A/N: these are diary entries that are based on the poem Homecoming by Bruce Dawe. It is for an English assignment. It has now been edited yet. I hope you enjoy. Please comment and vote, it means a lot. Thanks!

Diary of John Smith

D.O.B: 22th October 1947

5:00pm 13th March 1967 (just arrived in Vietnam)

I’m writing in my leather bound diary, which was given to me by my mother. I am using it as a way to record what happens while I’m in Vietnam. This diary will be passed down generation to generation, so when my great grandchildren ask what I was like, they will have this diary to remember me by.

Today was my first day on the job and nerves are filling my whole body. The thought of seeing dead bodies is a frightening thing. I have been told that I could be accompanying bodies on their way home from Vietnam. Unfortunately they die too early and there is not a day that goes by when I don’t think  that could have been me. If my birthday had been drawn from that lotto, it would have been me fighting. My family and I are very thankful. I feel that accompanying these bodies home is an honourable thing to do.

Today I travelled to Vietnam in an airplane. I was very excited as I had never been overseas or on an airplane.  When we arrived we hopped on a truck that had seats all around the edge of the covered tray. There were about 9 other men with me, who would also be accompanying the bodies back. For dinner the food was not the best and we all slept in a large dormitory (the beds are not that comfortable).

12:00 pm 17th March 1967 (lunch time)

For the past 3 days it has been our job to collect the bodies from the war site and put them in big green bags. At first the smell nearly made me throw up, but in the end you get used to yet. The idea of death is something that is becoming less scary to me, yet it is something that I don’t want to get used to. Every time I put one of the bodies into the bag I think of home and of my little brothers and how they are lucky that they were not old enough to be enrolled in that lottery.

Once the bodies are in the bags, they are loaded (like cattle) onto a truck. One by one they are stacked on top of each other, like they are just sacks of potatoes. I feel  it is disrespectful to them and their families, who have already gone through so much, but I know that the resources we have, have to be used sparingly.

When the trucks are loaded to the brink, they roll out  one at a time. It is like a long road where you couldn’t see the end, they just keep coming and coming. To think that we are losing that many men is outrageous. For a war that no one even wanted to fight in!

The bodies travel to Saigon were they will be identified before being sent home. Our next job is to go to the mortuary and help the men there. Soon new men will be arriving to take over our job and they will accompany those bodies home too.

6:30pm 20th March 1967 (just finished work and about to have dinner)

 When I first got this diary I aimed to write in it every day but I have been really  exhausted. The people in charge have been working us hard.  When we first arrived we had colour in our faces and were perky, now we are a grey colour making it look like we have aged at least 10 years.  Our skin hangs from the weight loss due to our poor diet. Every day we wake up at 6am and only stop at lunch before continuing to 6pm. The men I am with think it is hard, but I seem to be the only one who takes it in my stride. There is one thought that keeps running through my head the whole time. It is ‘I’m not fighting and I have it easy’. I think  this is my motivation to continue on (not that I have much choice).

We travelled to Saigon the previous day and are now starting our new job at the mortuary. It is not as bad as I thought it would be. I find it quite peaceful as we can pay the respect to these soldiers that they deserved. It is my job (along with Bill, who I have gotten to know well) to bring the bodies to the person who is identifying them from the deep freeze lockers. It is nice and cool in the mortuary, which is a pleasant relief from the humid weather outside. These men have died not only from gunshot wounds or dehydration but also from malaria. The men are all different, from men with curly heads to kinky-hairs and crew-cuts to balding non-coms. They have all paid the ultimate price with their lives.

Once they are all tagged with their identification, they are put back onto trucks and transported to the airport at Tan Son Nhut. It is about an hour’s drive. In a few days’ time, I to, will be making the same journey. For now I stay at the mortuary.

I’m starting to miss my family and I’m thinking of them often. This job has given me a lot of time to reflect on what I would like to happen in my life. When I get home, I would like to settle down and get married (might need to get a girlfriend first), before having a couple of kids.

Anyway that’s it for now. Next time I write in this journal I’ll be on the airplane home.

2:00pm 25th March 1967 (on the way home)

The identifying took a little longer than we thought. When we arrived at the airport the first thing I noticed was how loud the planes are! It reminds me of the noise when there is a storm on the way, like a constant roll of thunder. I never noticed it on the way here because of my nerves and excitement. On the tarmac there are all of these jets lined up, waiting for their next command. It is like the calm before the storm.

The bodies are below where we were sitting. It is saddening seeing them all piled on top of each other, just like our luggage was. They are handled with care though. I think of the people whose job it is to tell the families that their son or father has died. It must be a devastating job. As  I look out the window now we are just flying over the Pacific. The coasts swing upward with the old ridiculous curvatures of earth. I can see the knuckled hills, the mangrove-swamps and the desert emptiness. I’m thankful to be home.

We are about to land now. It has been a long trip back. This will be my last diary entry and the end to my journey. When we land, someone else will take the bodies to their respective homes. I am thankful for this opportunity to see what war is really like and for witnessing the devastating things that happen. Hopefully people will read this diary and understand what we went through “back then”. I also hope that future generations don’t have to go through what we have gone through. There is only one thing that I regret about this trip. It is that we are bringing them home, too late, too early.