Field of Heroes

Field of Heroes

Yesterday I stood in a field of heroes
I was visiting my own hero, my dear Dad
Cemeteries have a special aura
Of calm and peace and … sadness
My Father’s grave had bright flowers on it
A relief to all the greyness around there

A couple of paces away lay my maternal Grandparents
My Gran had died the day before my eighth birthday
Grandad five years later
They were both special people:
She a Lady’s maid until her heart was stolen
By the cheeky chap with the roguish grin
He was a hero too – a soldier of the ‘Great’ War
Who lost a leg serving King and Country
But managed to turn that tragedy into fun
By playing spoons on his legs
Laughing at my astonished look by the differing sound
Sharing the same grave is my Uncle
He visited every Sunday,
Presented me with a shiny half-crown
And played games too

Opposite them, lying side by side
Are his sister and her husband
Uncle George served his country too
In World War Two he was part of the Dunkirk ‘miracle’
And for the forty years following the incident
Wore his veteran’s blazer with pride
My Aunt was a proud woman
Proud of him, and the cosy home she made for them

I looked up and saw the thousands of graves around me
Each contained a hero in someone’s eyes
For each departed person was loved by someone
Father, Mother, Brother, Sister, Husband, Wife, Son, Daughter
That thought comforted me, and made me sad too
For each of us must inevitably suffer the heartache
As our own special beloved kin die
And are either scattered by the breeze
Or buried in a similar field of heroes

© Christine L. Coles – January 2002