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Intermediate. Years 7/8/9

This Is To My Father

By Kayleigh Moullin, year 9, Les Beaucamps School

Im writing this today as I don’t know how else to get this out of my system. My dad was killed. It seems that part of me died when he did. It always seemed too raw before but I’m ready now.

I was fourteen at the time, your typical know it all. When my dad told me he was going to war I was partly scared. Never let it show, mind you. Never was the weak type. The other part was proud. I’d be the cool one whose dad signed up first. Little did I know how wrong I’d be.

That morning was same as always. Spirits were high until the officer came to tell us. Dead on half past two. It was the last time I remember how happiness felt.

“What happened?” I whispered, not really wanting to know the answer.
“Maybe I should just speak with your mother alone,” he replied.
I knew my mother wasn’t strong enough to cope with this information by herself
“Please,” I muttered unable to make any eye contact with the man, “we need to know.”
“It happened in the trenches,” the soldier informed us.

My stomach sank deeper with every little detail.

“Your father was a valued member of the army,” the soldier informed us.

He is uncomfortable with his task and seems relieved to leave our house with a final glance at my mother, who was sat slouched over in her seat sobbing uncontrollably. As I sat down on the sofa, I could quite literally feel my heart break. The sickness was overwhelming and my body was shaking uncontrollably. I tried not to blink knowing only too well that if I started to cry, I might never top. I felt physically sick. I wanted to scream, shout until my lungs gave in. Shout until it brought him back.

My only consolation is that my father died for something and his sacrifice will not be in vain. This is after all, the war to end all wars.

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