June 21st, 1917
Dear diary,
I’m lying in the cellar as those flying bullets fly overhead. I have never seen those flying bullets in the air before. They seen to appear out of nowhere and explode on the ground. Mam have carried down the water jar and radio from the house finally but its dark and musty here. The heater had been destroyed by the blast next door and the cellar is getting colder every passing day. I can hear the rats squeaking as I write. I can’t sleep. Every time I try to close my eyes, I hear the sound of them gnawing at the sheets. The ground is hard and cold and my bones ache.
Yesterday, papa and mam took me to the City Centre to get food. The sight was unbelievable. The Thames was murky and filled with ships that were dented, some that looked like scrap metal. Mam and Papa queued up to collect the rations and I realized that most of the people queuing up were covered in grime and dust. Some buildings had collapsed in a pile of rubble and dust is flying everywhere. There were bunches of men shouting, holding up boards and calling the government cowards. I saw soldiers walking about, some with no arms, some with no legs, and some with just one. Even till now, I still have nightmares of their moaning and cries and the way they shiver when you look closely at them, like living ghosts.
Miss Henderson’s house had been reduced to debris and flames. I still remember playing in their backyard. It was a brick house, covered in a smooth layer of whitewash, with glazed windows that glowed like a lantern at night, and their backyard was filled with dandelions and wildflowers, and the crickets chirped at dawn in the grass, but all I saw just now was flames and misery. I heard that Miss Henderson had escaped barely and was now staying at Miss Catrun’s house temporarily.
Diary, I am scared. Mam had been getting frailer and frailer in the past few weeks. Papa says sleeping in this cold cellar will not be good for Mam’s health. But what can we do? The house was nearly burned down yesterday if not for Mr. Johnson’s brave efforts at manning the hose. I heard that winter was approaching. I really worry for Mam. She looks at Jack’s photo everyday. Jack had told me before he left for the war that I must take care of Mam and Papa when he was away. Mam just cries everyday when he looks at the photo. I really want to do something for her. I really can’t endure this misery anymore.
When will Jack come back? When will this war end? The bread tastes like my eraser and the biscuits taste like rocks. I have not drunk fresh water for months. I yearn for the scones that Mrs. Billy bakes, and the bacon that we had every morning I the past. The water supply had been cut and the cold baths that we once resorted to have ceased to be an option. Before the school was closed I had heard Billy and Tom murmur that this war will last for a long long time. I don’t know. The air raid sirens are ringing again. They make me feel dizzy and my whole body will feel weak. I’ll stop now and pray, for Jack, for Mam, for Papa, for Britain, I’ll pray…
Mary
