November 21st, 1917, Port Hoboken, U.S.A My journey begins here. I’ve left home to fight for my country. For freedom in Europe. We embarked today at noon from New Jersey. It was difficult seeing the port slowly shrink into the luminous horizon as we left. It was eerily quiet as my fellow troops tried to dismiss the thoughts, that some of them had seen their loved ones for the last time. I hope this voyage won’t be too long; I don’t want to get seasick! The dread is huge; I have mixed emotions of both excitement and fear. My stomach is in knots! The heavy rain and buffeting waves drench the ship to the point of flooding. I don’t know if I’ll be able to note everything, but I’ll give it a try. My mother made me promise that I would write daily. She said that writing …show more content…
I’ve been playing a bunch of card games with a friendly chap named Arthur since we left port. There must be thousands of men on board; the conditions here are so cramped and uncomfortable. We’re travelling on a heavily armoured cruise ship called H.M.S. Aquitania. There’s also a gigantic battleship that’s escorting us across the Atlantic in case the Germans attack us. I can’t wait to see dry land again, it’s only been two days since we left and it seems I’ve been on this blasted vessel for an entire week! November 26th, 1917 Today spirits were low, the food is poor and tiredness is starting to kick in. While I was dozing last night, I heard a faint sobbing, some young kid, was crying in his bunk bed. I seemed to be the only one awake at the time; or no one else asleep took any notice. I couldn’t help but listen to him. I was wide-awake on my cold, hard, bed. He must have been missing his family home and his loving mother. I don’t think he’s the only one. We all secretly miss home; we just don’t talk about it. Someday though we will all hopefully come back in one piece, but we know that this is an unlikely ambition. November 29th,
In their lifetimes, many people experience the loss of loved ones and the departure of children. One of the most difficult things to do is to keep strong and good relations with friends and family members, before it is too late. The short story “David Comes Home”, by Ernest Buckler, follows Joseph, who worries his son David never had the same connection to the land as he does, though memories of past experiences, finding old belongings, and discovering the boy’s true feelings, resolve this conflict.
Today is the start of an epic adventure in the Atlantic Maritime. Today you will have a
“The house is settling,” my Italian carer would say as the lights dimmed and glowed in her ghostly presence… but this wasn’t all the house did. I slept in my room. Well, not really slept. Sleep was never something I did much of, especially early on. My worries at seven pm far outweighed my need for sleep. Awake. Forever awake. My father had left me. My mother…
World War II Diary April 8th 1940. Dear Diary Life is the same as usual in Rotterdam. My wife, Lisa and son Jack. are doing fine and my job at the harbour is going well. However, a new threat seems to be lurking in the distance, one we have not had to.
By moonlight, we rest and dream of home far away. This haiku is to describe the relentless journey that they go through. The poems explain the constant movement and longing for a safe and familiar home. These haikus collectively portray not only the physical but emotional challenges of those migrating. The intense nature of these memories is shown through the haikus in this poem.
