Eddie Wainwright
The Last Day
‘Lord, dismiss us with Thy blessing’ .... At the end
of every term, we sang this hymn more sweetly
than the most soulful choristers in the land,
to celebrate the final day. Each term’s
had its special feel: Christmas was twilit,
magical, awesome, solemn;
summer buzzed with excitement
at the promise of golden days in the sun.
But that last day of the last year meant
quite other things: leaving home
to soldier on in Hitler’s war,
learning to be alone,
to weep quietly in the dark. This first
last day was not the worst,
neither was it the saddest,
but it was my first true taste
of the lostness of lost time,
of lacrimae rerum, the waste
at the heart of things. ‘Those
who here shall meet no more’ ....
I heard the door behind me sigh, then close.
Page(s) 70
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