Somme.

Futures unfinished … Families discontinued … a generation of war…

I’ve walked the trenches, descended the craters, slept upon the fields in beautiful summer months.

I’ve wandered the footpaths through farmer’s field and followed the regimental line; places for rest.

All as a child of 14.

I stumbled across a shell, not from sea but sorrow.

I wondered at twisted metal from boot and braces, so casual in their abundance. Obvious illustrators of affliction, unknown to the living.

So young was I, so young were they.

The stories told in visitor books will stay with me for life – those others unimaginable, no word to describe. Yet, somehow the land will speak, the past can be felt. No words, no pictures, no artefact needed.

To sit with poppies, grasses, earth. To look upon, walk upon the scars and know that I am truly a visitor to this place.

The land is theirs and they are this land… For eternity remains unfinished.

 

 

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