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WWII RP!I
Chatterbox: Inkwell
WWII RP!I
WWII RP!
I'm creating this RP today in honor of FDR, who died on this day in 1945.
This RP will be about the Allied invasion of France (D-Day) in 1944. Some backround: The invading Allies are Britian, the U.S., and Canada. France is occupied by the Germans and the Allies have been planning the invasion for over a year. They will invade five beaches in Normandy, the northern coast of France, on June 6, 1944.
Okay. Your character can be an Allied soldier, a German soldier, a French civilian and/or spy, or a nurse/doctor/medic. One character per person, please. The limit for now is seven people, but that might get bigger depending on what I decide.
Here's the charrie sheet and my character:
Name: Jerry Meade
Age: 19
Position (if applicable): Private in U.S. Army.
Appearance: Dark curly hair, dark eyes, somewhat shortish.
Personality: Dogged and determined, generally good-natured, with a wry sense of humor, eager to prove himself and very sincere about everything he does.
Bakcground: He's from New England and has three younger brothers and sisters. When this RP starts, he is in southern England with the rest of the Allied army, waiting for the invasion.
Hobbies/skills: A musician; he plays the harmonica for his fellow soldiers; he also has a knack for writing.
What other people think of character: Most people think well of him, but don't have much respect for him.
P.S. You don't need to know much about history to do this RP. Have fun!
submitted by Isabelle K., age 13, Connecticut
(April 12, 2016 - 10:48 am)
(April 12, 2016 - 10:48 am)
PLEASE TOP!!!!!!!!!!
PLEASE TOP!!!!!!!!!!
PLEASE TOP!!!!!!!!!!
PLEASE TOP!!!!!!!!!!
PLEASE TOP!!!!!!!!!!
PLEASE TOP!!!!!!!!!!
PLEASE TOP!!!!!!!!!!
PLEASE TOP!!!!!!!!!!
PLEASE TOP!!!!!!!!!!
PLEASE TOP!!!!!!!!!!
PLEASE TOP!!!!!!!!!!
PLEASE TOP!!!!!!!!!!
PLEASE TOP!!!!!!!!!!
(April 28, 2016 - 8:48 am)
Okay, here's my first part. It's VERY long, sorry!
Madeline~
"Salut, Anais!"
"Au revoir, Madeline!" says Anais turning to hop on her bicycle. I pull my bike out of the bike-rack and wave one last time to Anais before I start to peddle home.
It's been a comme ci comme ça day. We had our regular school day: language class, math, reading and writing, afternoon break, and then science. Now I'm on my way home.
I push my feet down on the peddles getting into the rhythm: down, swish, down, swish... Getting nearer to my house I see my neighbor Mirabell playing in the yard. She waves to me. I wave back. She is a play-mate for my sister, Onna. Sometimes Onna and Mirabell let Normie play with them, but they make it clear that they don't want to play with boys often. The funny thing about that is Onna and Normie are twins and only five years old!
"Bonjour, ma mere," I call out. Expecting to see ma mere in the kitchen, I'm surprised to see Aurelie instead.
"Bonjour. Where is ma mere?"
"She went to the bakery," Aurelie informs me in her short and straight-to-the-fact manner.
"What for?" I inquire.
"For dinner," says Aurelie. I sigh, that doesn't help me understand what for and why anymore than I could guess. I still don't get why ma mere would go to the bakery; we were in the midst of the war, and ma mere is very careful about the rations that restrict us. She grows vegetables in her garden and manages her purchased items frugally. I'm always amazed at how she produces so much food from just a garden behind our brownstone; she manages to feed nine people including herself, mon pere, and our brother Hugo, who, only eleven, has the appetite of a grown man. Ma pere says he has a hollow leg!
