The legend of the Anzacs still strikes a chord with the youth of today, as proved by the growing numbers of young people in attendance at Anzac Day services around Australia.

To encourage the youth of Cessnock City to think about the significance of Anzac Day in 2015, The Advertiser invited local school students to take part in drawing and writing competitions.

Primary school students were invited to enter an A4 drawing with the theme ‘What Anzac Day Means to Me’, while high school students were asked to write a short story (100-200 words) about experiences during World War I.

“As the local community newspaper, The Advertiser wanted to encourage our local youth to get involved with Anzac Day and for students to understand the meaning and purpose of Anzac Day,” Advertiser manager Rebecca Gillon said.

“By getting involved with the competitions, we hoped the students would feel proud and remember those who have shaped our nation.

“We were overwhelmed by the response in our schools competition; I was amazed at the level of talent that was on show.

“Thank you to all the student and schools who submitted entries into the competition, and also thank you to our judges who had the difficult decision of selecting the winners.”

In the primary school art competition, Samantha O’Hearn of Cessnock West Public School won the kindergarten to Year 3 section and Chloe Hunt of St. Patrick’s Primary School won the Years 4 to 6 section.

Art competition judge, Cessnock Regional Art Gallery director John Barnes said it was a tough decision and that the entries were of a high standard.

“It was wonderful to see so many different ideas and approaches being explored,” Dr. Barnes said.

In the writing competition, Mount View High School student Georgia Bailey won the Years 7 to 9 section and Tahliah Dicker, also of Mount View High, won the Years 10 to 12 section.

Writing competition judge, former Advertiser managing editor Bruce Wilson, praised the entrants’ efforts.

“There’s no doubt the students went to a fair amount of trouble putting their entries together,” Mr. Wilson said.

“I based my judging on experiences at Gallipoli and about painting a picture of what the conditions were like and how they were not prepared for the horrors of war.”

The winning students will receive a prize of $100.

WRITING COMPETITION (100-200 word short story about experiences in World War I)

By Georgia Bailey, Year 9, Mount View High School (YEARS 7-9 SECTION WINNER)

Screams of horror, the deafening sound of firing guns, the blow of the whistle to send them to certain death.

This is the reality that the ANZACs faced at Gallipoli. Many men and women were not trained and were not prepared for the horrific time of war. They wanted ever so badly to protect their country.

Cramped trenches and the cry of injured in no man’s land. Unable to retrieve their fellow soldiers, they were forced to sit and wait for their time to fight.

Friends and family falling around them, everything they stood for crumbling like rocks rolling down the face of a mountain. Fighting each day, hoping to live.

No one expected this was going to be it, the last time they would see day light before “the going down of the sun”.

The awakening cry of the trumpet, the last post at dusk, the day was over, only to sleep for another one.

The ships came with so many and left with so few, but all of them heroes.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning we will remember them.

***

By Braydan Ramsden, Year 9, Cessnock High School

Dear Mother,

We have finally landed at Gallipoli. I was in the third boat and as we were landing, men were getting killed before they had even got off the boats. I am lucky to be alive.

We moved very slowly towards the Turkish trenches.  Death is all around me.

I’m quite nervous and scared because I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s intense. I hate it already. I want to come home.

We got to our safety trenches, we got our rifles and we were off to war.

The war isn’t anything like I had expected. Guns continually fire and we lay awake all night watching our mate’s backs to make sure that they don’t get killed.

I secretly hope the Commander calls a retreat and we will be saved from the deadline of Gallipoli.

Sincerely,

Your son Dick.M.Winter.

***

By Ella Myers, Year 8, Mount View High School

27th April, 1915

To My Dearest Brother,

I love you. The very first thing I would wish for you to read is that I love you with every last bit of my heart and soul. Whatever is left of it nevertheless.

Being here changes a man. An artist would only have the selection of red and brown shades if this place were a painting.

I’m placed in the trenches. Thousands of other men and I are fighting against these Nazis. We have very little time to rest.

But when we can we grab a sandbag to rest our aching bodies for even a few minutes.