The two of us spent many long nights together, cleaning the messes left by the wealthy teenagers during the day. Having just left my birth country, I came to the United States as a nave boy, excited to experience the American dream I was promised on my plane ticket. You may think I was afraid, of leaving my family and all I had ever known, but I was
It was the middle of the night when my mother got a phone call. The car ride was silent, my father had a blank stare and my mother was silently crying. I had no idea where we were headed but I knew this empty feeling in my stomach would not go away. Walking through the long bright hallways, passing through an endless amount of doors, we had finally arrived. As we
As billionaire, playboy and philanthropist, James Montgomery, I hereby say that this deserted island sucks. As many of you have probably already found out watching the news, the handsome and amazing James Montgomery the Third has been missing for 2 weeks, when his cruise liner, the SS Amazing James, went down in the pacific ocean. I know many of you citizens cannot contain your grief and horror about never seeing my pretty face ever again, but do not fear I am still alive and my face is still intact so you can stop worrying. Many of you might be wondering how I survived my ship going down, well let me tell you it is a story of heroism and bravery that will be told for centuries. As you may know two weeks ago I had a party aboard may ship for
For three fateful days, the greatest military miracle of the second world war took place on the beaches of France. Nearly 400,000 British, French, Polish, and Belgium men packed together like fish in a barrel waiting to be obliterated by the Luftwaffe. Behind every miracle lays a story of heroism of Britain’s men of the air and sea. The rescue “of the British Expeditionary Force from Dunkerque was accomplished by assembling of a fleet of almost 900 vessels”. Ordinarily, military success is achieved by the men in uniform, however, this miracle was on the “part played by amateur British sailors in getting the British Soldiers out of France and across the Channel”. Of the 900 vessels, “222 were ships of the Royal Navy and 665 were small Merchant
I recall in vivid detail the scenery around us as we embarked on our perilous journey down the Nantahala. We arrived at the drop-off point in the early afternoon the next day. The sweet smell of fresh pine trees was floating in the air and a soft midsummer breeze was brushing against our faces. After receiving directions and safety precautions from our rafting instructor, we geared up, boarded our raft, and set out for our voyage down the treacherous Nantahala. Sharing the experience with me were my mother, aunt, uncle, and cousin; along with out rafting guide. We were all ready for a fun and safe ride down the Nantahala.
It is now day 2 3:00 am and I am going to be out of the ocean at 12:00 pm. I have changed from an infant into a primary. I am having so much fun sailing across the ocean. It is now 12: am and I am 12hrs away from being on land.
We got into our lines, behind groups of excited families and happy little old men and women. As the line ascended up the ramp onto this enormous water vessel, pictures were taken of every group of passengers. Smile, laugh and look happy! Riiight. As a matter of fact, I was pretty anxious. I'd never been on a boat like this, and especially not for a whole week.
Most memories from my childhood, below the age of six, are dim, but the retentive ones are me, a cheerful young girl, spending my summers in Israel. Summer after summer I would fly to Israel and explore the seas, cities, and landmarks, and never get tired of them, as if it was my first time seeing them. Not only did I get the benefit of seeing new places and the opportunity to experience a new culture in which I’m not used to, I also was fortunate enough to have the chance to learn things about myself and the world around me. Everyday was a new adventure waiting to happen. I faintly recall the haunting sounds of the sirens flaring from a distance, and the fear in everybody’s eyes as they sought shelter.
Everything seems like it’s falling out of place, it’s going too fast, and my mind is out of control. I think these thoughts as I lay on my new bed, in my new room, in this new house, in this new city, wondering how I got to this place. “My life was fine,” I say to myself, “I didn’t want to go.” Thinking back I wonder how my father felt as he came home to the house in Stockton, knowing his wife and kids left to San Diego to live a new life. Every time that thought comes to my mind, it feels as if I’m carrying a ten ton boulder around my heart; weighing me down with guilt. The thought is blocked out as I close my eyes, picturing my old room; I see the light brown walls again and the vacation pictures of the Florida and camping trip stapled to them. I can see the photo of me on the ice rink with my friends and the desk that I built with my own hands. I see my bed; it still has my checkered blue and green blanket on it! Across from the room stands my bulky gray television with its back facing the black curtain covered closet. My emotions run deep, sadness rages through my body with a wave of regret. As I open my eyes I see this new place in San Diego, one large black covered bed and a small wooden nightstand that sits next to a similar closet like in my old room. When I was told we would be moving to San Diego, I was silenced from the decision.
The bus’s wheels whined when it pulled into the worn, sand covered lot. The Commanding Officer or CO began briefing us about the tides and the undertow that was out from the shore. The doors creaked open and the ladies filed out, then the guys poured out after. You could shut your eyes and still know you were at the beach, from the salty taste it left in your mouth, and the silky lining of sand on the bottom of your feet.