Soldier'sDiary
Activity 6
DAY 1
Today I set foot in the trench for the first time. Mud covers everything, and each step sinks as if I were walking through a swamp. The smell is unbearable, damp earth, sweaty clothes, and the stench of bodies that were never buried. The veterans say you get used to it, but I can hardly believe it. The routine started immediately. We spent hours filling sandbags, repairing the walls, and pumping out water. There is barely any time to rest, and even then it’s almost impossible to find a dry spot. Mud and rats seem to follow us everywhere. Even in all this monotony, death is always near. Gunshots crack in the distance and sudden explosions shake the ground. The sergeant warns us never to raise our heads too high one sniper’s bullet is enough to end it all. They say we’ll only be here for a few days before rotating to the rear, but every hour feels endless. Tonight I stand guard in the dark, with fear in my chest and the faint hope that I’ll survive to write again tomorrow.
Today I set foot in the trench for the first time. Mud covers everything, and each step sinks as if I were walking through a swamp. The smell is unbearable, damp earth, sweaty clothes, and the stench of bodies that were never buried. The veterans say you get used to it, but I can hardly believe it. The routine started immediately. We spent hours filling sandbags, repairing the walls, and pumping out water. There is barely any time to rest, and even then it’s almost impossible to find a dry spot. Mud and rats seem to follow us everywhere. Even in all this monotony, death is always near. Gunshots crack in the distance and sudden explosions shake the ground. The sergeant warns us never to raise our heads too high one sniper’s bullet is enough to end it all. They say we’ll only be here for a few days before rotating to the rear, but every hour feels endless. Tonight I stand guard in the dark, with fear in my chest and the faint hope that I’ll survive to write again tomorrow.
DAY 2
This morning the alarm was sounded, and we rushed to put on our masks. A greenish cloud drifted over no-man’s land, carrying the choking smell of chlorine. Even through the mask my lungs burned, and panic spread among the men as if death itself was creeping into the trench. We crouched low, clutching our rifles, waiting for the gas to clear. Some of the younger soldiers froze, unable to breathe properly inside their masks. The sound of coughing and muffled cries filled the air, mixed with the distant roar of artillery. When the wind finally carried the cloud away, silence fell over the trench. We looked at each other, faces pale behind the masks, realizing how close we had come. This war isn’t just about bullets, it finds new ways to kill us every day. I wrote this quickly, still trembling. Tonight, as I close my eyes, I fear the next cloud may come without warning.
Front-line trench, Western Front, 1916
DAY 3
When we first arrived in France, the journey felt endless. Ten of us were squeezed into a cattle truck with just a little straw to lie on, and the horses were packed even tighter. It was cold and rough, but at that time we still felt a bit of excitement, not knowing what was waiting for us. One night they gave us hot coffee mixed with rum. It was the best drink I ever had warm, sweet, and strong. For a short moment, it felt almost like being home again. Small things like that keep us going out here. Not long after, we faced our first real battle. The shells came down and the noise was terrible. I was shaking all over, but the worst part was when we lost our first man. He was killed instantly by a shell. Seeing him fall reminded us how dangerous this place truly is. Now I try to stay calm when the bombardments start, though the fear never fully goes away. Tonight the guns are still firing in the distance. I don’t know how long we’ll last, but I’m proud to be here with my mates, even in the mud, the cold, and the constant danger.
DAY 4
July 1, 1916. They told us this attack would finally break the stalemate. For a whole week, the big guns fired without rest. We thought nothing could survive that storm. Some of the lads were so confident they kicked footballs as we moved forward. But when the whistle blew and we went over the top, it was nothing like we hoped. The German soldiers were waiting. Their machine guns cut us down like grass. The wire was still there, and many never made it across no man’s land. The sound of shells, screams, and guns will never leave my head. In only one morning, we lost thousands. My battalion was full of friends from the same town, and now most are gone. I can’t stop thinking of their families back home, who will never see them again. They say the battle will continue, but I wonder what is the point. So much blood, and for what? Just a few yards of mud. The Somme is not victory—it is a graveyard.
