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Intermediate. Years 7/8/9


By Thomas Baker, year 8, Grammar School

I was only 13, my mother told me that my father was going on a trip and I needed to say goodbye because I may not see him for a long time. Next thing I knew my dad had left with two suitcases, but before he left he turned to my mother and gave her a kiss on the cheek and said, “You are the best thing that has happened to me,” then he opened the door and left.

A week later, I started to realise that something was off, fewer and fewer people were showing up at school, people looked anxious and afraid. And then one night after dinner I found my mother, in her room, crying. I went in and asked if she was ok. “A letter came today,” she cried. “Your father was lost shot in battle!”
I couldn’t believe it, my father was dead.

The next couple of days were horrid, I didn’t go to school, I didn’t eat, I didn’t talk, I just looked out of the window. I watched as the birds glided up above, as the leaves blew in the wind and the clouds passed through the sky. I couldn’t see happiness in the world anymore, it was all dark and dismal.

Then shortly after we received the horrible news my mother came into my room with a smile on her face, she told me that we had won the war, I didn’t care, all I wanted was my father back. But then my mother told me how my father was brave and courageous and that he was awarded the Victory Medal which showed that he died so that the country could live. And my mother said that the nurse said that he loved me and was so proud to call me his son.

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