Finale

 

I remembered the fresh young, boyish face, with the smooth unblemished skin and the amber-green eyes, as he stood there in the desert, with his crisp new tropical uniform.

His legs were pale under his khaki shorts and his pith hat fitted badly on the back of his head.

That was in October 1945, in Basrah in Iraq …and I was happy.

I cried myself to sleep, knowing that I should have told him then, that I loved him. I should have been fearless of the consequences. I should have sunk my pride; my stupid, worthless pride, which brought me nothing but shame and suffering in the years to come with the marriage to a man I did not love. I was a fool and I knew it... and I vowed then and there, to bring up our children in love... real love... without pride or prejudice or class ...and I knew in that instant of sanity and realism, in my deepest grief, that if I did that, then I would be in praise and in honour of the man I truly loved, respected and adored. The man who had given me everything I ever wanted in life and expected nothing in return, but my love A simple, loving, caring man... A MAN CALLED DARIUS...

 

The End