"From that moment all my religion died, after that journey all my teaching and belief in God had left me - never to return."
DAY 5
I still remember Christmas Day, 1914. That morning, instead of gunfire, we heard carols from the German side. At first, none of us believed it. Then we began to sing back. Soon, men from both sides stepped into no man’s land. We shook hands, shared food, even played football. For a few hours, we were not enemies. It felt like peace had returned, even if just for a single day. Now, two years later, everything feels different. At the Battle of the Somme, I saw the new tanks. They were massive machines of steel, moving slowly across the battlefield. They crushed the barbed wire and frightened the Germans, but many broke down or were destroyed by artillery before reaching their goal. The memory of that Christmas truce shows me the kindness men are capable of, but the tanks remind me of how far we will go to try to win this war. I can’t help wondering which will last longer the spirit of peace or the machines of war.
German and British side during Christmas Day
Battle of the Somme | Research Starters | EBSCO Research. (2023). EBSCO. https://www.ebsco.com/research-starters/military-history-and-science/battle-somme Weapons on Land - Tanks and Armoured Vehicles | Canada and the First World War. (2025). Canada and the First World War. https://www.warmuseum.ca/firstworldwar/history/battles-and-fighting/weapons-on-land/chars-et-vehicules-blindes/#:~:text=British%20forces%20first%20used%20tanks,Only%20one%20reached%20its%20objective. A First World War Christmas | National Army Museum. (2025). Nam.ac.uk. https://www.nam.ac.uk/explore/christmas-ww1#:~:text=Christmas%20Truce,give%20them%20a%20decent%20burial. What Was the Battle of the Somme? (2018). Imperial War Museums. https://www.iwm.org.uk/history/what-was-the-battle-of-the-somme#:~:text=batalla%20del%20Somme%3F-,La%20batalla%20del%20Somme%20
Life in the trenches | NZ History. (2025, September 10). Govt.nz. https://nzhistory.govt.nz/page/life-trenches
Soldier's Diary
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Soldier'sDiary
Activity 6
DAY 1
Today I set foot in the trench for the first time. Mud covers everything, and each step sinks as if I were walking through a swamp. The smell is unbearable, damp earth, sweaty clothes, and the stench of bodies that were never buried. The veterans say you get used to it, but I can hardly believe it. The routine started immediately. We spent hours filling sandbags, repairing the walls, and pumping out water. There is barely any time to rest, and even then it’s almost impossible to find a dry spot. Mud and rats seem to follow us everywhere. Even in all this monotony, death is always near. Gunshots crack in the distance and sudden explosions shake the ground. The sergeant warns us never to raise our heads too high one sniper’s bullet is enough to end it all. They say we’ll only be here for a few days before rotating to the rear, but every hour feels endless. Tonight I stand guard in the dark, with fear in my chest and the faint hope that I’ll survive to write again tomorrow.
Today I set foot in the trench for the first time. Mud covers everything, and each step sinks as if I were walking through a swamp. The smell is unbearable, damp earth, sweaty clothes, and the stench of bodies that were never buried. The veterans say you get used to it, but I can hardly believe it. The routine started immediately. We spent hours filling sandbags, repairing the walls, and pumping out water. There is barely any time to rest, and even then it’s almost impossible to find a dry spot. Mud and rats seem to follow us everywhere. Even in all this monotony, death is always near. Gunshots crack in the distance and sudden explosions shake the ground. The sergeant warns us never to raise our heads too high one sniper’s bullet is enough to end it all. They say we’ll only be here for a few days before rotating to the rear, but every hour feels endless. Tonight I stand guard in the dark, with fear in my chest and the faint hope that I’ll survive to write again tomorrow.
