The Dream

In memorium * He put his rifle safe, pulled up the blanket against the cold.The Spring rain dripped in rivulets down his trench wall. The blossoms of the hops would be just flowering back home. He dreamed on of the girl he met on his last leave. In this hell on earth, to dream was to live, for a few moments; to escape the monotony of this endless unreality. The face of his mother, filled this dream, Harriet was crying, whispering her love; hopelessness had permeated his last letter. He awoke, suddenly with a start, It was time; the big push was on. The ‘final battle’ the officer had said. Perhaps I will be on furlough for harvest, he thought, smiling inwardly, day-dreaming for a second or two, he joined the line. ‘Into your hands O lord’ the Padre’s murmured benediction the last words, he heard. *Albert Strand 1890-1918