Dear diary,
Today me and my Grandpa had some alone time.
We went down to the small, dirty pond (which has no sign of life) in the morning.
It is mine and grandpa’s favourite place to go. Whenever we go there he tells
me our family stories. Today we had a lot of free time so that means he could
tell me a lot of stories. The first story he told me was my great grandma’s
(whose name is Marie).
When your great grandma was a little girl
(which was when the First World War was on). She used to go to the field
hospital every day. She would take her little handmade basket - which was full
of eggs - down to try and get some money for her family. On her way to the
Field Hospital, she would collect some freshly bloomed bright red poppies. It
was the same every day, then one day she had not made a lot of money. On her
way home she came across a lonely Tommy. In the middle of a field, he was sat
on a small, broken, oak wood chair. Writing in a note book, he was using a tree
stump as a table.
She went up to him and asked him if he wanted
anything. Instead of answering all he did was throw a piece of paper into a
puddle. She asked what it was; he told her everything about it (in the end it
turns out it was a poem). She bought it home and now we still have that exact
poem by the front door.