A man name Jack fighting beside me had the worst luck of developing trench foot. He was rather poorly in the end.

If my time comes, don’t be saddened. All my love to the whole family. I am proud to be here.

All of you are keeping me alive.

With love, George.

***

By Jack Walsh, Year 7, St Philip's Christian College 

My Uncle Frank

A soldier of the great war, a casualty that fell in battle, one of the many missing in action and an inspiring young man that was proud to be Australian.

My great-great-uncle, Francis Elmour King of Tarrawinge, Victoria, a corporal of the Victorian 37th battalion, Australian infantry force.

He fell on the 8th of June 1917 just outside a small village in northern France called Messines.

My family and I don’t exactly know what happened to him on that dreadful day but what we presume is that his trench had been bombed by a nearby German trench.

Earlier this year I was lucky enough to actually go to the village of Messines where I got to stand where my uncle Frank would of stood and watch the war go on.

The feelings you have when you stand where thousands of men died are overwhelming.

As Australians, I believe that we need to always remember the ultimate sacrifice that these Australians made for us.

As Frank’s family wrote in 1917:

“His king and country called him, the call was not in vain. On Australia’s roll of honour, you will find our Frank’s name”

Lest we forget.

***

By Jordyn Jeffery, Year 9, Mount View High School

It was as if the world was numb, a second felt like an hour and not a sound echoed through slaughter valley.

Guilt fell upon my consciousness like the rain upon my bloodstained skin.

My frost-bitten feet were being swallowed by the earth as I stumbled over bodies, some moaning, others festering.

The trench in the cliff side had been swept away leaving a trail of destructive memories and desperate carnage.

The bleak presence of death went on without a pause, the extent of which I cannot fathom.

As I beheld each fallen comrade, our last moments at war replayed through my head.

How ashamed I feel to leave them behind after fighting together, once so optimistic with hope.

That hope is now scattered in this dreary and desolate waste.

My breath has grown shallow and cannot sustain my cowardly form for much longer.

Please bid me farewell and pray for my soul.

***

By Makenzi Pryor, Year 7, St. Philip's Christian College

A man called Henry.

This is a true story about a man, but not just any man, a soldier whose name was Henry Waring.

He was a UK citizen from Sheffield, a steel making industrial town in the midlands of the UK.

Henry Waring fought in the battle of the Somme. It was a major battle of the British and French empires in World War One against German Empires.

The battle took place in 1916 in France. Apparently 50,000 British troops died.

During the battle, Henry received mustard gas poisoning. After the war he returned home to his wife and son but later died from septicemia at the young age of 31.

Henry's son, Frank and his mother moved to Australia in 1920.

Henry's great grandson John has a bullet handled letter opener, it’s a souvenir that Henry brought back from the battle of the Somme.

On it, is engraved “Worldwar” as they had no idea there would be another World War. 

I think Anzac Day is the day we remember all soliders who served and died in all wars.

Thank you to all the soldiers for their service.

***

By Mitchell Taylor, Year 9, Cessnock High School

Konrad Meinhard’s Journal

20.03.1915

I am aboard one of the three army Zeppelins heading towards Paris to execute an air raid.

I have grown disgust towards air raids, for I am always nervous about the vulnerability of the craft.

“It would only take one bullet,” the captain addressed, “to destroy a zeppelin. So be on the lookout for enemy aircraft.”

I had been assigned the task to throw the bomb out of the gondola of the airship, but at the same time I feel sorry for the people who have to dread watching the shadow of the Zeppelin hover over the beautiful city and to observe bombs dropping from it like rain from a fearful storm cloud.

21.03.1915

I have just dropped two bombs and word has spread around that the French army have just been notified about the attack.

It is said that they are plotting to shoot down the Zeppelin. The captain of the ship has just reported that he has made the decision to fly back to Germany to reduce the risk of damage to the Zeppelin.

I hope we are able to survive the route to Germany.

***

By Zac Kronholm, Year 9, Cessnock High School

25 April, 1915

Dear Mother,

We have just landed on the shores of Gallipoli, Anzac Cove. I was in the third battalion to land.

