“Jump,” they said, I Jumped off the paddle boat as the cold water rose to my knees. My heart beat fast inside my chest “Duck,” they said, small spinning bullets flew around me as I rolled onto the shore. “Fire,” they said, the noise of piercing gunshots rung in my ears. Soldiers fell like flies. Their blood stained the sand. Their blood, as red as the poppies in the fields ahead. I looked up only to see a huge sandy cliff, lined with Turkish soldiers and guns pointed right at us. I was only 19. Back to reality.
I’m with my grandchildren and son its April 25th, 1952 and we are at a dawn service. I look up to see the statue of Private William Piggott Darby standing proud. I remember my first shot.
“Fire,” they said. I shot. I waited. I watched. …show more content…
“BANG” The bullet hit my skin. Within milliseconds I found myself breathing in the dust and dirt whilst laying on the floor. I placed my hand over my leg. “Botter!” I didn’t know who called. All went black. I saw my father. “You can do better son.” His voice echoed in my head. “Come back, Sam.” I saw my sister praying on her little bed. I woke up. All became white. In shock, I jumped up hoping to land in my mother’s outstretched arms. My body shook. I saw a cross. A red cross amongst all the white. I started moving without my control. Being pulled towards the Red Cross. All went black. I woke up yet again only now I was stable. I looked over my shoulder to see a man wrapped up in bandages with patches of red across his arms and chest. Back to …show more content…
today. We will march down Macquarie Street, leaving Queen's Square at 8.30 a.m. Before our march, we stop for breakfast and then slowly make our way down to march. I won’t be marching. I’ll be rolling. Since my near death shot in Turkey all those years ago I have been in a wheelchair. They had to amputate my legs. I don’t really remember seeing my amputation, I just remember feeling it.
I was asleep and all of a sudden a sharp stinging pain filled my leg. I couldn’t move so I screamed. I felt trapped and scared the pain wasn’t escaping. I screamed so loud that woke up everyone else in the tent and set off at least 3 gunshots. They bandaged my legs and I saw the machine that amputated my leg. It looked like a French guillotine. All went black. Back to reality.
I look down to meet the eyes of my granddaughter who is laying on my lap. We approach a fire. A large fire. I feel the heat and look into its flames. A fire, just as deadly as those bullets that covered the sky all those years ago. The chairman of the J.R.C. committee, Mr L. G.Kendall finishes his speech. “They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old: Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning. We will remember them.” The great fire lets out a spark. I recite the chairman’s words in my head. ‘We will remember
I’m with my grandchildren and son its April 25th, 1952 and we are at a dawn service. I look up to see the statue of Private William Piggott Darby standing proud. I remember my first shot.
“Fire,” they said. I shot. I waited. I watched. …show more content…
“BANG” The bullet hit my skin. Within milliseconds I found myself breathing in the dust and dirt whilst laying on the floor. I placed my hand over my leg. “Botter!” I didn’t know who called. All went black. I saw my father. “You can do better son.” His voice echoed in my head. “Come back, Sam.” I saw my sister praying on her little bed. I woke up. All became white. In shock, I jumped up hoping to land in my mother’s outstretched arms. My body shook. I saw a cross. A red cross amongst all the white. I started moving without my control. Being pulled towards the Red Cross. All went black. I woke up yet again only now I was stable. I looked over my shoulder to see a man wrapped up in bandages with patches of red across his arms and chest. Back to …show more content…
today. We will march down Macquarie Street, leaving Queen's Square at 8.30 a.m. Before our march, we stop for breakfast and then slowly make our way down to march. I won’t be marching. I’ll be rolling. Since my near death shot in Turkey all those years ago I have been in a wheelchair. They had to amputate my legs. I don’t really remember seeing my amputation, I just remember feeling it.
I was asleep and all of a sudden a sharp stinging pain filled my leg. I couldn’t move so I screamed. I felt trapped and scared the pain wasn’t escaping. I screamed so loud that woke up everyone else in the tent and set off at least 3 gunshots. They bandaged my legs and I saw the machine that amputated my leg. It looked like a French guillotine. All went black. Back to reality.
I look down to meet the eyes of my granddaughter who is laying on my lap. We approach a fire. A large fire. I feel the heat and look into its flames. A fire, just as deadly as those bullets that covered the sky all those years ago. The chairman of the J.R.C. committee, Mr L. G.Kendall finishes his speech. “They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old: Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning. We will remember them.” The great fire lets out a spark. I recite the chairman’s words in my head. ‘We will remember