Bitz N Bobz
Websites
Dear Diary
Take a look at Amy's amazing WWII diary entry. She had a great time letting her imagination run wild...
Thursday 2nd February 1941
Dear Diary,
Sorrow, pain and anger are the only emotions I can feel. I am curious to whether I will endure this eternally. My head is occupied with a thousand thoughts that even I can’t tackle. No eleven-and-a-quarter-year-old should have to experience this pure mayhem. I shall now tell you how it all began. It’s a long story; so pay attention and listen closely, Diary.
It all started at around seven o’ clock, when a big bang struck our ears. My father instructed my younger sister Bea (Beatrice) and me to run straight into the living room, where the shelter was. We didn’t have a garden: the living room was the best substitute. We huddled up together and even though I seemed fine, a tight embrace couldn’t stop my anxiety or my tears from falling down…
“Bethany, why are you crying, my dear?” said my father, with an unsatisfied frown that suggested he couldn’t be bothered.
“No reason.”
Embarrassed, I looked at the wall and continued to suffer from boredom. Bombs were dropping practically every second, each one more intense than the last. My heart beat acted similarly to the bombs, except it wasn’t dropping, but pumping faster. Bizarrely, Bea didn’t seem to be affected by the surrounding chaos, as she was being her usual, slightly odd, four-year-old self.
Among the corrugated shelter, was my dad, Beatrice and I, sat in a state of somewhat depression. My father was continuously scratching his face. My sister was pacing around the room. And me? Well, I was questioning my life decisions and thinking about how I didn’t deserve this. Any of this. Nor did my family. They’ve always been good to me and I think I’ve been good to them. But most of all, my sister didn’t deserve what was about to happen to her.
BOOM! Another bomb. Great. I shivered as the bombs plummeted. They were getting closer. I could feel them. The next one made our house shake as much as me. Until, one landed directly next to our house…
Beatrice almost instantly passed out. That stupid bomb! Dad didn’t know where to start. I advised him to sprint out of the falling-apart house – along with us two – and that’s what we did. The nearest public shelter was in ten minutes walking distance. Bea needed a medic, but we couldn’t risk departing the shelter. The public didn’t seem to care about an unconscious four-year-old girl. After all, it’s a dog-eat-dog world. Still, I was shocked to see that no one worried about a toddler.
My little sister’s breath was slowing down and almost cutting off. I was now pacing around the room, rather than my sister, who was laying practically lifeless. Out of nowhere, an idea flew into my brain; this could be the thought that saves my sister’s life! We interrogated everybody at the refuge and asked if they had any medical experience or worked in healthcare. I was the more talkative one (in that scenario) while my dad was attempting to somehow magically revive Bea. She wasn’t dead, yet, but she would be if my plan didn’t work. Person after person, we asked, including those who were sleeping.
“Dad, we may as well give up!” I cried, the salt from my tears contrasting with the flavour of my fury.
“I don’t know why she deserves this or why we deserve this, but she’s dead!” I cried for a second time, instantly regretting my words.
“Beth, she’s NOT DEAD!” my father roared, a slight quiver in his voice.
The people all rotated their heads to see what the “gossip” was. Then, they turned back when we were silent. We sat blankly for a while, staring into what seemed like the galaxy. We didn’t ask every person, did we, though? So, I ensured to interview the exact entirety of everyone there. This time it was just me, using all my time and energy without Father. He was over in the corner having a sort of mental breakdown while I did the work that was ACTUALLY difficult.
Now, I was completely sure that I had approached everybody at the shelter. What was I going to do? They either didn’t answer me or said they didn’t work in healthcare. It was emotionally despicable to see my sister like that. She looked pale and we were running out of time.
“Dad, Bea is clearly getting worse and you can see it!” I said whilst pointing to her face, which seemed to be some sort of an abnormal shade of blue.
“Well, the all-clear should hopefully be soon, and then we’ll get her to the hospital,” he responded, scarily relaxed and calm.
Something high-pitched rang. It was the all-clear! What a coincidence! Beatrice seemed to be returning to her usual colour. It was an absolute miracle! Until it wasn’t…
We rushed my sister to the hospital and waited until we received a space. The medical standards were low, but what more can you expect, really? The doctors looked at my sisters once and frowned. Her strange colour was back and if anything, she seemed even worse now.
“We will try everything in our power to save her,” a doctor said.
Instantly, I knew what that meant. She wasn’t going to make it. I couldn’t cry; I had to be strong. Her breath stopped and I didn’t know what to do. My hands were quaking.
“We’re going to have to tell you to get out of the room now.”
I ran to the toilets and vomited. I couldn’t cope. What was I going to do? My sister was… dying. I, too, felt like I was dying, inside. I sat down praying for another miracle – which I knew wasn’t going to happen. Glancing over at the room my sister was in, I inhaled, in a hope of relaxation. Doctors swarmed inside and I watched hopelessly, occasionally flinching at the thought of what would happen to her. The door opened, revealing Beatrice. Her eyes were open and shut and her mouth was just slightly open. I continued to sit and stare at her. She was… she wasn’t saved! Those doctors lied to my father and me! How could they? They said they would save her!
I realised there was nothing I could do anymore. There’s no point of crying or attempting revenge. There’s no point of even writing this diary. Goodbye.
Farewell, Diary.
Bethany Smith
.
Gimme Shelter
Before Christmas, we were set the challenge of creating a scale model Anderson shelter based upon a set of design criteria. It had to be 18cm high, 20cm long and 14cm wide. We were judged upon our teamwork skills, accuracy of measurement, shelter strength, its appearance and how efficiently we used our time and materials. Here are the results...
IWM DUXFORD
6WI visited Duxford to kick-start our World War Two topic. It was great to see all the old planes and vehicles and it really gave us a sense of what it would have been like in the Battle of Britain.
Remembrance Day
To commemorate the fallen from conflicts since and including World War One, 6WI experienced just some elements of what it may have been like for those in the trenches. Thanks to Miss Cummins for creating such and immersive and unforgettable experience.
