The Long Table

At Dunham Massey, a child encounters a dining table shaped by status, war and generations of history — but has a rather more practical question.

At Dunham, there's a table full of chairs.
I count to nine, then realise I've missed two.
Dad's somewhere back behind me on the stairs.
I start from one. It's easier to do.

The silver once went passing hand to hand,
each guest already knowing where to sit;
then wounded officers came here to dine,
though everything around them stayed the same.

A bandaged hand. A sleeve that's pinned up tight.
This chair could once have held one of those men.
Nine chairs. Or ten? I know that isn't right.
I turn around and start the count again.

I reach the end. Dad's halfway down the hall.
“How did they pass the salt that far at all?”