We are now heading forward, awaiting our first fight against the Turks. I have thankfully survived the first night.

We walk through the muddy trenches all day and I lose more and more energy as we go on.

With a rifle on my back yet to be fired, I nervously wait for the event.

All of my mates on this adventure are filled with mixed emotions, but my main goal is to secure the peninsula. I can’t wait to get my hands on some Turks.

As I am feeling quite well at the moment, I have to admit that I am a little homesick. I am just proud that I am here fighting for my country.

Sincerely, your loving son,

Tyrone.W.Parker.

***

Cassandra Eminson, Year 8, Mount View High School

1st Letter

To: Mary-Jane Torrent

From: Ryan Torrent

Date: 23/9/1915

Hello my darling MJ I miss you greatly already. Lucky I joined up to the army late. Apparently it was a cluster when the men first arrived to Gallipoli. I got told that the enemy was shooting at them before they even got to shore. I’ve only been sent as back-up for the troops here. The food is absolutely disgusting and them smell is horrible. I’ve only been here for two days and I already have fleas and please don’t tell my brother! I will never hear the end of it. I’m getting ready to settle down for the nigh, if that’s even possible with the amount of gun fire. After a while your ears get numb to it. I promises to set up that honey moon when I come back.

I miss you and love you greatly, from your loving husband Ryan.

2nd Letter

To: Mary-Jane Torrent

From: Ryan Torrent

Date: 17/10/1915

Oh my gosh your pregnant!? We’re having a baby This is the best news best news I’ve heard this month! I miss you even more now. Unfortunately bombs have been dropping all night and I smell bloody horribly. Looking forward to a bath. The food still sucks, but I’m trying not to complain. Lots of men a have died in this war, its starting to get to me. But anyway I am doing okay. I am going to win this war for you and our boy or girl, so it has a great world to look forward to. I really miss you MJ.

Love from Ryan

3rd Letter

To: Mary-Jane Torrent

From: Ryan Torrent

Date: 5/11/1915

What do you mean Luke is signing up for the army?! Tell him to stay and help Mum. I’d really hate for him to see the things I’ve seen. It’s absolutely crazy here. Everyone in the trenches are starting to get sick, I’m fine though, just a little cold. I’m glad to here that you and bub are doing well. Do you think it’s a girl or a boy? I miss you MJ and Luke and Mum. I miss you all. Your love husband Ryan.

4th Letter

To: Mary-Jane Torrent

From: Ryan Torrent

Date: 25/12/1915

Merry Christmas MJ! Thanks for the socks and biscuits. They were a nice change from the food we’re usually given. It gets cold at night and hot in the day, so the socks will help me a lot there. How are you and the baby? You will not believe this but, we’re playing a game with the Germans. Yeah its crazy. We made up a game called Two-Up I’ve meet a young German boy. He’s only 18. Nice kid though. It’s hard to believe that I’ll be fighting him tomorrow. For the first time in a while, I’ve heard some music. I could understand the song though the boy told me it was called “Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht.”. Last night was hell. I now have a huge burn up my arm, but the nurses say I should be fine. I heard news that we might be able to go home soon. I’ve been having these horrible nightmares. I’m fine though. I wish the war would end today, on Christmas. It would be more fun ending the war on a game of cricket. I miss you and hope to see you soon. I love you very much. Im doing everything I can to get home to you and my new family. I miss you MJ.

From your loving husband Ryan

5th Letter

To: Mary-Jane Torrent

From: ANZAC association and Troop leader, Seth Roggers

Date: 3/1/1916

Dear Mrs. Torrent

It is a great pain to report to you that your husband Ryan Dan Torrent has died in the face of battle. Your husband was a hero to his country. You will be paid his earnings from his services. He has left all his belongs to his wide Mary-Jane Torrent, His mother Jessie Loius Torrent and his brother Luke James Torrent. I’m very sorry for your loss and may god bless you.

From troop leader Seth Roggers

Lest We Forget

(All characters is this story are purely fictional as well as this story. Any similarities to this story are purely coincidental.)

