My Father's Son

The Cross is heavy in my hand. Dull bronze gun metal moulded from the captured Russian guns of the Crimean War, it bears the weight of time past. There is the memory of victory and defeat in its cold form. The tangled purple ribbon, modest among the bright campaign medals of the Hrst World War, called the Great War, 'the war to end wars', speaks of my father's courage, and his defeat by life. Turn it over. His name is carved into the steel. 2nd Lieut. H.V.H. THROSSELL A.J.F. 1915.