Pain on top of pain
As I watched a tear run down my grandpa’s face I realised the First World War hadn’t ended.
This proud man with clipped military moustache and silver hair sat in a chair across from front of me.
This was 20 years ago. I was a teenager and had been ushered in slightly reluctantly to talk to him on one of his visits.
We chatted awkwardly for a while. I’m not sure how it came up but he started to recall what happened in 1916 when his father died 70 years before.
There was just me and him in the room, a ticking clock and rain on the windows.
He cleared his throat and paused. He straightened his…
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