Welcome Home Son

Not all the troops could come home in time; ships were either delayed or unavailable, units had to be sorted out for withdrawal, and other matters that dragged out the need to get home. He was not upset about that, but these delays did not make matters any better; he had survived blatant mass murder, see societies and people crumble in flame and debris, and saw friend he knew from school – best buddies – killed. He remembered one friend who asked for a light; a shell whistled in and exploded near; when he looked his friend no longer existed.

The war is over, thank God; but only when he got home and got this uniform off would that statement rings true.

He saw home, good’ ol’ blighty, and hope he be welcomes like the others; he had heard the stories. He did deserve it even though he was exhausted and disillusioned.

It was when he stepped off the ship, that’s when it hit him. Days ago, there were the parades, the celebrations, the cheers, and the warm greetings that were thrown, hurled in volume at the first wave of men to return from the front; they were treated as heroes, gods, and idols. The war had been won and they deserved the love and respect for their sacrifices.

However, that were days ago.

No one was here to greet the returned; the mass had done their bit, and to be fair they could not stay there all the time to welcome every trooper; still it would have been nice to see some groups of people there, showing they care.

His mind was mixed with emotion, but relief was the strongest one, followed by bitter disappointment; he and his lot deserved a parade but understood but it still hurt. As the rain pitter-pattered on his helmet he walked along the harbour figuring out what to do. He took out a cigarette and lit it – it always helped him think, and calm nerves.

As he lifted his head up to take in the first puff a man walked up to him; the guy looked worn, old, but had a welcoming manner with a peak cap. He was not alone; there were others, some hauling carts, but all following him.

The man came up to him and offered something more welcoming than a parade, and a medal – a mug of hot tea, steam rising from the cup. The Trooper just smiled.

“Here you go son” said the man in a gruff but welcoming tone “welcome home”..”
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This is a story based on a few relative’s references to returning from the Second World War. Not all got the parade, or the welcome, but there were those ready no matter the day.

Today is Remembrance Day and I wanted to do a wee tribute to it – but not just about Remembrance Day but to all who return from war, and that their efforts are not either in vain or to be disregarded.

I wanted to do something different and a picture inspired by these stories was a great motivator – there is minimal here but enough to show; it may be a bit cartoony but I wanted to do something small, modest but hopefully with impact.

Like to hear your thoughts please; comment welcome.