We have learned about WWI on a massive scale. All the tactical moves and important moments. Now it’s time that we focus more in depth on the people who were really there. As a class we’ve read Three Day Road by Joseph Boyden, this has given some glimpse into what war was like on the front lines, but now we have the chance to study one soldiers experience in depth using primary and secondary sources we find. First we had to find a soldier with some information, then dive deeper to find out more of their story. Then once we felt we could, we wrote a diary entry from their point of view. I found it to be a pretty interesting project, I selected Arthur Hubbard, a patient of what was then called shell shock. I found him while looking through all kinds of ww1 letters and found one he had written to his mother.
I then went on to find a site that provided his military information.
With these sources I was able to imagine the person this information belonged to. I then took character and proceeded to write a journal entry from his perspective.
Arthur Hubbard – t/240470
July 7th, 1916
I’ve reached my limit – I feel like a rubber band stretched too far in the cold, now left broken and useless to those who have stretched me. I’m told that I will make it back to the lines, they say I am simply anxious, and this will go away with some sleep and proper meals. I’m not convinced, part of me knows I will never be the same. How can I be. If there is one thing I know now it is that one does not make it through war unscathed. Be it physically or in invisible forms, experienced by myself and the other shell shock patients.
Because of their inability to see the damage done to us, the nurses around the post say we are weak, call us cowards. Maybe. Or maybe we should take some pride that we are not made to kill, to destroy.
I may have survived the trenches and the craters, but this war has still killed me. I find no comfort in returning home anymore. I would rather be remembered by my loved ones for who I once was than the frail soul I am today. There is no question, my country has cheated me. I gave them everything with nothing in return. I can’t comprehend how a nation can suffer hundreds of thousands of casualties and still be declared a victor. I realize only now that war does not have winners, only survivors.
When they do slap me back out on the front lines, I don’t know what I’ll do. I suppose I’ll fight, but with less hesitation. There is no reason to anymore. I have already killed, I’m already a killer. When I think back to my first kill I see the three faces of the approaching Huns, each time the details of their faces are fainter. It won’t be long until I see nothing but a uniform. That’s all we are to our superiors anyways. They even go as far as to reduce us to a number that we wear on our chest.
If I do make it home, I only hope that I can be healthy enough to not worry my family. I do not want them to see how I have changed. I will try my best to hide it, to forget this war, but part of me knows I can’t leave this war behind, this war is already inside of me.