Y6 writing: Piano

My fingers float like clouds over the well-polished keys of the ancient oak piano, creating the magical, wonderful tune. Deep inside my heart, a sleeping creature stirs, and a chest of dreamy, happy memories is unlocked, releasing precious treasures. I am hollow with grief – yet my anguished soul is soothed by the gentle serenade.

 My mind is washed over by the sweet memory of my dear wife. I almost feel her now, her neat, pretty hands accompanying me with the soft musical dream. I am at peace – my soul is mourning but receives comfort from endless pleasurable memories. Oh, how I miss that lovely lady – but I remember her with everlasting, happy and tranquil memories.

I remember the day I met her, at a piano concert in Exeter. A beautiful young woman – slim, willowy and with a bright grin – slipped into the chair next to me and her deep blue eyes locked into mine. Unsurprisingly, I loved her straight away, and she loved me back. I asked her out to dinner, and we had the night of our lives; our seed of love grew to a full-blooming flower. Needless to say, we were married in the spring, under the sweet-scented cherry blossom trees of Japan.

Stretching back even further, I remember the war – a mess of terror, blood and horrifying memories that would haunt you for the rest of your life. I remember the cold, dark nights and the days which were so terrifying you didn’t want to wake up in the morning; you were afraid that it would be you who would be taken away on the cart full of “brave men who had given their lives in service of England”. More like forced to die because of some rich person had a feud. And worst of all, I remember my beloved brother’s death.

It was the worst day of my life. My brother and I, young medics who were rescuing some captured men (wounded, bleeding and full of memories no one wanted to imagine). Luckily, the men were just strong enough to haul themselves to safety. Just as we were leaving, we heard a faint gunshot firing in the distance, and my brother did the most foolish, most brave thing I had ever seen. He stepped out to challenge the enemy. He was shot instantly, and he fell to the ground with a heavy thud. Immediately, I was wracked with grief; I already knew my brother was dead.

 I miss him every day since he died. My heart cracked in two and nothing will ever replace the special place in my heart that was torn away by that terrible death. His gruesome death will haunt me forever; the person who had always cared for me, shot down by a cruel murder.

The music becomes soft and sad. Memories flow into my head, so near I could almost reach out and touch them. Happily, I speed up, weaving a joyful tune like a lady spinning thread on a wheel. I remember a simpler time with no worries, just a flurry of new things to see, learn and explore.

My parents were poor, hardworking but poor. I did not expect them to hand me such a beautiful handcrafted present. Carefully, I opened, the sky-blue lid off, to reveal the first toy I had ever been given. I gasped with joy and surprise. It was wonderful; I could not believe my eyes gently, I lifted out the glossy wooden horse, and mounted it like a real pony (it was to me). Eagerly, I galloped around the room, a cowboy one minute, a cavalry officer the next. Oh, how many hours of delight came from that toy, my most prized possession ever! A soft clatter of hooves announces my grandson’s arrival, with a cheeky grin plastered over his freckled, blue-eyed face. His innocence is charming, and his beaming smile is infectious – but most of all, I am delighted with his love of that precious hobby horse. Despite all of his wonderful new toys, it always brings joy to me hart that he loves it as much as me.

I am proud. Proud of myself, my grandson, my life and my family. Although it was not perfect, I wouldn’t change it for anything. Anything.

Writer: Anonymous