Diary Entry 1:
The Diary of Helena Freeman
March 1916
A number of days ago, me and the other Australian women finally stepped foot off those retched boats, and onto the battlefield they call the Western Front.

Many nurses decided to join the war efforts to be close to their sons, or as some opportunity to see the world. I, however, joined the efforts to prove that us women are just as capable as the men who are fighting amongst the bullets and bombs. Although, despite my good intentions, the severity of the Great War was massively downplayed, and I feel wronged at the fact that everything is much worse than it was brought out to be.

I spend entire twelve hour days working, yet I still make less than half the salary than that of the men. We live in uncomfortable tents that fall over constantly, and must feed only on measly outdated rations. Its bloody ridiculous! If it weren’t for us nurses, those soldiers wouldn’t even last a single day without their infections and diseases getting the better of them.

I can only hope that us women prove ourselves to the rest of Australia once we return home, and make our efforts worth the suffering.
Helena Freeman

Diary Entry 2
The Diary of Helena Freeman
December 1916
With every passing day, work becomes more and more difficult. At the beginning, it was easy to think that the number of dying soldiers would decrease, and the amount of injuries would lessen, but alas, I could never have been more mistaken.

The other nurses and I try to keep things light with tea and jokes – the soldiers have already been through enough. Sometimes they wake up screaming in fear, and we must bring them comfort. Others, their injuries are too painful for them to bare, and we must bring them pain relief at midnight. Although we are not on the battlefields, I like to think us nurses have suffered just as much.

Each passing day seems heavier and the last, a quiet sense of numbness and despair taking over me. Sometimes, I want to scream. Sometimes, it is as though I feel everything and nothing at the same time. Its difficult. Nightmares of what I have witnessed haunt me in my sleep, and when I awake, a wave of new soldiers comes through the ward; limbs hanging on a bare thread of skin, faces burned with gases, bullet wounds in torsos.

I simply cannot wait for this retched war to be over.
Helena Freeman

Letter
Dear my most loved family,

I just wanted to send you a quick letter so you can understand what the war is truly like. Before my departure, those bastards romanticised the war, making it seem like an adventure, a holiday, or a dream, yet truthfully it’s anything but. This is a nightmare.

Every day, new soldiers are brought into the ward, screaming with pain and fear. Their bodies are safe, in the medical rooms, but their brains seem to think they’re still in the middle of the battlefield. At the beginning, those men where made fun of by other soldiers who were only in for minor injuries. Yet, despite these events becoming a regular occurrence, the sight of those soldiers never becomes less haunting.

Although I am not fighting on the battlefield, nothing is ever fully safe. Gunshots can be heard in the distance, and sometimes the hospital ward must be evacuated. It is scary, leaving the soldiers to guard their own defences when they’re already so weak and terrified, but I must follow the orders of the men in charge. In these times, I am brought great joy at the memory of your safety.

I hope that this war will be over soon, and I can come home to the safety and comfort of Australia.
Helena Freeman