Poetry

Memories

By 24th October 2008December 9th, 2019No Comments

When I was asked my Memory to jolt
And write of something past
My pen to paper quickly put
And words came think and fast
Though phrases and words
They simple might be
Through the eyes of a six year old child I see
peace is shattered
War’s declared
To fight the enemy they’re getting prepared
Its l940 and here we see
The start of the Evacuee
In school playground children stand
Willingly taken by the hand
By Teachers, some with tears,
Because of young and tender years
To board the Buses, where are they going,
Children nor Parents even knowing
From the School down to the Station
ready for Evacuation
From the Buses we follow like sheep
The Teachers, who know we’ll sleep
Away from Guns & Bombs & Slaughter
When country lanes will ring with laughter
On the train some children crying
From parents they’ve suddenly parted
With a shout from the Guard
And the Shriek of his whistle
Our mistery journey has started
The tears subside, the time is right
We children try to cuddle tight
From the windows we patiently watch
For a sign of where we are going, to catch
Another Cow, a Tractor, a Station
Perhaps we’re nearer our destination
Out of the Train, onto the Coach
Down the lanes as we approach
The country village where we must stay

To live, to learn and to play
In the Village Hall we stand and wait
For Villagers to decide our fate
hey look at the labels on our coats
Our name is all that it denotes
But it makes us look so humble
When asked our Names we can only mumble
Are we frightened, is it fear
We’re so very tired, we don’t really care
As they wander up and down the rows
For a glimpse of the child they’ll eventually choose
Pretty Girls and charming Boys
Are finding homes quite fast
But the scruffy and the naughty ones
Are being left till last
The Hall is now quite empty
There’s only five of us now
Three little brothers from Barking
And my Brother and I, somehow
When we left we gave Mother a promise
Together we’d stay, side by side
We wouldn’t be separated
No matter how Villagers tried
The other boys have disappeared now
Our hopes are beginning to fade
When along came our substitute Parents
And a lifelong friendship was made
They kept us and fed us like sons of their own
A hardy and strenuous task
And all they got for the effort, ‘cept our Love
Was “ten bob” a week, too much to ask.

Dennis Shrubshall

Author Dennis Shrubshall

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