My thoughts go back to why ma mere would be at the bakery as I plop down my school bag and start to take off my shoes. So absorbed in pondering this occurrence, I do not notice that Normie has snuck up to me in his creeping manner. You never notice when Normie enters or leaves a room, he is so quiet, and I guess the right word to describe him would be stealth. He always has said that if the war is going on when he is eighteen-old enough to enlist- he will become a spy for the allied army. I secretly think he would make a fine spy, but I don't say anything to him about it because he would then start hoping the war won't end until he can be a spy for the Allied army. All our prayers must go to stopping the war, making the world a more peaceful place, and to the safe keeping of the brave soldiers who are fighting in the Allied army.
“Ou’est-ce que tu veux, Normie?(What do you want, Normie?)” I say while still struggling to take off my shoes.
“Une histoire.(A story),” says Normie, looking at me with his big round saucer eyes. He has ma mere’s eyes. Those big round saucer-like eyes that sparkle with mysteries. I never know what he is thinking about; he never lets on. I have my mon pere’s eyes: not big-just the typical size and dark brown.
“Later, Normie, after I’ve finished all my work,” I say with a sigh. I wish I could tell him a story now, but Mrs. Bentley, my mathematics teacher, gave me a huge amount of schoolwork to do at home.
I watch Normie slowly walk out of the room. He looks a bit sad. “Wait, Normie!” I call out. “It’s a promise. I’ll tell you a story tonight.” He turns slowly then looks at me.
“Merci,Madeline.” He leaves the room with a happier walk than a minute before. I love when I make him happy.
Before I start to work on my studies I always take Onna, and sometimes Normie, over to Mirabell’s house. It’s really her only time to play with Mirabell because for the rest of the day she likes to be ma mere’s “little helper”-that’s what ma mere calls her. Onna always helps ma mere in the garden and in the cuisine(kitchen).
Calling out I say, “Onna, where are you?”
No response. I call out again.
“Qu'Est-ce que c'est, Madeline?” I hear in response.
“Time to go see Mirabell.”
“I’ll be right down!” she calls back. I wander into the kitchen while I wait for Onna to come downstairs. She is a bit pokey sometimes.
I glance out the window and my eyes are met with the picture of ma mere riding her bicycle. Over the day’s progress her hair, which was a bun in the morning, has now fallen loosely over her shoulders blowing in the soft breeze. Maxime is riding in the wicker basket on the front of ma mere’s bicycle. He has the biggest grin on his face like the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland. His chubby arms gripping the sides of the basket while ma mere petals on. What a sight! Ma mere looks lovely with her floral dress and her long brown hair, and then there’s Maxime who all the while is grinning, giggling, and poking the contents of the basket looking quite silly. He loves bike rides; I think they’re his favorite.
“Onna, hurry!” I call growing impatient.
“I’m coming, I’m coming!” I hear. Then after about a minute I hear her pitter, patter, pitter, patter...down the stairs.
“I’m ready,” she says pulling on her shoes and throwing on a sweater. I try to help button it but she turns away. “I can do it,” she solemnly states. I sigh. I was only trying to get her to go faster, but instead I slowed her down. Finally, after what feels like, forever she says she is ready to go. That took awhile.
I hold onto Onna’s hand and make sure her feet are firmly planted on the curb, away from all the business among the street. It was the busy time of the day. We waited a long time before there was a break in the traffic of bicycles and cars in order to cross. My grip on Onna’s hand was very firm; too firm, Onna had said later.
“Bonjour, Onna!” a voice calls out. We turn: It’s Mirabell.
“Bonjour, Mirabell,” I say. “Where’s your mere?” She looks at me for a second then answers.
“She’s around the back. Let’s play poupées de papier(paper dolls),Onna.”
“Oui de laisser(Yes, let’s).” And they ran off to the back.
I followed but at a slower pace. “Bonjour, Mrs. Legrand,” I call out.
“Bonjour, Madeline. Comment allez vous (how are you doing)?” she asks.
“Bien, merci,” I answer. Mrs. Legrand is weeding her garden. She and ma mere both love gardening. It’s too bad they can only have small plots.
“Au revoir,” I call and turn for home.
