Writing for Multimedia Essay

St Albans 1937
Journal Entry no1

It was the winter of 1937 in St Albans and finally we are allowed rest after excruciating labour at camp, the bomb factory. I look around the room my bunker and I see faces of friends who would have proffered life back in the day free and happy, but not this, this ‘nightmare’ many have been shot refusing to do work, or some bodies have just given up, it’s sad because we are doing the country a favour and they couldn’t even spare lives. Nobody wants to talk or muck around because it’ll just waste more energy for the upcoming days as war draws near, not for us but for our allies we are the ammunition and the fuel of their firepower and everyone is depending on us, here in St Albans to supply what will rain from the sky. If I’d known they were coming to take us into slavery I would have cut off my arm or something and have made me unable to work. Sometimes I think I would have proffered going into battle at least there I could at least have some feel in my hands, a decent feed possibly and a wiff of clean fresh air. But no I got stuck here, constructing bombs to destroy limbs and bodies. To be honest I don’t even know what we are fighting for or even who against all I remember is being taken what I once called freedom from my wife and kids and being thrown in front of this machine where I mount the shell of the bombs dropped by aircrafts, clearly not what I pictures as a kid. Fear reeks upon the camp as people are told rumours the enemies draw near, that we are among the main targets to be infiltrated next. With no military training or experience we will be nothing but bread shoved in a toaster ready to burn. Am I scared? Well that’s a silly question we all are but nobody wants to show it, scared that we will never return to our loved ones, scared that life will be gone. This feeling can ever bring grown men to tears as whimpers echo at night. Why can’t we live in peace? And why me? From so good to so cruel who knew being healthy would end up leading to something like this. Not knowing what tomorrow will bring same thing everyday and has been for the last three months I can’t even remember the colour of my hands all I know is this blackness and its filled my head of darkness there little hope that it will stop anytime soon, but to hold on to some is better then none. I dream, not even at night while I work that soon this will be over it’s what gets me through the days, I will be able to return home, away from this memory and raise my children along side my wife happily ever after. Who knows what will come tomorrow if something happens I want whoever is reading this to tell my wife I love and miss her dearly and to be brave.

Love Jason