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About Me:Hi, my name is Tito. I am an thirteen year old student at City of London School for Girls, in the Barbican, London. I love writing for Kings News as it helps me improve my writing skills. I hope you enjoy my articles and find them interesting!
This war doesn’t mean much to me. It’s always been a distant cloud that I never had to worry about. Of course, I’m aware that there are men fighting along my father out in France, but I didn’t really think about it. Josie’s dad, Emily’s dad, even Sam’s dad, are all fighting in some place or the other, and everyone once in a while I see the soliders go up to the doors of houses, and deliver the news. A beloved family member has died. So at least one Sunday a month there is a memorial service for a solider who died in battle. And yes, they are sad, but they don’t really get to me.
I was walking home from school with Amelia yesterday, who lives up the road from me. Her dad died, but not from the war. He died of typhoid a few years ago. Somehow, I feel that a dad dying from a disease is much worse than a dad dying in the war. But I guess for the families affected it doesn’t really seem that way.
Her mum was devastated, and still is. Amelia is the only person getting the family through each day. Most of the time I feel sorry for her, but other times I’m just happy I’m not her. I said bye, and walked in to the house. Most people around see our family as lucky, or well off, but I don’t really think so. Our house has five bedrooms, one for me and Sophie, one for Mum, one for Jemima (because she is older), one for Jack and Tom, and one for Joe. I usually go into Jemima’s room, because Sophie can get really annoying sometimes. Anyway, for dinner we had sausages and mash, with peas, which is one of my favourite meals. I always save some for Amelia because she doesn’t usually have dinner.
I’m at school now. Trisha, the school bully, or the devil incarnate, comes up to me and starts teasing Amelia and me. Her family is extremely rich, and her dad can afford to bail his way out of fighting in the war. But today I was sick of it. I slapped her, and told her she was the meanest, most vulgar person I’ve ever met (which is true), and she said something that really hurt me. More than anything anyone has ever said to me. She hissed “And when did you last see your father?”
I thought about that for the whole day. After school. For the rest of the week. Until, on Saturday morning, something extremely unexpected happened. I heard a firm knock on the door; it was an officer, one who I have not seen before. He was wearing a smart black army uniform, and his face was as cold as stone, with a hint of sadness. I was expecting the worst. I was expecting “I’m very sorry, but the officer from this household has passed away. But instead, what I heard was even worse. With a sincere look, he said “I’m very sorry to say this, but Officer Barnes is missing in action.”