To commemorate ANZAC Day this year, we have written some stories and poems.
One century has passed since those brave innocent people risked their lives. In the dark of the night, climbing the hills of Gallipoli were the Australian and New Zealand armies. These people were called ANZACs.
I remember signing up with my best mates, excited for the longest clay bird round of my life.
It was four thirty in the morning. I heard a sudden knock on the door. I saw two men with shiny golden badges hanging off their suits. The soldiers handed me a paper sactual and stood back in silence. I closed the door and opened the package. I lay back on my bed in joy. My uniform had arrived.
The next morning Donald and I met at the base in our uniforms. All we could think about was going to war the next day.
Arriving at Gallipoli, Donald and I were scared to jump off the side of the ship. Holding each other's hands, with a weapon in the other, we leapt.
We arrived on land and the first thing Donald said was “Let's do it again!” I laughed.
Turning to the hills we slowly jogged over, saving our energy for the big climb. The general passed me a shovel and ordered me to help dig a trench. Donald loaded his gun, preparing for an ambush.
Night fell and everything became quiet. Soldiers stayed awake in case of a raid.
Getting ready to charge I saw a New Zealander with a piece of barbed wire sticking out of his arm. Donald said “I’m scared.” I say “It’s okay. I’ll be there beside you all the way.”Donald replies, “All right, as long as you're coming with me.”
We sit, waiting for hours. Finding the right moment to attack.
Snacking on some biscuits, Donald and I refuel for the day. We talked about all the things we've done together before the war, remembering the good times and the bad times. We’ll be mates forever.
A True Friend
Creeping through the fields waiting for them to strike, my buddy close, I remember how we first met.
He was relocated from Australia to the South Island. As soon as we met, all we could do was talk about the war thinking about whether we should join the army. Very quickly, we became the best of friends Adam and I. We decided to go together and that the war would not affect our friendship.
We leap onto the boat feeling joyful, wondering what adventures will come our way. As soon as land was out of sight, my stomach felt sick. I was missing my mother and my little sister. Adam was excited but I was unsure. We finally landed on shore. We had to set up camp but the battle had already started.
The enemy charged at us. I got a shiver down my spine, even though I knew my friend was near. Over the sound of bullets all I could hear was a shriek. I started to turn and run towards the terrible inhuman sound. Some troopers were surrounding the body. I pushed my way through the crowd. I got down on my knees next to my best pal Adam.
As the saffron sky turned to raven, his cold heavy body lays softly in my arms.
Rest In Peace Adam.
Lest we forget
Endless clusters of unattractive barbed wire
Unconsciously descend into thick cocoa sludge.
Putrid mustard acid rolls in clouds
Towards our trench.
We slip on gas masks
And crouch in a corner
Waiting for it to pass by.
Scared, hopeful faces glare up at me
Crying for help.
I look over the field to find private Gatenby,
One of those hopeless bodies.
I think about it.
My best mate is actually gone.
Now war isn’t fun.
A single copper bugle plays the unaccompanied solo,
As the whole room falls silent.
Individually each person places a wreath of poppies
Onto the monument.
“At the going down of the sun and in the morning we will
Brave and bold, Oscar stood wearing his military uniform. His helmet suited his dark hair. Dog tags swung back and forth and reflected like his attractive brown eyes. He didn’t forget what he admired most, a rifle. He looked at it closely, checking and re-checking all parts.
“This is it, the beginning of my new life,” Oscar whispered to himself. He clambered aboard the ship, waving to his family. The ship lurched and left. It overflowed with mostly eighteen and nineteen year olds. There were a lot of mixed reactions, some were unhappy, excited, worried, bored, frustrated, or shy. But the utmost emotion was, fear.
Unexpectedly, Oscar thought of his family. He prayed that whatever happened to him, didn’t harm them. He reminded himself that they were the reason he was doing this.
“Ok, lets go soldiers. Remember, you’re not only fighting for yourself, but you’re fighting for your `country and your loved ones. Now GO GO GO!” shouted Captain Norman. They all rushed out of the ship. Oscar’s boots swam in the clear water combined with a strange red colour. He held his gun firmly as he ran, ducked, skipped, and slid. Adrenaline boosted his nerves. He eventually slumped behind a massive boulder, breathing heavily.
Oscar stood up and peeked at what was happening. He couldn’t believe how many lifeless bodies were lying on the soft sand, getting stomped on by other soldiers. He forced himself to get back into the violent war.
Oscar ran, avoiding as many bombs as he could. He felt his bruises and cuts crawling with unknown parasites, but he could do nothing about those so carried on. He glanced at the top of the mountain, “Whew!” Oscar overheard a soldier saying “I’m terrified, someone help me!” Oscar replied, “Don’t be afraid, remember who you are fighting for mate!” The soldier nodded, “My name is Andrew, by the way. Now let’s go!”