***

By Tahliah Dicker, Year 10, Mount View High School (YEARS 10-12 SECTION WINNER) 

The dark, shining night sky was all I could see when I were laid on the ground.

I could finally rest from the wails and cries of pain being the only thing I was able to hear, I could instead hear the muffled gun-shots from the men right next to me.

My body was completely numb apart from the vibrations from the ground on my hands from the bombs that were dropped nearby. 

I turned my head to my left and all I could see was men that I grew to love, ripped away by the enemies.

I got off the ground knowing that I wouldn’t help by laying there and waiting to die.

I had a determination like no other on that field, my name was not going to be read out on that list.

I kept telling myself “you will survive, just don’t stop fighting”, it helped get to where I am today.

***

By Alex Kemp, Year 10, Mount View High School 

Gun fire everywhere, smoke clouds around the bases, dead bodies lie everywhere, my mates the people that I have come to know everything about…gone.

This is nothing like what I expected. The food is horrible but the disease is worse. I’ve seen at least 50 men with trench foot.

I haven’t seen my family for what feels like centuries. My brothers I have seen but only in the infirmary, one was shot and the other got caught in an explosion, he lost his arm.

As terrible as it sounds I wish it was me, I mean able to return home not in a box.

***

By Alexandra Walsh, Year 11, St. Philip's Christian College

A World War 1 Experience – Francis Elmour King 

It was the 8th of June, 1917 and Francis Elmour King was crouching in the muck of his trench, the battle of Messines raging on around him.

He had been firing shots at the enemy for an endless amount of hours and was taking a short break.

Relaxing as much as he dared, Frank pondered on recent events. His battalion had moved forward and advanced on the enemy but had quickly fallen back again as too many had been lost. Too many mates gone.

Frank looked down at his feet, sinking in the infamous muck of Messines. It was mud, sweat, feces, blood. One and the same on the battlefields.

He attempted the muck off his boots, though it was of no avail. She had already passed away, but Frank thought his mum would appreciate that he was at least trying to keep himself clean.

Frank wondered what the rest of his family might be up to, he really did mi-

An explosion went off behind the trench, knocking Frank out of his musings.

He moved his thoughts to the battle, to his rifle and the enemy.

He could finish that train of thought later but now, it was time to start firing again. He readied his gun and got into position.

He would never finish those thoughts.

***

By Ben Stevens, Year 10, Mount View Mount High

The Western Front was a brutal, long campaign where there was no true victor, only a devastating loss of life. 

This is war. I was in the 43 Australian Battalion. Conditions were horrible and terrifying.

We were to provide covering fire for our men, the allies as they crossed into No Man’s Land.

They would form into their groups as we provided a hail of gunfire but as they crossed into No Man’s Land many fell to the ground dead or wounded.

There seemed to be a continuous ferocious battle. I was luck to survive. Many of my friends died as the Germans swarmed in their hundreds.

It was only through the sheer will of my mates that I was alive.

War gives you memories, those you can’t forget but those you never enjoy.

***

By Emily Roberts, Year 12, Mount View High School

An old house. Proud and stumbling in its age. An attic, dusty and bursting with memory and old things.

An old chest of drawers, its paint scratched, corners chewed. A small shoe. The soft leather discolored with age and neglect.

An aged hand, the skin loosely covering the fragile bones and heavy wedding ring on one finger.

The tiny shoe resting lightly on the lined palm, weighted with memories.

A laughing child in the garden, pattering on booted feet, holding out natures treasures for her to examine and admire.

A lonely boy, waiting for his father to come home and teach him cricket.

A teenager, scarred and angry at the truth, hiding the pain behind a crumbling mask.

A young man, excited and proud. Standing straight and tall in his uniform, waving back at her from the train, his hat in his hand.

Her holding her tears back until she closed the front door behind her.

His letters, cheap paper and the round sprawling handwriting of a school boy, stained with mud and water.

The officer who told her. Stiff and brisk. Saluted and handed her the telegram.

Gallipoli. Dusty earth carrying her boy. The yellow slip, the paper that fell from her hand.

The laughs, the grins and the bear hugs. Something that went amiss.

A little leather shoe, hidden away in a drawer.