Ivor Gurney’s speaker is a signaller repairing a cable on a wet winter evening when a sudden, vivid vision of home comes to him: the tea-table, his mother’s soothing face, his smiling sisters. The memory is so clear and sweet that he doesn’t jolt awake—he simply breathes in deep contentment, as if it were real. Only after a few moments does he realize it is a dream. Then the vision fades, and the raw smell and feeling of the trench close in again. He turns back to work, carrying the ache of that lost warmth. The mood is quiet and melancholy, full of homesickness, but also tender: home feels close for one fragile instant before reality returns.
The Signaller's Vision — Summary
One rainy winter dusk Mending a parted cable, Sudden I saw so clear Home and the tea-table. So clear it was, so sweet, I did not start, but drew The breath of deep content Some minutes ere I knew My Mother’s face that’s soother Than autumn half-lights kind, My softly smiling sisters Who keep me still in mind, Were but a dream, a vision-- That faded. And I knew The smell of trench, trench-feeling-- And turned to work anew.