A DREAM

I dreamed I was sitting in an armchair, listening to the wireless. My chair was half turned away from the radio, towards the door. I felt younger than I am; I mean I felt more dependent, and more open to rebuke from superior and older people.

I was one of a family circle, but it didn't seem quite to be my family; I think it was a little tea-party, but the tea table was now cleared, and out of the corner of my eye I caught the reflection of the light in the polished table.

There was conversation, but I, turned slightly away, did not join in it. There were the light voices and laughter of the children, and the graver sounds of the grown-ups, and the deep voice of the man on the wireless.

The elder girl — I don't know whose elder girl — I have an elder sister, if that is relevant — the elder girl came in with some toffees.

"Give me them," said the mother. The elder girl laughingly refused, and hid them.
"If you don't give me them," said the mother, "I'll tear this," and she took up some sewing work which the elder girl had been doing, and pulled it.Then she put it back on the table.
"There, it's not torn,"she said,but I had heard the fabric give, and the mother looked anxious. Then, in some way vague to me, the toffee was passed round, and we all had a piece, even I, who had meant to go without, a martyr.

The children were listening to the man on the wireless. He was telling a prosy story, but the children found it funny, since they were listening for words to which they could give double meanings.Every time the man said a word which could be regarded as a reference to evacuation, lavatories, or the private parts of the body, the children squirmed with glee. The grown-ups found this embarrassing, and were pretending not to understand.

At last it was time for the children to go home. They crossed over to the door, now in my full sight, three boys dressed in torn pieces of a red banner. They had been playing soldiers. As they neared the door,they turned to exchange a last smile with the boy of the house, who was still at the table. Their eyes were dancing; they were thinking of the funniest of the wireless man's jokes. The boy in the middle was slightly taller than the other two; he was very beautiful.

They went out, but instead of going to the front door, they went upstairs. I could hear their footsteps mounting. I was surprised, then I realized they had gone up to change, they couldn't go out in the streets like that.

Then the boy of the house got up and went out; he was not a very nice boy to look at, but I felt kindly towards him.

Somehow the wireless had stopped, and I felt alone. I rose and walked towards the door. As I did so, the door opened and a little child ran in, dressed all in white. It had not run three steps in my direction when it slipped, seemed to fall gently sideways, and vanished.This came to me like a sad explanation, as if all the children were dream children, and I was very lonely, with no one to play with but the children who had died long ago.

I went to the door, and then turned to look back at the room. The light had gone out, and I could not see the end of the room where the wireless was; a grey light showed the nearer objects; furniture cold and lonely, but nothing moving. The room was silent and chilly. I went out into the hall. Still the thought of the children on my mind, but veiled in choking despair. Out in the hall there was nothing. No carpets or lino on the floor. A door, half open,led to the kitchen. I peeped in; absolutely and bare. In the front room was no furniture. The paper on the walls was very old and faded. It was an empty house; it had been empty for years. All the way up the uncarpeted stairs, where I had just heard the boys' footsteps go, was thick dust, undisturbed by any foot.The dust of years.

I leaned my head on the cold carved bannister-post and wept.
"There are too many ghosts in this house," I said. My heart ached for the lonely house, and for all the children who listened every night to the man on the wireless, and went upstairs every night to change, but never went home. I knew now they were the ghosts of the children who had grown up, and now did not exist, anywhere at all. I would never find them, they would never find themselves. All the wrongs they had suffered, all the little injustices, could never be made up to them now. Sorrow came too late. They were lost for ever.

I tip-toed to the heavy front door, and turned the rusty key, which screamed in the lock, and I went out of the lonely house, on to the steps which lead down to the empty street, grey with morning light.

Dan Billany 1939

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