The Writers' Circle

'I thought I would always remember this, but overtime it has become blurred.' Eric murmured in disbelief as he stared down at the faded photograph.
His granddaughter Anna was doing a world war two project at school. He knew she was coming so had pulled the old shoebox from the back of the wardrobe which contained the few treasures from his childhood. But now his memories of the time were like a looking at a jigsaw with pieces missing.
 'I travelled by train, we left early in the morning, I can't remember what time. I remember the windows of the train steamed up from us all trying to get a last glimpse of home.' He shook his remembering the feeling of adventure which had quickly given way to fear.
'I don't remember mum saying she wouldn't be joining us, no doubt she did, but I just kind of assumed I that she would move too. I didn't expect it to be three years until I saw her, back home it a city I no longer recognised.' He shook his head as the sense of bewilderment he had felt upon returning to his war torn street. He still could not believe how anyone had survived. Even now when he saw a burnt out house or demolition site he was transported back to the quivering shell of a thirteen year old boy, overwhelmed by memories and fear. He couldn't imagine what it would have been like if he had actually been there when the bombs were falling. It was something he never had spoken in detail to his mum about. Every time he had tried her eyes had filled with tears and she had withdrawn in to herself. It hurt him that ever since the war there had been a distance between them and no matter how hard they had tried it could never be resolved.
'Was it far granddad, did it take long on the train?'
'At the time it seemed like forever, but I know now it could only have been a few hours.' He smiled remembering the changing landscape as they travelled away from the towns and out into the open spaces of the country which had seemed so new and exciting.
He couldn't remember how he had ended up with the Brown's or how they had got from the station to the cottage. It was such a strange site, a single building perched on the edge of a cliff. It had been the first time he had ever smelt the sea air. He couldn't remember the address, although if you took him to Pemberton sands beach he could easily navigate you up the hill, through the country lanes until you reached the cliff overlooking the sea and the little cottager he had begun to call home. Sometimes when he stood in the sun on a summer's day he could almost smell the salt in the breeze, even though the sea was miles away; funny how the memory could play tricks on you.
 It was strange the things you remembered and the things that were forgotten. For instance he could remember the name of the Brown's dog, Jack but he found himself reaching for the name of the local boy with whom he had spent hours at the beach with. He remembered he was tall, well at least taller than Eric and that his favourite food was jam sandwiches but he couldn't even remember the boy's hair colour. The faded black and white photograph did nothing to help. He could however remember how his own fair hair had bleached from the hours playing in the sun; his mum had said she hardly recognised him upon his return what with his bleached hair and tanned skin. Eric looked at his granddaughter sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him, her normal position preferring the floor to any chair. She always insisted that it was more comfortable. Her resemblance to her mother was uncanny in the same way that everyone had always known Jane was his daughter with her blonde hair and petite stature.
'Its difficult to remember, so much has happened since.' He tried to explain. 'It was a happy time. It was almost as if the war was happening somewhere else, the only impact on us was the rationing of food and the lack of men on the streets. Our world was a sheltered one, full of female role models and stories of the heroes fighting for our freedom. I never really realised the fully extent of things until we returned home. Suddenly the stories of the bombings we had heard on the radio were real and the destruction of war surrounded us. So many of my friends had lost their father's or brothers; everyone knew of someone who had lost their lives. And many of those who were lucky enough to return from the continent never seemed the same again.' He sighed and revealed his inner thoughts to Anna, it was important that the children of today fully understood the horrors of that time. 'In the moment many of us young boys wished we could join up and fight, live the adventure which we were sure was taking place. But since I've heard the stories and know the reality of the war, I'm glad I was too young. There was no way I could have coped with the scenes those men faced, they deserve to be upheld in our society and remembered for the rest of time.'
Anna stood up and threw her arms round her granddad 'I would hate it to happen now. I can't imagine being separated from you and mum.'