They both set off, climbing the steep hill. Oscar tried his best not to get hit by any bullet. “This is impossible!” screamed Oscar. “Nothing’s impossible! Just keep thinking about who you’re fighting for, like you told me!” Oscar smiled stubbornly. He looked up, an enemy pointed his rifle straight at his temple. Oscar spoke for the last time “Andrew, tell my family I love them! I believe in you!”
Andrew screeched “NOOOO!”
Oscar’s tears fell as his lifeless body somersaults. He hit the ground tremendously, head first. Andrew kept what Oscar said in his mind and with a renewed forcefulness continued climbing.
Sixty years have passed. World War 1 is long gone. The war at Gallipoli is now marked in history. It’s celebrated by Australia and New Zealand as ANZAC. Oscar’s family always visits his grave, to thank him for his courage. They see a man wearing a cloak. Across his eye down to his cheek is a scar; it’s wide and wrinkled size reveals how long it has been on his face. He looked behind them and smiled. He slowly approached, “Oscar was a very brave soldier. He told me to tell all of you how much he loved his family.”
The man moved forward, kneeling with difficulty down at the front of the grave. He dropped a red attractive poppy smoothly. “Oscar, thank you for being a good friend.”
Flying In The Second Time
Flynn looked back from the cockpit. Finn’s spitfire was parked in behind floating on the clouds.The faint sound of gunshot, painful to the heart. “Patience is the key,” Flynn muttered over the radio. They glided along at speed, waiting for prey. All of a sudden something caught Flynn’s eye. A brown figure rose from the white blanket. Flynn looked at Finn through the thick cockpit glass.
Flynn was a mischievous kid at a young age and was always fidgeting. He would always get in trouble for standing around when they were told to sit and acted like he wasn’t listening when he really was. He had freckles scattered across his face. The brown tan was strongest on his arms, with broad shoulders leading to huge upper arms. His whole body was well built. Flynn’s hair swayed slightly to the left with mainly brown hair with a blonder fringe.
Flynn was only eighteen. He lived in a posh house on a large piece of land on the country, at least twenty minutes from the nearest town. Flynn had been walking since he was two. He had always had the desire to run. Flynn was not the loudest guy around but had a stern voice he spent most of his free time running, or with his friend Finn.
Flynn and Finn had been friends since they were five. Together they were able to make anyone crack into a laugh. They had grown up with the desire to explore. They loved going through all the run down huts through their farms. Once they were going through one of the huts on Finn’s farm and found an old gun. Shots fired by both of the young men were extremely accurate. Coincidentally the war was knocking on the door. Finn spoke to Flynn in a soothing voice. “My dream is to shoot down a mustang.”
“Sure Finn, sure,” was the sarcastic reply.
The friends opened fire at the murky brown figure. The nose of a mustang burst from the clouds shooting upwards. The thunderous roar of the fighter plane could have woken the dead as it plunged below the two friends. The mustang disappeared. “Is he gone?” whispered Flynn, hoping for the best. The teeth of the opposing plane popped up in behind Flynn. The mustang fired with all its might. “Watch out!” cried Finn as he flew in the line of the mustang. Bullets penetrated the hull of Finn’s spitfire. Flynn watched in despair as his friend fell to the ground. Tears welled up in Flynn’s eyes. The distraught feeling flowed throughout his body. Flynn’s only thought was to fulfil Finn’s dream. He curved sharply round and opened fire at the mustang. Bursting into flames the shell of the plane fell to the ground. Finn was no longer.
Friends Never Forgotten
As the sun is going down, I hear the constant sounds of small, black bullets running on thin air. People lie uselessly on the hard ground, bloodied and bruised, screaming in urgency. Their agony is unbearable.
My friend James and I had been good mates for many years now. He had short, black hair with blue eyes that looked near fluorescent in the remaining sunlight. James always wore his special flat cap, as he called it, for his good luck.
We both loved to drive around aimlessly and talk about our jobs. Although we worked at the exact same place, our conversations seemed almost endless. We did everything together, as if we were stuck to each other like glue. So we decided it would make sense to sign up together.
We just got our uniforms and we both agreed that we looked good already. We thought it was unbelievable that we were going to actually do this.
The moment we were both waiting for had finally arrived. We couldn’t see our opponents yet, but our team was ready. Our Commanding Officer then told us what to do at different times and where to go.
Anxiously, we wait. Hearts are racing, The jackhammers in in our chests have unleashed. The sirens rung. Our war has officially started. “This is it,” he said to me. We grinned at each other and set out. We tried to stay together as long as we can.
The sound of gunfire deafened me. My team mates were yelling at each other telling one another when and where to go. Confusion is rife. Silently, I crept over to a bush. My outfit camouflage hid me from angry eyes. Some of my opponents appeared. They were both short. They looked cocky and confident as if they would take everyone down.
I tried to shoot at one of them, knowing that one miss could result in me being the one shot. I got him in the shoulder. He fell, screaming with urgency.
