This dream was about a month before my dad died. He was in a nursing home and I used to visit him with my children. He always sat in a window seat overlooking the town. He waited endlessly for a train to arrive. All the staff in the home, in his mind, took on roles from a railway station, the station master, guards and porters. All this was interspersed with memories from his war years. The staff would call him for his tea, he would respond by asking if he should take his rifle. Normally they said that he need not bother. Once when my youngest son, Callum, entered the room, he was warned to duck down because of the high sniper risk, he immediately hit the floor. Mind you, for years I was terrified of the seaside after my Dad told me that a large scar on his chin was caused by a shell on an Italian beach. Also, a fall in the ward corridor instantly transferred itself to a real wound he received on a sharp edge of a Nissan hut in North Africa etc.
Eventually I suppose his train did arrive.
The dream caption is about me being able to save Callum and Richard but not my Dad. Not a train that is arriving though.
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