World War I

My name is Albie, and my story begins in the bright, sunny summer of 1914. The air in my little British town was buzzing, not with bees, but with excitement. Flags were everywhere, and grown-ups spoke in loud, proud voices about King and Country. A great war had begun, and to me and my best friends, it sounded like the grandest adventure we could ever imagine. We were young and full of dreams, picturing ourselves as heroes in smart uniforms. We went to the recruitment office together, my friends Tom, Sam, and I, and signed our names on the dotted line. The man behind the desk clapped us on the back and told us we were fine lads. Our families came to see us off at the train station. My mum hugged me so tightly I could barely breathe, and my father shook my hand, his eyes shining with pride. The crowd cheered, waving handkerchiefs and throwing flowers as the steam engine chugged away from the platform. We leaned out the window, waving back until our town was just a speck in the distance. We promised each other we’d stick together, no matter what. We were off on an adventure, and we thought we'd be home by Christmas.

Our adventure took us across the sea to France, but the place we arrived at wasn't what we had pictured. Instead of grand fields for heroic charges, we found a world made of mud. They called them trenches, these long, deep ditches zigzagging across the countryside for miles. This was to be our new home. The mud was a greedy thing; it clung to our boots, our uniforms, and our blankets. It was cold and damp, and it smelled of wet earth and rain. At night, we’d huddle together for warmth, listening to the strange rumbles in the distance. The food was nothing like my mum’s cooking. We ate tough biscuits that were hard enough to break your teeth on and tins of something called “bully beef.” But even in that muddy world, we had each other. Tom was the best at telling jokes, Sam could draw funny pictures of our sergeant, and I would read letters from home out loud for everyone. We were a family, bound together by the mud and the cold. Then, something magical happened on Christmas Eve of 1914. We heard singing coming from the other side, from the German trenches. It was a Christmas carol we all knew. Slowly, cautiously, we started singing back. A few brave men peeked their heads over the top of the trench, and soon, we were all climbing out into the frosty, quiet space between us called No Man’s Land. I met a German boy named Karl. He couldn’t have been much older than me. He showed me a picture of his family, and I shared my chocolate with him. We laughed and sang together. For one peaceful day, we weren't enemies. We were just boys, far from home, sharing a moment of peace.

The war, however, didn't end that Christmas. It went on for four long years. The seasons changed, but our muddy world stayed mostly the same. The adventure I had dreamed of was long gone, replaced by a deep longing for home. I missed the smell of baking bread from the shop on my street, the feeling of a soft bed, and the sound of my sister’s laughter. We all did. We wrote letters, we looked at faded photographs, and we dreamed of peace. Then, finally, it came. On the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, in 1918, the order was given to stop fighting. For years, our world had been filled with a constant, roaring noise. But at 11 a.m., it all just… stopped. The silence was the loudest thing I had ever heard. It was so total and so sudden that it felt heavy, pressing in on my ears. We slowly looked at each other, not daring to believe it was real. Then, a few cheers broke out, but mostly, there was just a deep, overwhelming feeling of relief. We had made it. As I traveled home, I thought of all the friends who hadn't. I remembered their faces and their laughter. When I got back, I saw bright red poppies growing in the fields, and they reminded me of the bravery and the friendships. Looking back, I see that our adventure taught me the most important lesson of all: that peace is the most precious thing in the world, and we must always remember those who fought to win it for us.