I stagger over to the pile of lifeless bodies in Laval France.
I see my brothers tired worn out face, like a toy he once played with when he was young,
The toy he got bored with
the toy he broke and gave to the less fortunate
the toy that went out of fashion and quickly had to be replaced to keep his reputation,
the muddy toy that wound me up.
The toy I called my brother
the toys the government took for granted like little spoilt boys at Christmas, deciding which toy to play with first and which to to save till later.
My not so little brother Edward I could no longer fix.
he had no replacement parts left,
His time had gone
My brother has gone
RIP Edward Harold Brittan 1895-1918