Anna felt the little hand tighten on hers and shake her arm. As she looked down this small face said in a distinctive Irish accent ” Mammy you said there would be Sunflowers, where are they?”

Anna and her young son stood there at the fork of the road the big field now empty,  massive craters, holes bigger than their farmhouse. Anna looked across to where the farmhouse stood the roof caved in, she could see the remains of her bedroom from where she stood. the wardrobe door swinging in the wind and inside her husband’s best suit still hanging on the hanger like a ghost welcoming her home,

She wiped a tear from her eyes as she remembered The smiles the laughter and the bright yellow fields, as she helped her husband bring in the harvest. The loneliness, the sorrow never before had she felt heartbreak like this.

She wanted to wail to scream and to shout and to throw herself on the earth, but she suddenly felt that tug on her hand again. Don’t cry `mammy” she loved that Irish lilt. He had grown up in Ireland and in just two short years he had taken on a now strange lilt distinctly Irish with no trace of his homeland.

She looked down at her son now and as she took his trusting hand in hers they began to walk towards home and she said ‘we’re home now, we’ll plant again and soon there will be Sunflowers again” After all she wasn’t the only widow of this war.