A poem 6th June, 1944

I was nine.
From a picnic vantage on Southbourne cliffs
I saw them dotted like basking black beetles,
dozens spaced out on the summer sea,
those silent boats at anchor.
Nobody then knew why.
Next day the horizon was empty.
History explained the break-through,
the naval invasion of Normandy,
the beginning of the end
of a thousand threatened years
of dominant Third Reich.
en died in blood and spume,
Men lived to fight
So we breathe free:
Here today wir sprechen kein Deutsch.
Sixty yeats on
I remember D-Day.

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