Grandmother stories

Looking at my favourite photograph
your image pressed between sepia and glass
held together by an old mottled wooden frame
nostalgic memories flooded my mind of the many
stories you shared with me...

one of which.

steam billowed through the blackened arches of
Victoria station carrying cargo of wartime heroes

“ the aroma held a taste of so many unknown emotions” you said.
the platform overwhelmed.
Flooded with hopeful, frantic loved ones awaiting the return
of servicemen returning from their trench-time duties.

The train rumbled in.
A piercing screech bringing it to a halt.
Servicemen clad in woollen khaki uniforms,
laden with bunches of flowers, and a back-pack full
of personal belongings, spilled from the carriages.

You sat patiently-
upon an iron slatted bench,
fanning away haunted apprehensions;
inhaling high expectations of hope.

The scent of romance and grief carved
through the musty atmosphere.
Arms embraced the brave greeting their fortune.
So many hearts again reunited, while many were sadly pick-pocketed and
stole forever by the enemy.

..and there holding a bunch of half-dozen
wilted yellow roses in one hand
with the other set in a sling,
was the man you fell in love with-
your husband to be (my grandfather).

and his words..

“ hello my darling, i’m sorry but this is
the nearest promise I made to you
that I would be back home in one piece”