Dear
diary,
Today
grandpa told me about my first ever Christmas. I almost cried because Christmas
was the day when my papa died. Grandpa told me he went out in the morning fog
and heard men’s voices but when he walked towards them he found they had gone.
After that mum made papa a nice hot drink papa hopped on his tractor and went
to plough the poppy field. Grandpa said, “I watched him drive into the mist and
that was the last time I saw him again.” As for me I was fast asleep inside the
house I didn’t find out my papa had died until I was older, I guess I was too
young to understand then.
I
wish I could have met my papa but nothing can stop the shell that killed him. Yes,
a shell killed my papa he drove over a shell (from world war one) and boom he
was dead. It was so sad, my mum and grandpa never set foot in that field again
they were too scared to.
I
always go past that poppy field on my bike and I think about my papa as I cycle
past. I hope grandpa will tell me another story soon. Grandpa does tell me
another story I will make sure I write it down.
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