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Copy of Diary writing (WW1 Diary)

Diary features for KS2. Based on a soldier writing from a Trench in WW1
by

Shauna Williamson

on 7 October 2014

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Transcript of Copy of Diary writing (WW1 Diary)

WRITING A WAR DIARY
Paul Nash - We are Making a New World
This work, based on the drawing, 'Sunrise. Inverness Copse', is one of the most memorable images of the First World War. The title mocks the ambitions of the war, as the sun rises on a scene of the total desolation. The landscape has become un- navigable, unrecognisable and utterly barren. The mounds of earth act almost as gravestones amongst the death and desolation
Look at this painting.
Who painted it?
What does it represent?
How does it make you feel?
Wilfred Owen
the most famous
poet of the
First World War
Similes
2A sentences
Remember diary features
Show not tell emotion
How do you feel?
Are you scared?
Brave?
Sad, defeated?
Resilient?
Tired?
Ask yourself a question about your life ...
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
9TH October 1916
Today has been another horrific, pain filled day in the trenches. Why did I ever join this war? When the sun rose this morning like a lion awaking from a long sleep, I had already been up for hours. My legs were as heavy as weights and it took all my energy to keep my eyes from closing. As my officer barked orders at me a yawn escaped my lips. He was not happy, but he too was far too exhausted to shout. Despite our fatigue we traipsed on. The thick, black sludge grew hands that grabbed our boots pulling us down violently. Poor William had lost his boot during the march, but limped on.
Coughing, spluttering and stuttering we were deaf to the shouts behind us, “Gas! Gas! Quick, boys!” With trembling hands we grasped at our gas masks and fitted them. The mask hugged my face tightly. My heart was beating through my chest as I attempted to calm my breathing. My legs, already tired, turned to jelly as the gas flooded around us. I’d made it just in time, but was everyone as lucky?
No. Through the smoke filled misty panes of the mask I watched helplessly as William, poor, gentle William, drowned in the gas, like a green sea of agony. The frosty morning was filled with his screams, like a dog yelping in pain. Powerless, we witnessed the gas grabbing hold of his lungs, strangling him, suffocating him.
My eyes filled with salty tears and a lump grew in my throat, as we picked him up. His body was weak, but he was still alive. We placed him, as gently as we could, in the wagon that would take him to the nearest medical area. I hung my head low as the wagon moved off, unable to look poor William in the eye.
Now, while the sound of the guns echo through the night, as steady as the tick, tock of a clock, I think…we’re lucky, we get to live in this hell like war for another day. We’re lucky, yet somehow lucky is the last thing I feel. As I sit in this excuse for a bed, while the rats scurry and scuttle at my feet, I feel disgusted by this war. As I write this tonight, with clenched teeth and hot sweating palms, I warn you friends. If you could see the things I’ve seen, if you could hear the screams that fill my dreams, you would not tell with such high zest the old lie; Dulce et Decorum est Pro patria mori.

Bombs hurtle through the air ...
A cramped trench ...

It's quite easy to describe what you
see, but what about our other
senses?

Can you SMELL the mustard gas and
the filth of the trench?
Can you HEAR the wails of the injured
and whizz of the bombs?
Can you TASTE the toxic fumes in your mouth?
What does the ground FEEL like under your
tired, cold and aching feet? Can you FEEL the blood
surging through your body?
9TH October 1916
Today has been another horrific, pain filled day in the trenches. Why did I ever join this war? When the dimly lit, distant sun rose this morning like a lion awaking from a long sleep, I had already been up for hours. My muddy, bruised legs were as heavy as weights and it took all my energy to keep my eyes from closing. As my officer barked orders at me a slow, wide yawn escaped my lips. He was not happy, but he too was far too exhausted to shout. Despite our fatigue we traipsed on. The thick, black sludge grew hands that grabbed our boots pulling us down violently. Poor William had lost his boot during the march, but limped on.
Coughing, spluttering and stuttering we were deaf to the shouts behind us, “Gas! Gas! Quick, boys!” With trembling hands we grasped at our monstrous, rubber gas masks and fitted them. The mask hugged my face tightly. My heart was beating through my chest as I attempted to calm my breathing. My legs, already tired, turned to jelly as the deadly, destructive gas flooded around us. I’d made it just in time, but was everyone as lucky?
No. Through the smoke filled, misty panes of the mask I watched helplessly as William, poor, gentle William, drowned in the gas, like a green sea of agony. The frosty morning was filled with his loud, haunting screams, like a dog yelping in pain. Powerless, we witnessed the gas grabbing hold of his lungs, strangling him, suffocating him.
My eyes filled with burning, salty tears and a lump grew in my throat, as we picked him up. His body was weak, but he was still alive. We placed him, as gently as we could, in the wrecked, wooden wagon that would take him to the nearest medical area. I hung my head low as the it moved off, unable to look poor William in the eye.
Now, while the sound of the guns echo through the night, as steady as the tick, tock of a clock, I think…we’re lucky, we get to live in this hell like war for another day. We’re lucky, yet somehow lucky is the last thing I feel. As I sit in this uncomfortable, splintered bed, while the rats scurry and scuttle at my feet, I feel disgusted by this war. As I write this tonight, with clenched teeth and hot sweating palms, I warn you friends. If you could see the things I’ve seen, if you could hear the screams that fill my dreams, you would not tell with such high zest the old lie; Dulce et Decorum est Pro patria mori.

A Diary from the Trenches
Can you think of some 2A sentences to describe each part of our diary entry?

In the trenches
Feeling tired
Your officer talking to you
The mustard gas
Your gas mask
The man without a gas mask
The hospital wagan
The trench now - where are you writing?