DAY 2
This morning the alarm was sounded, and we rushed to put on our masks. A greenish cloud drifted over no-man’s land, carrying the choking smell of chlorine. Even through the mask my lungs burned, and panic spread among the men as if death itself was creeping into the trench. We crouched low, clutching our rifles, waiting for the gas to clear. Some of the younger soldiers froze, unable to breathe properly inside their masks. The sound of coughing and muffled cries filled the air, mixed with the distant roar of artillery. When the wind finally carried the cloud away, silence fell over the trench. We looked at each other, faces pale behind the masks, realizing how close we had come. This war isn’t just about bullets, it finds new ways to kill us every day. I wrote this quickly, still trembling. Tonight, as I close my eyes, I fear the next cloud may come without warning.
Front-line trench, Western Front, 1916
DAY 3
When we first arrived in France, the journey felt endless. Ten of us were squeezed into a cattle truck with just a little straw to lie on, and the horses were packed even tighter. It was cold and rough, but at that time we still felt a bit of excitement, not knowing what was waiting for us. One night they gave us hot coffee mixed with rum. It was the best drink I ever had warm, sweet, and strong. For a short moment, it felt almost like being home again. Small things like that keep us going out here. Not long after, we faced our first real battle. The shells came down and the noise was terrible. I was shaking all over, but the worst part was when we lost our first man. He was killed instantly by a shell. Seeing him fall reminded us how dangerous this place truly is. Now I try to stay calm when the bombardments start, though the fear never fully goes away. Tonight the guns are still firing in the distance. I don’t know how long we’ll last, but I’m proud to be here with my mates, even in the mud, the cold, and the constant danger.
DAY 4
July 1, 1916. They told us this attack would finally break the stalemate. For a whole week, the big guns fired without rest. We thought nothing could survive that storm. Some of the lads were so confident they kicked footballs as we moved forward. But when the whistle blew and we went over the top, it was nothing like we hoped. The German soldiers were waiting. Their machine guns cut us down like grass. The wire was still there, and many never made it across no man’s land. The sound of shells, screams, and guns will never leave my head. In only one morning, we lost thousands. My battalion was full of friends from the same town, and now most are gone. I can’t stop thinking of their families back home, who will never see them again. They say the battle will continue, but I wonder what is the point. So much blood, and for what? Just a few yards of mud. The Somme is not victory—it is a graveyard.
"From that moment all my religion died, after that journey all my teaching and belief in God had left me - never to return."
DAY 5
I still remember Christmas Day, 1914. That morning, instead of gunfire, we heard carols from the German side. At first, none of us believed it. Then we began to sing back. Soon, men from both sides stepped into no man’s land. We shook hands, shared food, even played football. For a few hours, we were not enemies. It felt like peace had returned, even if just for a single day. Now, two years later, everything feels different. At the Battle of the Somme, I saw the new tanks. They were massive machines of steel, moving slowly across the battlefield. They crushed the barbed wire and frightened the Germans, but many broke down or were destroyed by artillery before reaching their goal. The memory of that Christmas truce shows me the kindness men are capable of, but the tanks remind me of how far we will go to try to win this war. I can’t help wondering which will last longer the spirit of peace or the machines of war.
German and British side during Christmas Day
Battle of the Somme | Research Starters | EBSCO Research. (2023). EBSCO. https://www.ebsco.com/research-starters/military-history-and-science/battle-somme Weapons on Land - Tanks and Armoured Vehicles | Canada and the First World War. (2025). Canada and the First World War. https://www.warmuseum.ca/firstworldwar/history/battles-and-fighting/weapons-on-land/chars-et-vehicules-blindes/#:~:text=British%20forces%20first%20used%20tanks,Only%20one%20reached%20its%20objective. A First World War Christmas | National Army Museum. (2025). Nam.ac.uk. https://www.nam.ac.uk/explore/christmas-ww1#:~:text=Christmas%20Truce,give%20them%20a%20decent%20burial. What Was the Battle of the Somme? (2018). Imperial War Museums. https://www.iwm.org.uk/history/what-was-the-battle-of-the-somme#:~:text=batalla%20del%20Somme%3F-,La%20batalla%20del%20Somme%20
Life in the trenches | NZ History. (2025, September 10). Govt.nz. https://nzhistory.govt.nz/page/life-trenches