by Jean Little
The World War I Diary of Eliza Bates, Uxbridge, Ontario, 1916
Sunday, January 7, 1917 - War is confusing. One minute you are excited. The flags are flying and the march music makes you stride out. You feel your eyes sparkle and your arms swing to the thumping of the drums and the drone of the bagpipes.(Father says the right word is "skirl" but I am not so sure and this is my journel.) Then you hear about the wounded men and you see the lists of missing and dead. I cannot understand how it can all be part of the same thing. Why were Hugo and Jack in such a hurry to go, as if it were all a huge adventure, when it might end so terribly?