Not a name that I think of daily, but of late the first line of one of his poems has been marching through my head in a continuous loop.
| IF I should die, think only this of me; | |
| That there’s some corner of a foreign field | |
| That is for ever England. |
I sometimes think of all the crosses in the cemeteries at Normandy and other battlefields and wonder that each one represents a mother’s heart – and I guess a father’s too.
And maybe I am thinking this because I would like to die for something. After all, dying is inevitable, why can’t it stand for something as well. Perhaps that is what we should put on our tombstones – what we would have died for. But, then, like a beauty contest, so many would put world peace. I think I am not so altruistic; if it were necessary I would die for someone I loved. Not even have to think about it; do it in a heartbeat . . . or the lack of one.