The GNR Line

The following is based on an account as told in the Mirror...

1917-2016, Derry/Donegal border, Northern Ireland.
     Francis Ledwige sat on the wooden bench in the palatial estate of Lord Dunsany.  If there was any place in the world, this was where he would live until the end of his days.  The Government House sat not far from a wooded area where fox hunts had been conducted not one hundred years ago.  He so loved the area, he had to write a poem about it in his journal.
     With the war well under way, the death of Archduke Franz Ferdinand had set the world on fire.  But here in the quiet of Northern Ireland, he could contemplate the joys of life.  Well, almost quiet, he thought, as the whistle of a military locomotive sounded in the distance, probably on the nearby GNR railway delivering supplies, or what have you.  He quite couldn't get away from the war.
     'Are you ready, Francis?' a voice spoke from behind.
     Francis turned to face his good friend and current resident of the Government House, Lord Dunsany.  Like Francis, he was dressed in his regal military garb for they were both officers of the British Royal Army.
     'I...' Francis hesitated.  'I suppose so,' he sighed.
     'You know they need the help,' Dunsany said.  'The Central Powers are gaining ground and they need every able body they can spare."
     With a heavy heart, Francis left the beautiful estate behind to lead others into battle.
     Shortly after their deployment, Francis Ledwige was killed by a land mine while fighting in Belgium in 1917.  He was 29-years-old.

Three years later, after the Great War, an American serviceman walked the GNR line from Donegal to Derry.  The U.S. military base was just a few miles back and he couldn't live any longer without his beloved.  He didn't care if he was AWOL.  Let the MPs come, he thought, I've gotta see her.  The hike following the rails to her would take him about half a day, but he had trudged through worse in central Europe.
     Once he had gotten to his cherished, the soldier found she did not wait for him and had moved on.  Finding her with another man had set him on a downward spiral, not knowing if he should win her back, or move on with his own life as she did hers.  Or were there other options?
     He heard the whistle of the distant locomotive and knew the train would soon be passing.  At that point in his life, the GNR line was his saving grace.  He had nothing else to live for, not even his country.
     As the train drew closer, the American soldier laid down across the tracks, using one of the rails as a pillow, and waited for the inevitable.  Not his darling -- former darling -- not the Army, nor America would ever see him again.

Almost one hundred years later, 34-year-old mother of two, Gerri Moran, hiked along the disused railway line.  Her kids walked out in front, laughing and enjoying the spring weather.  As they walked, Gerri took out her cell phone.
     'Look back here, guys,' she got the attention of her kids.  She snapped a picture of them, but only her son, Finn, turned to face her with a big smile.
     'Mom,' Finn said, embarrassed at his mother's affection.
     'I knew it,' Gerri's daughter said, 'I knew she was going to take our picture.'
     'Oh, you're no fun', said Gerri.
     The rest of the day passed wonderfully.
     When Gerri and her family arrived home that evening, she scrolled through her pictures and stopped at the picture of Finn and her daughter's backside in the woods along the old GNR railway line.  In it, standing in the background near a tree, was an eerie ghost of a soldier.