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July 1917:
I have been sent off on a troopship with an army crew to France. I am one of over 100 conscientious objectors being held in prison for refusing to fight in the world war. I have decided that it is wrong and unjust. I don’t want to be sent off, but I have no choice.. My friends and I are all placed in uniforms while getting abused by officers and volunteer soldiers.
Finally we are in France. Now for the harshest method of punishment: “Field Punishment.” I feel angry and anxious at the same time because I know what is going to happen. The officers and guards dragged me and my friend across the field. Our feet scrapped on the mud bruising our heels and toes. My heart was beating and pumping so fast, that it felt like I might have a heart attack. But I am brave and have strong confidence in myself that war is wrong.
They tied me to an old slanted post. My hands bound tightly behind my aching back and my painful knees and feet bound in all weathers. The thick tough rope cut into my skin. As my head bowed down my neck ached. Seeing my poor friend suffering in the same way, made me want to throw up. He tried to talk to me but mumbled when he did. His dirty face covered in mud, cramps all over his body, red thick blood dripping down from all the cuts from his feet and hands. I felt sorry for him. I waited and waited and waited in the cold heavy pouring rain. Suddenly, there's strong vociferous thunder. I am all heavily drenched from head to toe. I sighed as I realised that I couldn’t have a shower, couldn’t even change from my soggy clothes into warm dry ones. I just wished I was at home with my family.
The soggy ground had mud everywhere. There was hardly any grass or bark on field. I felt wretched, upset and cold. Finally it ended. The rope loosened from my hands which were all purple from the icy freezing cold weather.
1 April 1918:
I am glad that I am now in hospital in Boulogne, where I am diagnosed with having heavy mental weakness from my determination not to fight. Being in that crazy war was very different to my imagination of what I thought it would be like.
1918:
I am the happiest man alive right now .I have been sent home from hospital. I am happily married and have two gorgeous sons. I guess I will never forget what happened to me in France, 1917.
By Josephine Atkinson
