I wrote the original version of this story in ninth grade history class as a World War I project, and I enjoyed it so much that I decided to expand it. The cover was made on Canva.com using a photo from Unsplash.com.
This first chapter will have far more entries than the following chapters will. There will be fewer and longer entries as the story progresses.
The battles, military leaders, and locations in this novel exist and are as accurate to history as I could make them. This includes the Battles of Ypres, the Christmas truce, Sir John French, Lyndhurst camp, etc. Henry, Jacob, Elizabeth, Ned, Richard, Margot, and other major characters are my own and fictional.
____________________________
being the account of Henry James Anderson,
age eighteen, born 17 May 1896
- and his time as a soldier during the Great War
25 June 1914
I recently found this journal in a cupboard, its pages blank, and with nothing else to do with it I have decided to keep a record of my life. I suppose the whole of it will be utterly dull, but I shall write nonetheless in the case that anything of note should come to pass, whether in my life or in the world.
My name is Henry Anderson. I am eighteen years old and have just graduated from a boarding-school in Canterbury, not far from my home in Chatham, England. I am now living at home with my father, James Anderson; my mother, Bertha; and my sister, Elizabeth, who is fifteen; but I do not plan to remain home for long.
The traditional path for a man my age is university, as my mother wishes for me. If not university, she says, then I ought to find another job at home. I don't dare tell her what I truly want: to join the army. I have confided in Elizabeth and she says it is a death wish, but I daresay that fighting for one's country is the highest honor I can imagine.
29 June 1914
Shocking news has reached us. The Archduke of Austria-Hungary, Franz Ferdinand, was killed yesterday on a visit to Sarajevo, Bosnia, by a Bosnian boy barely my own age by the name of Gavrilo Princip. The continent is in an uproar. It seems Serbia, Bosnia and the area have been awfully mistreated by Austria-Hungary, but that will not stop Austria-Hungary from declaring war upon them.
Elizabeth was the one to tell me the news, as she has long been fascinated with the papers. I was quick to point out that the Princip boy is only a year my elder. She scoffed and said, "I don't suppose you wish to go about murdering the leaders of other countries?" Mother heard her and hushed us. Of course I shan't be killing archdukes or anything of the sort, but I do believe we ought to support Bosnia and the others.
26 July 1914
If I cannot contribute to it, I shall at the very least use this journal to chronicle this strange turn of events.
Austria-Hungary has delivered an ultimatum to Serbia, the origin of Princip's group the Black Hand. Great Britain is attempting to form a conference between the other European countries in order to avoid war. France, Italy and Russia have joined, but Germany remains stubborn. Austria-Hungary is going to fight; they are mobilising troops and severing ties with Serbia. A war is coming, and not only between the two.
28 July 1914
I have nothing to say except that Austria-Hungary has declared war. The battle has begun!
4 August 1914
Great Britain has become involved in the fighting. Last week Russia mobilised her army, and in response Germany declared war on her and then on France. Germany sent troops into Belgium, which was until then neutral, and we declared war against Germany. The whole of Europe is going into battle.
I found the courage to ask Mother about the military. She disapproved, as I expected. "Not on your life," she told me. "You'll live to be twenty if I have anything to say about it."
10 August 1914
A summary of the layout of the current war.
The sides stand thus: on the one side, the Allied Powers, consisting of Serbia, Great Britain, France, Italy and Russia; on the other, the Central Powers, consisting of Austria-Hungary, Germany and the Ottoman Empire. Troops come from Russia to Germany, and from Germany to Belgium where they are met by the French. The United States has declared neutrality.
Elizabeth has made a point to read aloud newspaper stories about the dangers of the newly formed trenches. She means to discourage me, of course, but the tales only serve to heighten my impatience to join the fighting. The dangers are but the price to pay for such glory.
15 August 1914
I can scarcely believe what I have just done.
