Our Fathers, my mother.

To be in this place, neither here nor there…And I am anxious,  lonely and wan.The powers which have us here have robbed us, have charged us double for our stay, rent here, rent there. Not enough to sustain our utilities, they communicate not, about the reconstructed Home. I dread the unpacking, almost as moving house again.

It is nice here, isolated from the Town, next to a huge Necropolis- her father has a plaque there, he was a hero at war, a beast at home, neither one nor the other.

And what has this to do with Jesus, who experienced all things without yielding? How knew he this man of war, walked he with him along the Kakoda trail,  within the Italian P.O.W. Camp?

Christ within and Chist without, all manner of people in this vaste lonely world.

Our saving Lord has surely walked the earth through eons and eons. His cross the linch pin which holds amid it the spiralling universal plan that all shall be very well. 


The, pain and death amid the trenches, teeth awaiting their doom, to fall out some 18 years later, my father who spoke of humour, jokes, Cockroach races with German prisoners, as trains, he drove them across, across. Not of the death, the horrors, the enemy. Men like him, with child and wife, the bucket brigades each blitz to save her patients from fearsome fire- my mother.

Where were you then? I was within all men wrestling amid myself as prayers came up in hopeful faith from one side and the other.


I died for these to set them free from war and demons and death. They need not fear the second death as foe and foe embrace with love, the ghosts of war I banish, laying them low, alive and well.


I don’t know why this came to me now.??

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