What 2A sentences can you
spot in this diary entry?
9TH October 1916
Today has been another horrific, pain filled day in the trenches. Why did I ever join this war? When the dimly lit, distant sun rose this morning like a lion awaking from a long sleep, I had already been up for hours. My muddy, bruised legs were as heavy as weights and it took all my energy to keep my eyes from closing. As my officer barked orders at me a slow, wide yawn escaped my lips. He was not happy, but he too was far too exhausted to shout. Despite our fatigue we traipsed on. The thick, black sludge grew hands that grabbed our boots pulling us down violently. Poor William had lost his boot during the march, but limped on.
Coughing, spluttering and stuttering we were deaf to the shouts behind us, “Gas! Gas! Quick, boys!” With trembling hands we grasped at our monstrous, rubber gas masks and fitted them. The mask hugged my face tightly. My heart was beating through my chest like a hammer as I attempted to calm my breathing. My legs, already tired, turned to jelly as the deadly, destructive gas flooded around us. I’d made it just in time, but was everyone as lucky?
No. Through the smoke filled, misty panes of the mask I watched helplessly as William, poor, gentle William, drowned in the gas, like a green sea of agony. The frosty morning was filled with his loud, haunting screams, like a dog yelping in pain. Powerless, we witnessed the gas grabbing hold of his lungs, strangling him, suffocating him.
My eyes filled with burning, salty tears and a lump grew in my throat, as we picked him up. His body was weak, but he was still alive. We placed him, as gently as we could, in the wrecked, wooden wagon that would take him to the nearest medical area. I hung my head low as the it moved off, unable to look poor William in the eye.
Now, while the sound of the guns echo through the night, as steady as the tick, tock of a clock, I think…we’re lucky, we get to live in this hell like war for another day. We’re lucky, yet somehow lucky is the last thing I feel. As I sit in this uncomfortable, splintered bed, while the rats scurry and scuttle at my feet, I feel disgusted by this war. As I write this tonight, with clenched teeth and hot sweating palms, I warn you friends. If you could see the things I’ve seen, if you could hear the screams that fill my dreams, you would not tell with such high zest the old lie; Dulce et Decorum est Pro patria mori.

Can you think of some similes to describe each part of our diary entry?

In the trenches
Feeling tired
Your officer talking to you
The mustard gas
Your gas mask
The man without a gas mask
The hospital wagon
The trench now - where are you writing?
LO: To use similes as part my descriptive writing
Success Criteria

Identify the object in a sentence you want to compare.
Think of something suitable to compare it to. It could be an animal, food or even another object.
Use
as
or
like
to compare the two.
Try to extend the comparison
Include adjectives and adverbs too.

L0: To add adjectives in the form of 2A sentences.
Success Criteria
Identify the noun
Think of appropriate adjectives
Expand our vocabulary using a thesaurus
Separate the 2 adjectives using a comma.
Read our sentence back.
9TH October 1916
Today has been another horrific, pain filled day in the trenches. Why did I ever join this war? When the dimly lit, distant sun rose this morning like a lion awaking from a long sleep, I had already been up for hours. My muddy, bruised legs were as heavy as weights and it took all my energy to keep my eyes from closing. As my officer barked orders at me a slow, wide yawn escaped my lips. He was not happy, but he too was far too exhausted to shout. Despite our fatigue we traipsed on. The thick, black sludge grew hands that grabbed our boots pulling us down violently. Poor William had lost his boot during the march, but limped on.
Coughing, spluttering and stuttering we were deaf to the shouts behind us, “Gas! Gas! Quick, boys!” With trembling hands we grasped at our monstrous, rubber gas masks and fitted them. The mask hugged my face tightly. My heart was beating through my chest like a hammer as I attempted to calm my breathing. My legs, already tired, turned to jelly as the deadly, destructive gas flooded around us. I’d made it just in time, but was everyone as lucky?
No. Through the smoke filled, misty panes of the mask I watched helplessly as William, poor, gentle William, drowned in the gas, like a green sea of agony. The frosty morning was filled with his loud, haunting screams, like a dog yelping in pain. Powerless, we witnessed the gas grabbing hold of his lungs, strangling him, suffocating him.
My eyes filled with burning, salty tears and a lump grew in my throat, as we picked him up. His body was weak, but he was still alive. We placed him, as gently as we could, in the wrecked, wooden wagon that would take him to the nearest medical area. I hung my head low as the it moved off, unable to look poor William in the eye.
Now, while the sound of the guns echo through the night, as steady as the tick, tock of a clock, I think…we’re lucky, we get to live in this hell like war for another day. We’re lucky, yet somehow lucky is the last thing I feel. As I sit in this uncomfortable, splintered bed, while the rats scurry and scuttle at my feet, I feel disgusted by this war. As I write this tonight, with clenched teeth and hot sweating palms, I warn you friends. If you could see the things I’ve seen, if you could hear the screams that fill my dreams, you would not tell with such high zest the old lie; Dulce et Decorum est Pro patria mori.

Features of a diary

Use 'I' not he or she
Private thoughts and feelings - show not tell emotion
Really interesting events - record the most thrilling, frightening and adrenaline packed moments!
Past tense, present tense and future tense
Ask yourself a question. Why am I here? Will I live or die?
Description
Time connectives
LO: To use show not tell emotion to describe my characters feelings.
Success Criteria
To recognise how a character how is feeling.
To think about how our bodies
show
this emotion
To use this instead of an emotion
To extend this using similes or adjectives
Can you use show not tell emotion to describe
how you feel at each part of our diary entry?

In the trenches
When an officer talking to you
When you hear the shouts of mustard gas
Trying to fit your gas mask
During the attack, when you are safe
Watching the man without a gas mask
When you carry the man to the hospital wagon
In trench now - where are you writing?
What emotions can you spot in our diary entry?
What shows you this is how our character feels?
Full transcript