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My grandmother spoke to me today, I went to see her in her flat. I barely see her so I went And drank some tea at that. She told me a story, That touched my heart.
3rd September 1939 ELIZABETH:A few weeks have passed.I am now listening to the radio with my fiancé John.All of a sudden,"SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT FROM OUR PRIME MINISTER,NEVILLE CHAMBERLIN!" Sure...
She sits alone, in her red chair Spends each day sitting there Casting her mind back to the past With memories that will forever last She thinks fondly of past times When she was young, in her prime...
The idea by @olivia . Dedicated to Steve Frank, the Holocaust survivor. I'll probably separate it into parts. I walked out from school with my two friends, Diana and Margret.
The blood soaks the ground, Turning it violent red, Yet they do not to think, How will this end. They fight for Goebbels propaganda.
@crowncottage for Tom This was written for St nazaire 60th anniversary of the British commando raids which was probably one of the bravest actions of WWII.
Shape up Tommy Atkins And stem the German tide, For your King and for your country For God is on your side.
Lined up, a regiment, row by row Where on a Friday I would go To buy the fish and crabs and socks And picture hooks and clogs and clocks.
Fear replaced the fading dream, the moment of waking spoiled. The sudden realisation of where he was, and how he became embroiled. He saw it as his duty, to stand up and protect his men.
'Wo sind die Postkarten. Wo sind sie?' We play a game, Hide and seek Only with life and death In the balance. He cannot find them. He must not find them My job is not done.
It was Germany 1944 and food was difficult to find in the war. Supplies were low and people were starved.
What Elizabeth was trying to reach,was her family's Anderson shelter.Only a few more paces,but the air-raid siren was already starting;Elizabeth had a worrying thought.What if those few paces were a...
The harsh rhythym of the guns launched an ongoing staccato, as I ran down the beach. Debris was flying everywhere, not to mention the blood and bits of flesh and shards of bone.
I felt the sun on my feet, the sticky sweat dripping down my body. It reminded me of a pudding, one mother would make when we lived in Berlin. This memory didn't help my hunger.
It was just like a normal morning, Something so big came without warning. Destroying so many innocent lives, Separating husbands, children, wives.
Jeremy stared at the enormous train, which pulled into the station, causing himself to cough and splutter because of the thick steam. The boy who was stood next to Jeremy introduced himself.
The next morning Jeremy and his mum were awoken to the sound of an ear-splitting siren. 'Mum. Theres going to be bombs!' Suddenly there was a harsh knock at the door. 'Jeremy Thompson.
It was the middle of the war, 1942, and Jeremy Thompson was sipping and chewing his ration of food for the day.
The elderly Italian man went to his parish priest and asked if the priest would hear his confession. "Of course, my son," said the priest.
The nazi plague is spreading, bombs falling like thunder. Hitler's reign of terror, his will to take us under. I climb into the spitfire, I soar the blazing skies.
*This is a short story I wrote in Year 8, and I thought I should share it on Opuss.
Chapter 3 I couldn't stop crying, the unwelcome tears trickled smoothly down by cheeks, leaving tracks.
Chapter 2 Today I have to go to the countryside. Leave my mother. My home. My friends. I have to be labelled up like a parcel then sent off on a train with everyone else in my class.
June 6th 1944 D-Day The boat shaked as it stormed through the dark water.The men inside where ready for battle.They would be the first wave of troops on the offensive to take normandy.The fog...