25th Dec 1918
Dearest Diary,
It is the first Christmas back with my family. The atmosphere is not at all how I expected it to be. I received no welcome from Valerie or the children. The Christmas tree is bare and there are no presents under the tree. My loving wife who used to be so full of life sits on the armchair in front of the unlit fire, sobbing. The children sit beside her on the floor, saying nothing. The house is bare – there is not a stitch of food in the house for the Christmas dinner. I am sitting in the stone cold bedroom as I write this – a much more comfortable sleeping arrangement than the trenches but not much warmer. Dearest Diary, on the last day of the war I was shot in the head by an enemy soldier and I did not survive. My beautiful Valerie is distraught. She is not coping well. I only wish I could tell her that I am here, in spirit, looking over them all. I do not sleep any more. I sit in the chair in the corner of my bedroom and watch my wife cry herself to sleep every night. I hope Fred can stay strong for his mother and sister. Soon I must depart from this world forever into the Great Poppy Field in the Sky. For now though, at least I am home for Christmas.
