Friday, 15 November 2019

A child in wartime

I wake up to the sirens drone
I was small but not alone
Sound was like a mournful scream
Blinds drawn so our lights are not seen

I am a small boy once again
See my mother's eyes in pain
Dad's in London fire watching
It is wartime no time to sing

We hear the planes up in the sky
Can't look out even if I try
Blackout curtains do make sure
If light seen warden will knock door

Under the table we huddle
Pillows, blankets and cuddle
Quietly I fall asleep
Wake up in bed heard not one peep

Mother must have put me to bed
Now it's morning I'm not dead
So must get up, off to school
Can't miss the bus that is the rule

The bus is late, I can see why
Buildings bombed Mum starts to cry
Hoping dad will soon come back
Working all night he'll hit the sack

Dad arrived when we got back home
Shrapnel gift from a dropped bomb
Showed it off at school next day
Kids crowd around at break for play

I liked watching planes overhead
Or listen to them when in bed
War's horrid I've seen it all
Still recall it while standing tall

Image found at


  1. You experienced something very few of us have even imagined! You painted the scene well.

  2. There are not many left who remember WW2, Robin, and your experiences are priceless. I only remember the aftermath of craters and partial buildings in the fifties.

  3. I think it is important you write about this period and all the details. Imagining what it was like and being there is different. I don't know why but this poem has made me very very sad. I wish you some lovely moments for the coming advent.

  4. To have memories and share them is important... the horrors of war (even if it well) is a lesson for us all to learn

  5. FYI- comments for my post have (again) been enabled

  6. Oh wow... thank you for sharing those memories Robin. Living through all that must have been intense.

  7. I simply cannot imagine living through that. I was three months old when Pearl Harbor happened. My heart goes out to you and any person who was there.

  8. I remember my parents talking about the bombings in England. It was into the Korean conflick when they spoke over card games on Sunday. But they remembered it well. They hoped we would never have to live through such horrors. It is good you share these memories as we are getting so old and the young are so clueless.

  9. The memories here come through as a child's memories do, there is fear and anxiousness but also the excitement. I can hear the younger voice ring true.

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