War through a Childs Eye

This is a story which my husband wrote in 2002 about his experience of the war as a child.

As I lie here of sleep deprived,
I cast my mind to the years I thrived,
As a babe in arms my memory flashes,
Of bonfire flames and firework crashes,
With crowded streets and excited squeal's,
At rocket launch and Catherine Wheels

Then later as a child of three,
When a family friend came home from sea,
Presented me to my great delight,
With a copper coin for a London Light.
That left a memory that will not fade
Of a cellar flames and the fire brigade.

My next impression in those early years,
Was moving house and the many tears,
Shed while lost in this building vast,
The whereabouts of my new home were cast,
Is the beginning of a traumatic time?
For the year we moved was Thirty Nine.

The war years started with a sudden blare,
Of a sirens howl the panic and despair.
As a watchful aunt runs to end our play,
To make us safe and out of harms way,
The experience gained was less than kind,
Of the times to come in this Childs mind.

The air-raid warning breaks the sleep,
While toddlers roused began to weep
As Mother busies herself with their comfort,
To wrap them warm for their speedy transport,
For the cellars far below the ground,
Where heat, light and solace were to be found.

Our flight to the safety of the stairs,
Was brightly lit by parachutes flares,
To add to the panics of those nights,
The probing fingers of the searchlights,
As they swept and searched the throbbing sky,
To expose our tormentors, to the gunners eyes.

The firework crash that once was fun,
Was replaced by the boom of the Ack-Ack gun,
Whose lethal missiles sought the planes,
While their deadly cargoes fell like rain,
Of exploding bombs and incendiaries,
That crashed on our home and factories.

The rockets launch changed to a star shell,
And the Catherine wheel to a phosphorous hell,
The bonfire flames from our homes and factories,
All this I recall in my sleepless reveries,
To a small child it can be an awful fright,
An air-raid is quite an awesome sight.

In those early years the only respite,
If our sleep had been broken the previous night
Was the allowance of one hour the following day.
As we headed for school in a bleary eyed way,
But always alert with an eye on the ground,
Where pieces of shrapnel were there to be found,

Then gradually as the months went by,
And the threat diminished from the eastern sky,
Guarded by the gun and barrage balloon,
Attacks grew less and were over soon,
People relaxed and settled to life,
Heartily glad at the end of the strife.

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