BENEATH THE STAIRS

BENEATH THE STAIRS

The night is dark, searchlights high,
A sleeping child at rest am I,
But sirens sound to break the peace,
The ARP patrol the streets.

Our baby wakes with little moans,
Another air raid chills the bones.
"You must take cover!" comes the shout,
"Hitler's hunting there's no doubt!".

I pull my quilt from off my bed,
And put the cover on my head,
My gas mask has orange ears,
It all steams up beneath the stairs.

The raid is bad, the night is long,
My mother tries to sing a song,
But, over all, the sound of guns
Is triggered off by horrid Huns.

The noise of battle comes in spurts,
And through it all my brother blurts,
"This thunder makes me frightened Mum."
"Don't worry dear, its just a bomb."

"Oh, that's alright," he says relieved,
"I'll find some shrapnel when we're freed."
The 'All Clear' comes with steady sounds
Our home has felt so 'out of bounds',

We uncurl bodies, stretch our limbs
Unlock the door and lift our chins -
A pall of smoke hangs black and still,
Hitler came, he came to kill.

The acrid smell pervades our noses,
Wisps of ash land on the roses,
Dad looks angry, Mum just weeps,
I'm so frightened; baby sleeps.

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