Gayhurst Community School Hackney

27-28 November 2014

LETTER FROM HARDIT SINGH MALIK                   

GAYHURST COMMUNITY SCHOOL YEAR 5

Dear Mother,

Here is something amazing: I learnt to fly in only one month!

Everyone calls me ‘The Flying Hobgoblin’.

I prefer it in the air,

The wind rushing past,

A great view below,

And you see much less suffering from up here.

I fought with the ‘Red Baron’,

Who everybody fears.

My plane was riddled with bullets,

I feel proud about that, proud about that.

Every time I shoot down a pilot,

I feel an air of guilt and pride.

The bullets will stay,
To remind me of my pain.

This war has ruined men’s lives.

I let down a tear of sadness.

The bags under my eyes are like paper torn to shreds.

I have never forgotten my faith, never forgotten my faith, despite all I’ve seen.

When the war ends,

And I hope it does soon,

I will rush home to India.

I hope to be back soon.

Your loving son,

Hardit Singh Malik

LETTER FROM HERBERT MORRIS                           

GAYHURST COMMUNITY SCHOOL YEAR 6

Dear Ma and Pa,

I’ve been here a while now,

And to be honest,

I don’t think I can stand it much longer.

I hear the sound of gunfire, bombs exploding all around me.

Bullets whistling thorough the air, soldiers screaming, begging for their lives.

I miss you all back home: Pa’s stories, Polly’s lies,

Your home cooked meals, and most of all, my comfy bed.

My comfy bed.

I feel like I’m losing my mind

But I’m afraid to admit it.

Am I a coward?
Coward?

Coward?

Exploding bombs shatter the peaceful night.

Shooting bullets zoom overhead,

Zoom overhead like lightning.

I enter the world of foggy gas, swirling around the air.

Sharp shrapnel scrapes past my dry, dark skin,

At night here, the sky lights up like a firework display.

A bomb brings us back to reality, to reality.

Will I ever hear the sound of birds

Gracefully singing as calm as the sea?

Will I ever feel the sparkling sun

Caress my face, caress my face?

Pray for me as I do for you.

Your loving son

Herbert Morris

Letter Excerpts from 6W

Dear Ma and Pa,

As you know I’ve been here for a while now, and to be honest I don’t think I can stand it much longer. As I write to you now I can hear the sound of gunfire and bombs exploding around me. Bullets whistling thorough the air, soldiers screaming nearly begging for their lives.

How’s Polly doing? Is she still missing me? Please let her know that I’m missing her badly and I think of her all the time. As a matter of fact I miss all of you lot back home. Pa’s stories, Polly’s lies, your home cooked meals and my most of all my comfy bed. I’d pay anything to have that all back. We’re woken up at 05:00, given bread and water around about 07:00 hours all the while prone to attack.

I’m not doing very well here. I’m stressed in these trenches; they’re cramped and make me feel claustrophobic. I feel like I’m losing my mind but I’m just too afraid to admit to it for fear of my squad calling me a coward. The doctors haven’t been very helpful either they’ve just told me that I need to get use to the war it will be over soon

The smell is just as bad, it’s unbearable; it’s a mixture of blood, fear, sweat, tears and the rotting dead. There are no words that I can use to describe it.

On a more cheerful note, thanks for the parcel the socks are giving me great pleasure. Some of the items you sent were taken by the officers, apparently they’re not allowed (but I know the truth). I’ve placed the picture in my pocket note book next to my heart and it goes everywhere with me.

I must end now, pray for me as I always for you.

Your loving son

Herbie

Letter Home 1

Dearest Mum and Dad,

I am well, as always, physically anyway. I hope all is well with you and the family. The conditions within my regiment are terrible. We have to sleep wherever we can, even standing up! The food is also atrocious, it tastes like cardboard.   My pangs of hunger are sometimes as sharp as the bullets that whizz past.

I often hear the screams of men, allies and Germans. I had to go to the hospital today as a stray piece of shrapnel broke my thumb. The pain is like nothing I have ever experienced! I have never seen anything like what I am witnessing. Friends I have made have been shot before my eyes. Barbarically twisted webs of barbed wire have pierced skin and maimed limbs. Sometimes I want to curl up and wait for it to be over. Bombs scream overhead, shattering bodies.

I feel terrible about shooting the Bosche, even though it’s for my country. However, there is one disgusting thing, the rats… They are everywhere! They nibble feet and take chunks out of hands; I once saw a rat the size of a cat, scuttling around the trench.

The propaganda is false. There is nothing patriotic about living in this filth.

I wish all the best to you back in Blighty. I will come back, I promise.

All my Love,

Will

Letter Home

Dear Mother and Father,

I am as well as I can be under the circumstances. I hope all is well with the family. No matter what happens, I am going to be alright, so, I hope, are you.

I have just been moved back from the front line. All is solemn. Even the light-hearted are serious, although at times we enjoy a quiet song.

Shells rip through the air and bullets scream overhead. Like flies, the men around me fall.

The daily bombardment does not worry us in the least, and we have not suffered an attack yet, so the men are keen to go over the parapet and push back the merciless Germans.

Yesterday I received your parcel. Lots of men are getting trench foot. One man had to be sent on home leave because of a terrible case. His foot was eventually amputated. Luckily the socks prevent that from happening to me. Please make a pair for Walter; he is tragically wounded and has been placed in the infirmary.

At night here, the sky lights up like a firework display. We all gaze until a bomb jerks us back to reality.

I pray for your well-being every night and day. By any chance, I will see you again soon. Give my love to everyone.

May God be with us all,

From Your Loving Son,

Ralph

A Poem

The War

Exploding bombs shatter the peaceful night.

Shooting bullets zoom over my head as quick as lightning.

Who could want a life so bad, so sad,

so dreadful, so painful.

A life that lures you to death.

Heart beating uncontrollable, solemnity seizes my soul.

I enter the world of foggy gas, swirling around the air.

The sharp shrapnel brushes against my dry, dark skin,

Cuts all over me.

A cold river of blood flowing through the rocky trenches.

Where will my life lead me to next?

Will I ever hear the sound of birds gracefully singing

as calm as the sea?

Will I ever feel the sparkling sun caressing my face?

I wonder…

This is war!