I have found it unbearable to hear about the beginning of the war and see the posters that have sprung up for recruitment and such, and to know that I shall not be involved in the fighting because I am trapped at home by my parents. On the way to deliver a letter for Father, I walked past the city hall and saw a lengthy queue in front. I asked one young man, hardly a year my elder, what they were all doing there. "Enlisting, of course," he said. "Haven't you seen the posters round town?"
"Of course," I said, then, on a whim, "As a matter of fact, I was on my way to do just that."
"Step into the queue, then, sir!" said the man.
I made my decision then. Elizabeth and my parents would be livid, but I was tired of being treated like a child. A man of eighteen ought to have control of his own future, not live under the chains set for him by his parents. I joined the queue.
Some of the boys in the queue looked younger than I, and some older than my father. I was in line nearly an hour, but finally I was at the front, writing my name on the growing list of recruits for the British Army.
On the way home I checked my savings in the bank: several thousand pounds, more than enough for the journey to wherever I am stationed. I slipped discreetly in through the back door and went up the stairs without a word to my parents. "Where have you been?" demanded Elizabeth, glancing up from the desk in her bedroom where she was, once again, reading the paper.
"Delivering Father's letter," I told her. "I was waylaid at the city hall. You ought to have seen the queues."
She sent a suspicious glance in my direction, but fell quiet, momentarily satisfied by my partial truth. "The fighting goes on," she said with a sigh. "French and Germans are fighting for control of Liege and Dinant in Belgium."
"I am grateful for those brave men who fight for Belgium's freedom from German tyranny," I said lightly, and retreated to my own room before she could reply. I sit there now, hardly able to contain my excitement.
I have joined the army.
A letter shall be sent shortly informing me where and when I shall go, and I shall take the ferry across the Channel to my post. My family shall be furious, but I don't care. It is high time I gained power over my own destiny. I have long wished to be in battle, and soon that wish will come to fruition.
20 August 1914
They have found out. Mother found the letter telling me the location and time to begin my training: a week hence, in Lyndhurst to the west. I heard her shriek from the other room: "HENRY JAMES ANDERSON!"
"Yes, Mother?" I said innocently.
"What in the world is this?" Mother brandished the letter in my face, and Elizabeth snatched it to read it herself. She stared at me in wide-eyed shock.
I shrugged. "A letter."
Mother's expression morphed to match Elizabeth's. "You joined the military? You, Henry-- without telling us?"
Without anything else to say, I said truthfully, "Yes."
Father had been silent, but spoke now, his voice terribly quiet. "Henry, how could you do this to us?"
"To you!" I scoffed. "I've wanted this for years. I waited to turn eighteen so that I could join. I wanted to wait to go to university because the war was starting and I knew there would be a chance. I knew you wouldn't agree, but I want this, Mother."
"I won't allow you to go off and fight in this war!" she snapped. "You're going to get yourself killed."
"For my country!"
"Country or no, you are not going!"
"I'm eighteen, Mother, I'm a man and I ought to choose what to do with my own life!"
"We shall discuss this later, young man!" She turned and marched out of the kitchen where we had stood. With a long look of chagrin, Father followed her.
Elizabeth had not moved, but stood stock-still in front of the table, still holding my letter in her hand. "So this is your plan," she said quietly. "You waited a year for university, you've been saving money, sneaking off-- and for what? To go off and-- and die in a trench in France?"
"To fight for England," I said, squaring my shoulders. "It is the most honorable duty one can have."
"Duty," she repeated, spitting the word like poison. "That's what you want-- glory. What about the rest of your life? What about your family?"
"I'm not going to die, Elizabeth."
Elizabeth thrust the letter at me in a moment of passion most unlike her. "You've read the papers. Thousands of soldiers die every day, and the war is going nowhere. You wish to join that?"
"They need every man they can find! Elizabeth, I'm going. I want nothing more than to fight in this."
She shook her head and ran past me. I have not seen her since. Father is not speaking to me either, and Mother is furious. I do not regret what I did.