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George lies on his bed in the dark. I sit in the chair by the window curtains drawn. I could have gone through to the room next door adjoined by a door where his man used to sleep before the War. He joined George's regiment but was killed just after George's brain gave way on the Somme. I sit in case he wakes and panics if I'm not here. His parents are not happy that I am here with him but he insists I am his wife not the maid he used to bed while home on leave and before. The nurse he had left after George refused to have her in the room and only me to be there. I wish he was well and back to how he was not this broken man who lies on his bed in the  dark moaning through another nightmare. I peer through the slit where the curtains meet.   I see a narrow wedge of field and trees and sky. I wonder what god it was who brought George back but left his man to die.
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Apr 28, 2017
Apr 28, 2017 at 9:50 AM UTC
POLLY IN THE DARK 1917.
George lies on his bed in the dark. I sit in the chair by the window curtains drawn. I could have gone through to the room next door adjoined by a door where his man used to sleep before the War. He joined George's regiment but was killed just after George's brain gave way on the Somme. I sit in case he wakes and panics if I'm not here. His parents are not happy that I am here with him but he insists I am his wife not the maid he used to bed while home on leave and before. The nurse he had left after George refused to have her in the room and only me to be there. I wish he was well and back to how he was not this broken man who lies on his bed in the  dark moaning through another nightmare. I peer through the slit where the curtains meet.   I see a narrow wedge of field and trees and sky. I wonder what god it was who brought George back but left his man to die.
A MAID AND HER MASTER IN 1917.
TerryCollett
Written by
Apr 28, 2017
Apr 28, 2017 at 9:50 AM UTC
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