I'm so sorry, Guernsey - Tony Bradley

Born a bit later, I didn't suffer the war
only witnessing the damage, left behind
the wrecking of homes and families,
the disease and destruction of body and mind.

Plymouth, 1950, still blackened from the bombing
was reeling still, years after the trouble
I was born at 3, Clarendon Terrace
but 1, 5 and 6 were just piles of rubble.

The grown-ups had anxieties still in their heads
some women saved things, without knowing why
string, and jars, in boxes under the beds
and fearing the siren of death from the sky.

Children were viewed as the future, now safe
my brother and I were brought up with a swagger
encouraged to glorify, and brandish spoils of war,
a helmet, a Luger, or a German dagger.

Maybe 'cos they sensed the grown-up's old fears
young boys' bravado made them act the fool
I remember you'd get a seething six of the best
if you drew a swastika on your note-book at school.

Imprisoned on your own island, it must have been worse
the enemy's robbery and threats must have been numbing
I'm in shame now, how, in ignorance, we played. .
"quick, in the loft, the Germans are coming . . . ."

Tony Bradley