What the Last Page Said
A record kept, and a life quietly explained
The signal lamp burned green, and Thomas held it there with hands.
He has chosen mercy over obedience, and the train has passed him by.
The deserters rushed south through the storm, never knowing who had saved them.
It was Thomas, alone in his box, who had let them go free.
The great train vanished into the rain, its red lamp fading slowly.
Thomas has never felt so afraid and so at the very same time.
He has kept the line clear, and no soldiers waited to them.
It was mercy, not duty, that guided his trembling hand that night.
When the storm had passed, he opened the logbook and took up his pen.
He has written down everything, just as the old signalman once did.
But this time the page will not be torn out or hidden away.
It is the truth, he decided, that a record must always .
He has made his choice, and he has left it there for others to read.
The mystery of the missing page has finally been laid to rest.
The old man had run from his guilt; Thomas has chosen to face his.
Years passed, and the war at last came to its end.
Thomas has stayed at Wraythorn, keeping the quiet line through every season.
It was this lonely valley that had become the whole of his life.
Margaret has grown old in town, and her letters have slowly ceased.
One final letter reached her, written in his , careful hand.
In it he has explained, at last, the choice he made that night.
"It is not the medals," he wrote, "that show what a man is."
She has kept that letter, folded, until the day her own life ended.
Long after, someone found the logbook and read what Thomas had done.
It was one signalman's mercy, that stormy night, that no one ever forgot.