It seems strange that we should talk of celebration
To once more throng the streets for Liberation.
Though I have heard first hand from my Mum
Who was a part of it, the Occupation
The stories of the hardship and the camaraderie
The fears, the lack, the cold, the sharing secretly
The music and make do
Of grey clad soldiers from a foreign land,
Mother's sons, sister's brothers ....
Not all Nazis
How food was scarce and jackboots imprinted everywhere
To think of those who died from malnutrition
Before the Vega brought supplies and salvation
To think of deportees and curfews
And prisoners scantily clad, who died
And were entombed within the concrete that they made.
It's hard for me to take account of sacrifice long past
Yet, we must remember
But need to remember too
That today many millions across the world
Endure the very same
And we turn our heads aside
And in so doing enact our shame.
Trudie Shannon