I run across the street when there’s a short break in the traffic. I climb our steep steps then open the door. The smell of ma mere’s cooking greets me. I hear kids calling and yelling from the street. I can only make out the jumble of these words.
“Au revoir!”
“ À toute à l'heure!(See you later!)”
“Salut!”
It’s my brother Pierre. I hold the door open for him as he puts away his bicycle. “Bonjour, Pierre,” I say. He looks up.
“Bonjour.” And that’s all he says. I can’t make sense of him lately, oh well. I’ll just have to try again another time.
(April 28, 2016 - 5:40 pm)
This is really short, I'm sorry. My mind seems to be blank at the moment.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Alice~
I laugh as my friend Betty tells a joke. The army has set up camp for the night, outside of a small town. Quaint little cottages dot the hills all around us, tiny lights flickering in the windows. I can't imagine how these peaceful people had gotten caught up in the war. Seeing a three small children playing inside of one home, I am filled with nostalgia. I miss my little siblings back home. Maybe after the war, after things settle down a bit, I will start my own family. I imagine myself rocking a baby by a warm fire, my future husband reading in a chair next to me. A feeling of contentment fills my body with warmth as I imagine my future. The war could change many things. I think. It could be very different a year from now. As of now, though, there's still hope for the future.
(April 29, 2016 - 5:12 pm)
I shall post again!
Jerry~ This waiting around isn’t doing our morale much good. But one thing that I’m glad of is that I’ve gotten pretty good at doing things like playing cards. That’s one of our favorite things to do. We gather around in a tight circle in the evenings and play poker or blackjack. We occasionally gamble, if we’re feeling up to it. Danny is usually lucky with cards, but I’ve gotten slowly better at tactics and such. I beat him now and then, to his disappointment.
But as it gets closer and closer to June, and the three days that are our only chance of invasion until July, I’m finding myself thinking more about what’s ahead than what we’re doing now. I think most of us are. We have no idea what might be waiting for us in France, or how hard it might be, or even if we’ll make it at all. And we all wonder when we’ll be leaving the safety of England.
Some mornings, when the sun is just rising above the sea, I go out to the chalk-white cliffs and look out over the Channel. The water is grey and choppy, crashing onto the rocks far below and echoing on the cliffs. Seagulls dive, shrieking, for fish and crabs and squabble over little bits of oyster. As far out as I can see, all there is is cold, icy water, roaring and pounding, stretching out far beyond the horizon in all directions like a grey sheet of metal. I can only imagine how we’re going to get across it it those rickety little landing crafts that look like one wave could tip them right over.
Danny finds me there by the cliffs one morning, standing with my hands clasped behind me and my face tilted up towards the sky. He stands behind me, contemplating, with a piece of bread and butter in his hands. Then he says through a full mouth,
“You look like some sort of sculpture.”
I turn around and grin. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Just sorta staring off into space. You didn’t move for minutes, I was watchin’ you from way back there.”
He breathes in deeply, enjoying the hearty air, and we both look out across the Channel.
“Ya know,” Danny says after a minute, “this really is the most important things in recent history, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I said quietly. I knew what he was talking about.
“And we’re pretty lucky to be part of it, don’cha think? I mean, if it really does work out, we’ll have helped with the downfall of—of the Third Reich and—and Hitler and—well, just think about how important that is! This invasion will be one of the most famous things in history!”
Danny gets ahead of himself sometimes, but I don’t feel like contradicting him. Anyway, I do agree. But he did say if it works out. We don’t know for sure. And that’s why we all get sick feelings when we think too much about it. It’s easier to think about cards, or music, or our family and friends at home.
Speaking of home, we get letters very often. I, particularly, sometimes get more than I can handle. First there’s Mom and Dad, who write every day, it seems like; then there’s Maggie, who’s seventeen and can prattle on about anything; Bobbie, who’s fifteen, also writes frequently and is full of questions about life here; and last of all (but not least), is ten-year-old Rachel, who can’t spell a thing the right way but means awfully well. I write as often as I can, and even though it’s a drag to get so many letters, it’s something to do besides sit around and play cards.
