One night of the Blitz I remember,
because of the huge harvest moon
that lit up the sky over London
and trickled through blinds into rooms.
Mum cried at the speech made by Churchill,
Dad stared at the wireless and swore,
we all knew the one thing for certain
there would be no quick end to this war.
One Sunday, word spread like fire,
a German, shot down in a tree,
mobs ran to the place he was tangled
their thoughts fixed on murderous glee,
but lucky for him he was rescued
before he was lynched by the crowd,
there are parts of the war that are shameful
such memories make none of us proud.
Of all the bad things I remember,
Doodlebugs for me were the worst,
they appeared out of nowhere like phantoms
and hovered above like a curse,
as long as they droned, you had safety,
but if this should suddenly stop
there was no point in running for cover
as quick as a flash, they would drop
and blow up whatever beneath them,
killing everything there in its path.
No, these terrors stay terrors years later
I cannot remember and laugh.
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