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.

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

Den - Adam Clayton

we built a bunker together
using pegs, ormer shells and sheets
it withstood some rainy weather
and kept us our heads from the heat

we summoned a furry demon
collected his dreams in a hat
plugged our ears ‘gainst his sermon
and scared away the neighbour’s cat

feeling protected and safe there
we gave up on our weekend plans
went only far as the kitchen
to get apples and cakes and flans

no matter the sun went down then
we fell straight to sleep in our den
peace pervaded; we were both brave
in this makeshift cotton-shell cave

Adam Clayton

Childhood - Tony Bradley

I was on the beach again, soon after dawn
just mooching, beach-combing, had a little jog.
Sitting on the sand, I re-enacted a game
that we used to play, when I was a sprog.

I made a pyramid of stones, with a tall one, on top
balanced, so it would have little resistance
I moved well away, with stones to throw
it seemed a bit cocky, quite a distance.

Anyway, I lobbed one, just to stretch my arm
to get the range, you know, casually tossed it
I only whacked it, sent it tumbling
I quit, swaggered home, I haven't lost it.

Tony Bradley

Broken Children - Ian Duquemin

My old man he wasn't much
But had the loudest laugh in town
Him a father? Not as such
He'd turn my whole world upside down
His eyes like mine the colour blue
Were passed to him and then to me
But on my birth, or my debut
A different world I'd see
The horrors that would come my way
I'd store them somewhere deep inside
But on occasions, like a play
They did not want to hide
And in my nightmares standing there
The very ghoul that I would fear
Would laugh out loud without a care
And whisper in my ear
Hush little baby don't you cry
Nobody cares if you live or die
Then laughter fills the room with dread
The room of fear within my head
The sheets I'd pull around me tight
While through the darkness shadows crept
No comfort in the black of night
Where broken children slept

Ian Duquemin

Lost Childhood - Julian Clarke

Sun

scorched

before school,

water drips like a tear drop,

mesmerised by the unfairness, I stop;

your head bows to your reflection

cupped hands break the tension;

and daily,

tear drop, by tear drop

water trickles through fingers… it seeps;

slight ivory shoulders weigh so heavy,

laden, the vessel’s half the size of,

no matter whether girl, or boy;

now

look from the image on your t.v screen

your youngster plays with a new toy:

and still

tear drop, by tear drop

water trickles through fingers… it seeps;

slight ivory shoulders weigh so heavy,

laden, the vessel’s half the size of,

no matter, girl, or boy;

my heart weeps;

step by step

they go 

bare

feet.

Julian Clarke

In A Dark Place - Tony Bradley

My secret little room here, under the stairs
no-one can hurt me behind this little door
safe in the darkness, as if I'm not real
I've melted into the walls and floor.

I can forget for a while, in this dark room
nasty things that keep happening, every day
forget the bad people, remembering only
the kinder ones, who never stay.

They never look for me here, snug in my den
I suppose the big spiders would give them a fright
nothing scares me in here, the evil's out there
creepy people, and demons in the night

No-one can see me or hurt me in here
I love the quietness, the safety, the black
I'll hide away, for most of the day
and try and be braver, when I go back.

Tony Bradley

Saviour, Monsieur Sidaner - Trudie Shannon

When child small, the lane
Was a deep, grey channel, a gauntlet to be run, save
When the old Frenchman with green hands and black beret
Stood on the hill high bank,
Tomato full greenhouses at his back,
To hold council in his somersaulting tongue,
Whilst we stood, the rescued,
Captivated by his rapid sing song
And the dance of his gesticulating hands.
The bullies always passed us by
When Monsieur held court
No taunts, no pushing, no shoving.
And we always stood together
His rapt, uncomprehending audience of two.
But we listened just the same
Awaiting the moment when
Those green leathery hands would
Proffer fruit for 'Maman'
Which they always did and we would take them, as we always did
Then scurry away in safety
Muttering and giggling Oui, Oui
All the way home.

Trudie Shannon

Return To My Childhood - Fred Williamson

I wish I never had to grow
From innocence and purity
To become a part
Of this crumbling life
Caught up in a tangled web
Like some of the people in the dark
With deceiving and diseased minds
Through jealousy
I escape now
Return to my childhood

Fred Williamson