I look to my left and right. Somehow James wasn’t beside me anymore. “It’s alright.” I say to myself. I’m sure he is having a good time out there.
“Marcus!” My friend Greg called out to me. He signalled me to go to him. On my way over, I begin to wonder what could have happened. I was almost there, and I had a thought. “Surely not.” I said to myself. The prediction I made was correct. My mouth dropped. Right in front of my eyes I saw James, lying on the hard ground. He had a fatal gunshot wound in his chest, barely conscious of what was going on. He whispered to me “Keep going, Marcus, No matter what happens, I will always remember you for your courage and bravery.” His head went down and at that moment I knew he had passed. I quickly go get his special black and red flat cap and place it gently on his head. I then go into the bushes and watch him lay peacefully on the ground. “I’ll never forget you, James.”
The Best Of Mates
Galloping across the fields, on the backs of two lovely horses, the two friends raced. “ I’ll beat you Huddleson!” yelled Tom as he gained on his mate.
“Show me what you’ve got!” replied Charlie. Tom started going faster and faster, speeding up to the same position as Charlie. Suddenly Charlie spotted something ahead. It was a wide fence that stretched across the farm. He wanted to tell his friend but he also wanted a bit of a laugh. Charlie started to slow down as he watched Tom race, “ I guess you’re letting me win, eh Charlie!” called Tom. Charlie just shook his head. With a sudden surprise Tom’s horse stopped and sent him flying over the fence. Tom shook himself and struggled to his feet while Charlie shrieked with raucous laughter.
Horrendous sounds bombarded Tom’s and Charlie’s ears. Ducking and diving onto the battlefield was a hard thing for the pair. Dodging bullets and collapsing from the power of the hard shells that exploded nearby was something they never expected. Tom’s crystal blue eyes stared at Charlie’s. The two of them had frozen as if they had seen a ghost. A shattering shell interrupted their moment and sent Charlie flying onto the barbed wire. ”Charlie!” shouted Tom as he raced through the smoke.
Charlie lay there silently whispering Tom’s name. Pieces of shrapnel dug into his leg. Tom quickly grabbed a practically clean handkerchief out of his pocket and strapped it around Charlie’s wounded leg. Tom was determined to get his mate back to safety so he lifted his friend and quietly carried him back to the camp.
Emptiness had entered Tom’s mind ever since Charlie had left. Tom started to speak to himself, “He left because he was injured. He left because I was brave enough to save him. He left because I was his best friend”. Tom felt lonely, even though he had bonded with a few other soldiers, he still missed Charlie. Everywhere he looked, he remembered the good times he had at home with his family and friends. Tom had never felt more isolated in his life. Then Tom remembered when he first met Charlie - how Charlie was kind enough to share the block of chocolate he had with him. That was Tom’s favourite memory.
“Lieutenant Parker!” called General Lambert, “This is yours.” The General had given Tom a gold, brown package with the words Tom Parker on it. Tom was very confused, but he was also relieved. The last time he had received a package was about five weeks before and he was feeling nostalgic and a little neglected. He immediately opened it and out came a letter. His eyes scanned through, hungrily absorbing every tidbit of information.
After he read it, he looked in the package and found a block of chocolate. “From Charlie.” Tom took a deep breath, grinned and let out a big laugh.
James and I were best buddies from the young age of three. We played courtyard games all through kindergarten and school. Together we fooled around and pranked each other twenty- four-seven. (But mine were the best.)
Our teenage years were wild and our dreams grew long. Racing horses down shingle paths would have been our favourite. James always tried to beat me. (In his case make me fall off.) I had the finer expertise behind me, like James during most races.
One week later we went from shingle road to concrete. Auburn shops filled with colour. Lockels scattered, smiling faces, joy stretches across my face. Two tall skinny girls pranced past. We stared longingly at their hair that swayed and as James tugged at his brace buckles delicately. I tightened my collar and shifted my weight back into the saddle. We approached the girls. James stared dreamily at the girl I liked.
She looked at me; her crystal eyes shone. Her dark wavy hair was covered with braids. We wander off James mumbling over my thoughts. “They were pretty” he said I lifted an eyebrow and nodded.
War came quick.
As the water brushed against our departing boat I spotted the girl I liked standing on the wharf below. She waved, her smile gleaming. James nudged me quietly, lifting an eyebrow. I started to blushed from ear to ear.
Heavy doors held us in. everyone waited in silence. Rusted metal doors screeched open. I nervously push people in my path as James follows in my footsteps.
Water comforts my feet as we dart among the wounded. Clatted hills crumble under the bullets that were fired. Mud fills my boots; my dog tag trembles in the breeze. James drops behind me. I lose sight of James crossing my fingers hoping for him to return. That night I hogged the door into the trench. I never saw James step through that door. I quickly grab a lantern and rummage through the dark in search for James. Finally I find him. I grip his hand holding his cold limp body. A dim hue sky lay ahead my best friend gone.R.I.P James. R.I.P.