional designs like these:
View
Education Timeline
View
Body Parts Game
View
Resource Bank
View
Body Parts
View
Choice Board Flipcards
View
January School Calendar
View
Genial Calendar 2026
Explore all templates
Transcript
A mother's diary pageA wife's diary page A soldier's diary page
CLASS 3B - Arianna B., Martina P., Nayle I.
A Mother's Diary page
My son, my only son, has joined the army and he is leaving for the continent next week.I'm so scared I can't think , act or even breathe. What will it be of him? Oh God, I'm desperate...please listen to my prayers. Let him come back safe and sound.
1916 My son the day he joined the army
Lorem ipsum dolor sit
Lorem ipsum dolor sit
Lorem ipsum
A Wife's Diary Page
Dear Diary,it has been months since I heard from my husband. I'm seriously worried!I miss him, the children and the whole family. Early in the morning I have to leave to go to the factory. At the moment my sister and I and all the women of our country work in the factory for the production of weapons, food and all tha's necessary to live at the front.It is my mother who looks after the children. All my brothers and the men of our family are at the front and now it's up to us to work and our parents stay at home and take care of their grandchildren. Every time I turn on the radio they talk about the war at the front and all those people who die every day in the trenches.
Dear
My dearest husband "on leave" - 1917
I often fear that he, my husband, will not make it because I no longer have any news about him. Even if he were still alive it would be impossible for me to believe he survived.
Lorem ipsum
A Soldier's Diary Page 1918
Lieutenant Harry Jones was a soldier in the trenches of WW1..Here is an account that he wrote to try to capture what he went through every day he was involved in the war.
The nights are the worst because it is almost impossible to sleep. All around me, men are moaning softly if they are in pain, or trying not to cry in case the others rib them. Some dream heavily and yell out as if they are being hunted by demons we can’t see. I find it hard to sleep at all. Sometimes, I’m scared to close my eyes, in case I don’t wake up again. If I do close my eyes, it is because I just can’t keep them open any more. The days are spent trying to keep warm, or keep dry, or keep alert. We spend a lot of time waiting for orders. We wait for the message to come through that we should get ready to go. So far, it still hasn’t come. Yesterday, I watched one of my mates being carried out of the dug out, his toes rotting because he has had no boots for weeks now. It made me feel sick, but we are not supposed to give in. Every day, I wonder whether this will be my day to die. Every day, I wonder whether I will see my mother again. And every day, I wonder whether I will see my sixteenth birthday.
Lorem ipsum dolor sit
Lorem ipsum
A Soldier's Declaration: Siegfried Sassoon, July 1917
Siegfried Sassoon, “Finished with the War: A Soldier’s Declaration” Siegfried Sassoon’s declaration of war against the war appeared in the Bradford Pioneer on July 27, 1917. In disgust with the war, he threw the ribbon of his Military Cross into the sea. Thanks to the help of his friend Robert Graves, Sassoon was declared to have shell shock instead of being court-martialed. The British army placed him in a hospital at Craiglockhart, near Edinburgh, for the duration of the war. (This statement was made to his commanding officer by Second-Lieutenant S. L. Sassoon, Military Cross, recommended for D.S.O., Third Battalion Royal Welch Fusiliers, as explaining his grounds for refusing to serve further in the army. He enlisted on 3rd August 1914, showed distinguished valour in France, was badly wounded, and would have been kept on home service if he had stayed in the army.)
I am making this statement as an act of wilful defiance of military authority, because I believe that the war is being deliberately prolonged by those who have the power to end it. I am a soldier, convinced that I am acting on behalf of soldiers. I believe that this war, upon which I entered as a war of defence and liberation, has now become a war of aggression and conquest. I believe that the purposes for which I and my fellow soldiers entered upon this war should have been so clearly stated as to have made it impossible to change them, and that, had this been done, the objects which actuated us would now be attainable by negotiation. I have seen and endured the sufferings of the troops, and I can no longer be a party to prolong these sufferings for ends which I believe to be evil and unjust. I am not protesting against the conduct of the war, but against the political errors and insecurities for which the fighting men are being sacrificed. On behalf of those who are suffering now I make this protest against the deception which is being practiced on them; also I believe that I may help to destroy the callous complacence with which the majority of those at home regard the continuance of agonies which they do not share, and which they have not sufficient imagination to realize. July, 1917. S. Sassoon.
Lorem ipsum dolor sit
Lorem ipsum dolor sit
Lorem ipsum dolor sit
Lorem ipsum dolor sit
Suicide in the Trenches
Dear Diary, My son hasn't written to me for many months;
Suicide in the Trenches I knew a simple soldier boy Who grinned at life in empty joy, Slept soundly through the lonesome dark, And whistled early with the lark. In winter trenches, cowed and glum, With crumps and lice and lack of rum, He put a bullet through his brain. No one spoke of him again. You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye Who cheer when soldier lads march by, Sneak home and pray you'll never know The hell where youth and laughter go. S. Sassoon
Suicidio in Trincea Conoscevo un giovane soldato che al destino rideva senza gioia La notte dormiva con la paura E all'alba fischiava con l'allodola. Nelle trincee invernali timoroso e triste, Con i crampi ed i pidocchi senza una goccia di rum, si è sparato un proiettile in testa. Del suo nome da allora poco resta. Voi, folle compiaciute ed eccitate che tifate a vedere i soldati marciare, andate a casa e pregate Dio di non sapere I quale inferno finiscono la gioia e la speranza.
* Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit
Lorem ipsum dolor sit
Lorem ipsum
Anthem for Doomed Youth - Wilfred Owen
Inno per una gioventu' spacciata Quali campane a morto per questi che muoiono come bestie? Solo la mostruosa rabbia delle armi. Solo il rantolo ripetuto dei fucili schioppettanti ecco la sola rapida orazione bisbigliabile. Niente parole ora per loro; ne' preghiere ne' campane; Nessun'altra voce di cordoglio salvo i cori, I forsennati cori stridenti delle granate ululanti; E squilli di tromba da tristi contee. Quali candelabri prendere per dar loro l'addio? Non nelle mani di ragazzi, ma nei loro occhi brilleranno gli ultimi santi raggi di luce. La loro bare, saranno le fronti pallide delle donne; I fiori, saranno la tenerezza di pensieri pietose, e ogni lento crepuscolo, sara' l'oscuramento della stanza.
Anthem for Doomed Youth BY WILFRED OWEN What passing-bells for these who die as cattle? — Only the monstrous anger of the guns. Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle Can patter out their hasty orisons. No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells; Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,— The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells; And bugles calling for them from sad shires. What candles may be held to speed them all? Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes. The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall; Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds, And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.
Lorem ipsum
* Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit
Lorem ipsum dolor sit