Part One
June 28th, 1915
Today is my 19th birthday though it holds less meaning for me now. On this day a year ago, I was awoken to the sound of a paper boy outside my apartment announcing the death of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, and spoke of a great world war to come. A month or so after I was drafted into the British Military. World War had just started and there was nothing I could do to get myself out of it. Everything after was filled with moments of unspeakable agony. Being torn away from my mother and everyday life that I loved and couldn’t imagine losing. I had a life planned out, but now all of my hopes have been thrust aside, replaced with meager training, false hope, and war. As of this moment, I hear bombs blasting off in the distance.
January 14th, 1916
I should start writing more this new year. This war is a mess.
February 20th, 1916
Today, the unthinkable happened! The British Military reassigned me and extracted me from the Western front to what I think will be a far more tame area of conflict. I thank the heavens for this! Tomorrow I will be deployed into Ireland to serve as riot control and to enforce peace. What does that even mean “enforce peace.” I was born in Ireland so it will be nice to see some of the homeland. Also this will be a good way to avoid all of the International conflict and war by seeing my birth land and the relatively calm job of maintaining peace and control in the Irish city of Dublin. From what my General Low has told me, the Irish nationalists are convincing the people to riot against the United Kingdom.
March 14th, 1916
We arrived in Dublin, Ireland not too long ago. My division is under the command of general Lowe. Our mission here is to instill and preserve peace and regain control of the Irish rioters. Suddenly, the people protesting against their British Union have become increasingly more intense and have gone against the police. That’s why we’re here. To keep everything under control. There’s graffiti everywhere that degrades the British moral and supports Ireland separating from us. The way I see it, is that they’d be doing themselves a great blow to the head. Through the grace and kindness of the monarch, we support Ireland and they’d collapse without us. I don’t think they know what they’re doing. They can’t even hold a real fight against us.
March 17th, 1916
For the small amount of time I've been here, I can already see the dislike of Brits from the nasty looks I get to the writing on the city street walls. At our Army barrack the Captain of our squad told stories of the terrorism demonstrations put together by the Irish republicans, and the occasional skirmishes, against rioters, that took good men's lives. I couldn't help but see how one sided the stories were. Two days ago when patrolling I walked past an alleyway trying to be as blissfully ignorant of the hatred pointed in my direction, and I saw a group of civilians crowding around someone. I went closer. “S’cuse me M’arm, what seems to be the problem,” I asked. Eyes turned on me. With ferocity a man jutted out of the crowd towards me. He got close enough to where he could nearly touch me. “You think we want you here, put’n your nose where it doesn’t belong,” he spat in my face. “All you Brits think you’re doing something good keeping our own land from us, huh. Good riddance” I looked past his shoulder and saw a small boy in the clutches of his weeping mother on the ground. I remember on the walk back, I felt sympathy for the Civilians. I saw their view of an Iron hand controlling them from across the water. The courage it takes to defy authority like that. I now see the flaws in the things I am told. It irritates me I can't see myself doing this for much longer.
Today is my 19th birthday though it holds less meaning for me now. On this day a year ago, I was awoken to the sound of a paper boy outside my apartment announcing the death of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, and spoke of a great world war to come. A month or so after I was drafted into the British Military. World War had just started and there was nothing I could do to get myself out of it. Everything after was filled with moments of unspeakable agony. Being torn away from my mother and everyday life that I loved and couldn’t imagine losing. I had a life planned out, but now all of my hopes have been thrust aside, replaced with meager training, false hope, and war. As of this moment, I hear bombs blasting off in the distance.
January 14th, 1916
I should start writing more this new year. This war is a mess.
February 20th, 1916
Today, the unthinkable happened! The British Military reassigned me and extracted me from the Western front to what I think will be a far more tame area of conflict. I thank the heavens for this! Tomorrow I will be deployed into Ireland to serve as riot control and to enforce peace. What does that even mean “enforce peace.” I was born in Ireland so it will be nice to see some of the homeland. Also this will be a good way to avoid all of the International conflict and war by seeing my birth land and the relatively calm job of maintaining peace and control in the Irish city of Dublin. From what my General Low has told me, the Irish nationalists are convincing the people to riot against the United Kingdom.
March 14th, 1916
We arrived in Dublin, Ireland not too long ago. My division is under the command of general Lowe. Our mission here is to instill and preserve peace and regain control of the Irish rioters. Suddenly, the people protesting against their British Union have become increasingly more intense and have gone against the police. That’s why we’re here. To keep everything under control. There’s graffiti everywhere that degrades the British moral and supports Ireland separating from us. The way I see it, is that they’d be doing themselves a great blow to the head. Through the grace and kindness of the monarch, we support Ireland and they’d collapse without us. I don’t think they know what they’re doing. They can’t even hold a real fight against us.
March 17th, 1916
For the small amount of time I've been here, I can already see the dislike of Brits from the nasty looks I get to the writing on the city street walls. At our Army barrack the Captain of our squad told stories of the terrorism demonstrations put together by the Irish republicans, and the occasional skirmishes, against rioters, that took good men's lives. I couldn't help but see how one sided the stories were. Two days ago when patrolling I walked past an alleyway trying to be as blissfully ignorant of the hatred pointed in my direction, and I saw a group of civilians crowding around someone. I went closer. “S’cuse me M’arm, what seems to be the problem,” I asked. Eyes turned on me. With ferocity a man jutted out of the crowd towards me. He got close enough to where he could nearly touch me. “You think we want you here, put’n your nose where it doesn’t belong,” he spat in my face. “All you Brits think you’re doing something good keeping our own land from us, huh. Good riddance” I looked past his shoulder and saw a small boy in the clutches of his weeping mother on the ground. I remember on the walk back, I felt sympathy for the Civilians. I saw their view of an Iron hand controlling them from across the water. The courage it takes to defy authority like that. I now see the flaws in the things I am told. It irritates me I can't see myself doing this for much longer.
Authors: June 28th - Diego, Jeremy, Oliver. January 14th - Diego. February 20th - Diego, Jeremy, Oliver. March 14th - Diego. March 17th - Oliver.