This just about say it ALL REALLY …..
When I was a little girl,I would sit waiting near the front door after I finished my breakfast, waiting for my Dad to come home. A key in the lock,and I would run to hug a man whoreekedof smoke and petrol and boot polish, aman who sometimes came home quiet and shaken, and didn’t often talk about his working days and nights.
I overheard glimpses of conversation,tinybabies carried lifeless down ladders,a mum found dead in bed with her childrencuddled incloseand anashtray on the bedroom floor.A man trapped in a burning caravan, his charred corpse found huddled and clawing at the door.The burning buildings loomed large in fitful nightmares, and to me, my dad was a hero. As were his watch, a loud group of muscular men who we would visit on weekends, share…
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