THIS JOURNAL BELONGS TO THOMAS MILLS.
Autumn, April 197, Sunday 17th 06:00 SHARP. It was a cold, crisp English morning. The crunching of the golden leaves that laid beneath my feet. The icy- cold breeze against my bare cheeks, the musky smell of wet dog fur. That’s what made me run. My legs were extended out in front of me, moving with their own mind, propelling one after another. I didn’t have time to concentrate on my breathing, my heart felt like it was going to burst out of my ribcage with the cold sweat trickling down my face. It was getting closer, the sound of the hounds tails whipping in the cold air behind me. I didn’t want to risk looking back losing precious time. By the sound of the chomping jaws and their gnarling teeth pulling on the loose ends of my uniform, I could tell they were close and I didn’t have much time left. Four or five hounds at the most. Underneath all of the intimidating noises and the sharp wind in my ears, I could hear Stanton’s faint voice in my head calling after me, telling me to keep going. I kept on pushing through the pain and I finally made it to the end. At that point I knew, no I didn’t just know, I was 100% certain that I was ready to join the Armed Forces.
Sunday 17th 09:00. That’s what I told mother; well at least I tried to. I couldn’t even hear myself think over all the commotion she was causing and her weeping in my ear. I grabbed my rucksack and started to pack the rest of my belongings. I strapped the worn out boots firmly to my feet, trench coat over shoulder, bag in hand and I was ready to face the real world. If that’s how mother reacted to the training gosh knows how she will survive knowing I will be fighting for our country. I said my last goodbyes to mother and father, little Lillian; baby Angus, Johnny and Katherine. As Stanton and I hauled my bags into the trunk of the wagon I could still here mother crying. “Good luck my precious son, be safe.” She yelled.
“Be careful out there, Thomas, come home in once piece.” Father stated. The roar of the engine started and with a bit of a bump we were on our way.
Winter, August 21st, 1975-17:00. A couple of months had gone by since I last saw mother and father. I missed them dearly, the children as well. I hadn’t heard from them for a while. I wasn’t sure when I last spoke to them but I believe it was some time in June. The days seem to drag on forever. Day in, day out rolling around in dirt trenches, being shot at not washing for days on end. It really was getting too much for me but I had to push through it.
Spring, September 5th, 1975-02:00. Stanton was gone by spring. Not long after I wrote last we got ambushed. Our own blood scattered across for miles. We lost many brave men, Stanton being one of them. I promised his mother we would return in the fall, now what was I supposed to do? I had lost my best friend forever.
Spring, November 30th, 1975-21:00. Night had fallen; I remember hearing the hoot of the owls that perched on the tree by my post. Gosh knows how long I had been in that position for. My body was all cramped up in a damp, muddy trench. My feet were aching, my face was on fire and my poor fingers were down to the last layer. “Only a couple of weeks left now,” I kept on telling myself.
