More Tales from Dunkirk

Bit by bit Private Robinson scanned the beach; it was like a living nightmare. The muddy sand, the smell of smoke and flesh, the sound of people singing and praying. It was all too much for him. Thoughts were flying through the Private’s head as a boiling sweat ran down him.

Then Private Robinson started walking, not going anywhere just walking. After a bit he found himself gazing at a group of soldiers singing hymns with their heads held up high. Just then a tear rolled down Private Robinson’s cheek, tickling him as it did. He knew there was no hope.

Before long Private Robinson started walking again, he felt like his body was deceiving him, like his blood had stopped. Finally a speck started to crawl across the ocean. Private Robinson could tell it was a boat,  “I…I…I’m going home!” he cried.  

By Elias (Yr6)

Dunkirk

There he was on the edge of the beach. He saw the steel, grey sky. Men marching then two or three collapsing onto their knees from exhaustion. All of a sudden tears rolled down his cheeks. Quickly wiping them away, he took a step onto the beach. He tripped over an arm, Corporal Darlington looked down to find his friend lying there, lifeless eye’s wide open. He died helplessly. There was nothing Darlington could do.

Darlington continued walking towards the edge of the sea. He took a deep breathe of the sea air and began to smile, until he saw out of the corner of his right eye. His horse being shot. That’s what sent him over the edge. He started to cry, his loyal beast had just been shot.

Black Beauty they called her, a fine stallion. Big, bigger than any of the other horses. Everyone wanted her but she had been Darlington’s. He loved her like one of his own children. Then as he looked into the distance he could see something. It couldn’t be? Could it? Men started running to the shoreline.

“I’m coming home!” one man shouted. Everyone started jumping and waving to signal where the boats must come. Darlington started to jump up and down. Then turned around and looked at the remaining wounded and his horse.

“What a waste, so many people and loyal beasts died for nothing but greediness,” Darlington thought to himself.

Jayme-Leigh (Yr6)

A new school year.  Year 6 are studying World War Two this term.

This is Lucy's writing on Dunkirk.

Dunkirk

Sunrise. He saw the beach tattered, blown up, the shine of the sun trying, just trying to reach the wrecked beach, blocked by the sandy smoke. The surviving, the wounded, the worried and the calm. All huddled up under the misty sky above, he dropped to his knees, the miserable claggy sand seeping through the jagged holes in his army overalls.

Bringing one leg up then followed by the other, lifting his weight, he dragged himself towards the desperate soldiers. ”Ah Private Jones welcome to the force,“ shouted a war weary Captain. The Private walked away. And never looked back. He stood watching soldiers die in agony, and others laugh in pain.

Right there, right then a gunshot went off, the bullet case fell onto the pack of sand like an empty grenade. He carefully studied the bullets travel, then without warning a worrying noise,  it sounded like something heavy hitting the mucky sand. He looked up. It was. The silk, skinned horse hit the floor. The horses started to panic.

As he collapsed to the ground thinking what’s the point, he shaded his eyes from the smoke as he hid himself from the devastating place. He lifted his hands away and just made out a figure in the distant background, he traced it with his finger. It was a boat. The only thing that crossed his mind at that very moment was I can go home! He started to cry with joy.

Lucy (Yr6)