Another thing we do is learn German. Or try to. The thing is, someone decided that if we’re going to be interacting with Germans, we should learn their language. It didn’t sound so hard at the time. Now that we’ve tried it, however, I’ve learned that German is the craziest language you can imagine. And English is pretty crazy, mind you.
One time Danny said that I should know how to say “Put down your weapon” in German, since, according to him, we’d be saying that a lot. He said it was “Ich bin ein Dummkopf”. I went around telling everybody that “Ich bin ein Dummkopf” means “Put down your weapon” in German. Soon everyone was going around saying that to each other, until finally Danny found it too funny to keep quiet and erupted with laughter. He told us, through gasps of laughter, that “Ich bin ein Dummkopf” more or less means “I am an idiot”. How useful would that be to say to German soldier? Not very, I can tell you.
(April 30, 2016 - 4:29 pm)
TOP!
(May 3, 2016 - 6:57 am)
TOP!!!
(May 3, 2016 - 10:57 am)
I realized that I gave her a French last name, even though her father’s English. Oh well. This is a really short, kind of boring post, but I always feel like in RPs that I need to have a post to introduce my Charrie.
Jeanne~ People love to talk. I barely have to try to gather information. From the excited, pretty traitor being taken to her first dance by a Nazi, to the gossipy maid who needed someone to tell about the German soldiers she overheard talking in the street, people love to talk.
A seamstress has to be a good listener, a confidant, someone people trust; it is almost as important as being able to sew well.
I lock the doors to my small shop, and pull the makeshift curtains over the windows. Heading up the stairs to my tiny flat above the shop, I go over what I must get done the next day.
Soliel asked me to mend her best dress, and I have several formal gowns to get started on. Not to mention trying to find out something important from the Germans. Clare was going to help me with that. I step into my flat, and walk over to the window, looking out at the starry sky. Somewhere, I know my parents are under that same sky, and that gives me hope for the day to come.
(May 4, 2016 - 7:30 pm)
TTTTOOOOPPPPP!
(May 6, 2016 - 1:16 pm)
TOP!
(May 7, 2016 - 8:27 am)
TOP!
(May 8, 2016 - 8:46 am)
Top a little more!
(May 8, 2016 - 8:46 am)
TOP!
(May 10, 2016 - 7:16 am)
*Singing in an operatic fashion* TOOOOOOP! TOOP! TOPP! TOOOPPP! *Looks around sheepishly and runs off*
(May 10, 2016 - 4:18 pm)
Alice~
I'm within walking distance of my hometown. I desperately want to visit my family, but we have to keep moving. Speaking of my family, I have gotten a letter!
I miss my family terribly. Little Johnny with his golden curls, my mother yelling at bookish Imogen to get up and do something productive. Henry coming home every day with a new story, and my father's horrible yet funny jokes. Sighing, I read my letter for the fourth time today.
Dear Alice,
How are you? We all miss you very much. Just yesterday, Samuel said he wanted to be a soldier just so he could see you. I'm not sure that the army would accept a seven year old, though! Anyways, we are all doing very well. Henry has a new girlfriend, Annie Jenkins, the girl with the beautiful singing voice. Johnny said his first word, Mama, a week ago. Your mother has been gloating all week.
You are always in our thoughts, Alice. We love you.
Love,
Papa, Ma, Johnny, Imogen, Samuel, and Henry.
It makes me tear up every time. Taking out my stationery, I begin to write back. What should I say? These past few days have been very uneventful. I'm not complaining, it's just hard to wait when I know what is coming. Dearest family, I begin. I am doing very well.
~~~~~
Wow, this was really bad. I really don't know what's going on. When are we going to attack?
(May 10, 2016 - 8:32 pm)
NEVAH!!! Just kidding. I have no idea.
(May 11, 2016 - 6:01 am)