Did I imagine that romantic story? –
England 1919, and the war just over,
It was raining hard, and she could see
A soldier, looking lost, was getting wet.
Her umbrella offered decent room for two:
And that was how they met.
He didn’t rejoin the Dublin Fusiliers,
Didn’t go back to Ireland,
Little work there, lots more rain.
Better to stay and be a British husband.
Did our mother really tell us this,
Or does remembrance misconstrue?
She was never given to romancing,
But it could still be true.
Send Letters To:
The Editor
London Review of Books,
28 Little Russell Street
London, WC1A 2HN
letters@lrb.co.uk
Please include name, address, and a telephone number.
