Bunkers - Trudie Shannon

We played Germans and British,
We played in bunkers
Those concrete edifices built to last forever
With the thick rusting wires and heavy doors.
We had three within spitting distance of each other.
All within the parameters of our play.
One, filled with water, one, to us merely a tunnel to run the gauntlet
The third, a rite of passage.

For the first our challenges were few.
The construction itself was all but invisible,
Sunken down into the earth and covered in grass.
Save for steps leading down into it,
You wouldn’t have guessed it was there.
The game, to run across the roof, leap from it
Over the lip and gap onto the grass verge beside the road
Avoiding the abyss of the descending concrete steps.
Scary the first few times, but I was a tomboy
As good as my brother and his mates.
Run hard, run fast heart pounding and leap for life
Land victorious, easy.
Soon it was so easy anyone could do it
If you knew where to jump from.
Kevin didn’t, he jumped scared in the wrong place
And fell onto the steps, his leg twisted and broken beneath him.

The second, like the first was sunken down into the earth
Covered though, in thick bracken and brambles.
As explorers we were triumphant in our discovery.
It was bleak, and damp, we pushed our way in
Discovering the dark, narrow passage
Running the bunker width at the back.
We dared each other not to run but
To step one by one into the treacle black
To tread slowly the gauntlet of ghosts and skeletons
German helmets, guns and grenades
The passage so narrow and the floor littered
With all this debris, all invisible save in our imaginations.

The third, atop a rise in the vinery that gave vista
To a swathe of the sea and rocky coastline.
Was accessible, visible and we had permission to play in it.
The boys brought wood and in one of the small bare rooms
Constructed a platform to be our ‘bed’
We would sleep in it!
Gathered together later with blankets and the odd candle stub
We ate up the air with our whispering
We spent the night in the airless cube, hot and scared.
I did not kiss Martyn or maybe I did kiss Martyn
Because this was the bunker of transition from kids
To pre-teens where games required more
Than leaping into space
Or walking through the dark when you just wanted to run and run and run.

We played Germans and British
We played in bunkers
Those concrete monstrosities built to last forever.

Trudie Shannon

"Bunkers" is currently on display in the Guernsey Market Building as part of the "Reflections On Occupation" exhibition.

The Alien - Tony Gardner

I was weeding in the garden, on a sunny April day
When my fork hit something metal, hiding in the clay
In the garden nothing stays if it will not sprout or grow
Therefore into the rubbish bin it was just about to go.
But then I felt the warming up so gently in my hand,
Soft throbbing and a humming which I couldn't understand.
I looked at the ball of metal nestling right there in my palm
Wond'ring What it was and could it cause me any Harm
As I watched it slowly opened up just like a flower bud
A little man stepped out of it, just like a little God
He shook and seemed to swell 'til he was full four inches tall
He said "Now don't you worry, 'cause I won't hurt you at all"
He said "I've come so many miles, from far away in space
I'm on a peaceful mission for I've come to save your race"
He told me then such wisdom, disclosed the Key to Earthly Peace
And oh, such wond'rous tales that I would never wish him cease
Just then a greedy Magpie who'd been foraging behind
Swept down and gobbled up the Hope of all mankind

Tony Gardner

Forever Child - Diane Scantlebury

She’ll never grow up,
She’s a forever child
Trapped in a woman’s body,
Dutifully she trots
Behind her elderly mother,
Full of chat and trusting,

She’ll never experience
Teenage anxiety,
Because she’s a forever child,
Locked in a childish head
With a child’s dreams and thoughts,
Full of joy and happy,

She’ll never feel stressed,
Unlike her poor mother,
She’s a forever child
Free from worldly care,
Excitedly reaching out
For the comfort of her mother’s hand,
Full of warmth and security.

Diane Scantlebury

The Ancient Mariner (A Sequel) - Richard Fleming

The Mariner from days of yore
(you may have read the tragic tale)
spent his pathetic days ashore
and, to all passers-by, he’d wail

about a curse, and have them check the albatross slung round his neck.
A grim and sad yarn, poor old goat: but that’s what Mr Coleridge wrote.

There is an update, I must tell:
a sequel, to be more precise,
a story that does not end well,
that really isn’t very nice.

By some fluke chance, the albatross, thought dead, woke up, and it was cross.
It started on a pecking spree: it pecked his arm, it pecked his knee,

it pecked him all about the head,
until the ancient sailor cried:
"Get off vile brute, I thought you dead!"
He fought it off but, though he tried,

no strategy was efficacious: the albatross was so tenacious.
At last, to gain his liberty, the Mariner fled back to sea.

Richard Fleming

Lucky - Edgar Allan Poet

They don’t come luckier than me:
I’ve not nine lives, I’ve ninety-nine.
In street-fights (I’ve had two or three)
or knife-fights, victory’s been mine.
I keep a trusty rabbit’s foot
in the breast-pocket of my suit.

When I see magpies, I see four.
Black cats, for luck, curl round my heels.
I find one coin then I find more.
Thrice blessed with luck is how it feels.
I ride in carriages by day,
go to my club and rarely pay.

But England’s far too tame for me
so to America I’ll sail.
In luxury, I’ll put to sea
on a new liner, massive scale,
de-luxe, designed to get there quick.
They’ve named the vessel, Titanic.

Edgar Allan Poet

The Great Guernsey Take-Off - Oscar Milde

It’s all become a real ordeal:
in peelings, she’s up to her eyes.

These damn pies of Potato Peel
will be the death of me! She cries.

He says. They’re great. Don’t ever doubt it.
One day they’ll make a film about it.

Oscar Milde

Memories of Scotland - Tony Bradley

I've spent many happy days with my lassie and crommack
trekking over the Highlands, the crags, and screes
the dark, deep waters of the misty lochs
as the eagle glides high, in the morning breeze.

Thro' leafy glades, sun's rays dance silver
in trickling streams below
Spring-scented flowers embroidering the
Highlands' green rolling vales
I lay mellow, for hours, on soft fragrant heather
or 'neath craggy rocks, shelter,
from my Scotland's strong gales.

Tony Bradley

Extinction - Donald Keyman

Do you remember saucy page three
It was a sight for sore eyes to see
And (wrongly it seems) we revelled in our misogyny

We were always down the shop for a pack of fags
And - back in the days before they were wrapped in bags -
a sneaky peek at the top shelf mags

Now I must admit I’m a little scared
About all the things that we maybe dared
Do, think or say when our trousers were flared

Now time has finally caught up with us
And wrinkled and grey, bemused by the fuss
This old white rhino bites the dust

Donald Keyman

Passing Through - Ian Duquemin

I sit here reminiscing
Of days long in my past
Those years have travelled swiftly
They've come and gone so fast
Those times spent round the campfire
Where flames danced through the night
Leaving smoldering embers
As dawn replaced its light

Those friends who were my brothers
In caravans called home
They were the closest family
That this man had ever known
We'd smoke what nature gave us
While music filled the air
What little we all had back then
We'd find enough to share

We found a place to settle
A road side with a view
Beside a rolling river
Like us just passing through
The hills a welcome shelter
The winters hard to bear
I'd never found a place called home
Like I had found right there

That fire keeps on burning
It warms my soul and heart
That family still remains with me
However far apart
And like that river passing through
We'll meet again sometime
I'll keep our fire burning
In this gypsy heart of mine

Ian Duquemin