大象传媒

This is a true story and, though my words are written as an adult, this is, nonetheless, my earliest memory of life as a boy of three years of age. The events that follow happened in London鈥檚 East End, situated on the north bank of the River Thames, in late 1940. It is a story that many have experienced in many places, including the invaders of my homeland. I hope that none in this, my adopted country, will never have to endure such events as my first real introduction to the savagery that dwells upon this planet.
I dedicate this to: The children, now born and yet to be born, no matter where they may live and hope to thrive; to my three Daughters who, I hope, will never have such memories as these; and to the Men and Women who fought for the freedom of many. I am, and will be, Forever Grateful for what They did between 1939 and 1945. I hope that their courage will not be wasted by our foolishness.

鈥渊贰厂罢贰搁顿础驰----罢翱惭翱搁搁翱奥?鈥�

And remember: the sirens always came first.

鈥淚 have eyes with which to see, the world mankind has made for me.鈥�
A siren鈥檚 scream cuts through dusk鈥檚 beginning like a banshee鈥檚 cry, heralding a night of terror 鈥� manmade.
Bombs fall... set on courses determined by bombsights cold and unfeeling. High pitched tones, the whistled voices penetrate the skies, reaching ears that will come to dread that awesome whine: The Voice of The Devil.
Explosions erupt... houses flattened... eardrums shattered. Eerie voices raised as masonry crashes; bodies crushed, eyes that no longer see; feelings non-existing... and yet, 鈥淚 have eyes with which to see.鈥�
Incendiaries, the pathfinder鈥檚 flaming tool, pinpoint targets with cruel accuracy. Their malevolent light revealing such as I 鈥攏estled in false seclusion鈥� to the many following bombers鈥� sights... fingers poised, bombs primed. Death shall ride the skies tonight.
Barrage balloons, like silent gas filled elephants, swing high upon their hawsers; cables linked to one all, a spider鈥檚 web of steel waiting to sever the propellers of the alien and yet familiar crafts, winging above their manmade inferno... 鈥淭he world mankind has made for me.鈥�
London鈥檚 voice screams out in defiance despite her torment; her ravaged buildings shudder like trees before the woodsman鈥檚 axe; her pride flows freely like the blood of her people. And the citizens of England mourn her destruction by the Luftwaffe鈥檚 might. London is now a Charnel House.
Discordant shrieks echo through structures wrecked; a cacophony of terror, sounds too hideous to recall... and yet鈥� 鈥淚 have ears with which to hear... the cries of those who share my fear.鈥�
Corpses, once filled with emotions of love, then hate, then fear, lie forgotten and bloody among bricks and mortar, not now resembling human lives, a recognizable form; but food for a plague of hungry rats, their appetites whetted by stagnant pools of gore 鈥攁 reservoir of cooked body fats and incinerated, human bloated flesh... an unexpected feast.
Anti-aircraft guns thunder in savage revenge 鈥攖heir hunger undiminished鈥� hurling projectiles upwards into a sky locust thick with droning flying machines, each hell bent on a City鈥檚 destruction and a Nation鈥檚 annihilation. Whoosh. The metallic objects ascend, their casings invisible to the naked eye... and yet, the action bears a final air, akin to sensuality.
Searchlights pierce the flickering darkness high above, punching their thin and eager beams through acrid, eye searing smoke, silently seeking out the heartless airborne invaders, relentlessly working hand in hand with the hot-barrelled guns. Flashes, like the ending of distant and a minute star, bear witness to the speeding shell鈥檚 ultimate caress 鈥攎ore final, hardier than any lover鈥檚 touch. 鈥淎nd I have the eyes to see... the things they tried to do to me.鈥�
Amid the whirlwind of destruction and violent death, the yapping of a lonesome, frightened canine mingles with the cries of a newly orphaned child, both victims in innocence and fear, both luckless volunteers in one man鈥檚 dream of world domination. 鈥淎nd I have the eyes with which to see...鈥�
One male child, secure beneath the stairs, watches his mother flung along the hall; one bomb, more personal than the rest, has found their home at last... invading their final privacy. Her cries are lost, the blast鈥檚 too great for him to hear her last gasps for life, her empty hand outstretched to him... 鈥淗er wreckage so much debris.鈥�
Bells clang; white vehicles, red crossed, cavort amongst the gleaming red fire trucks as their hoses spout the fire鈥檚 eternal foe upon its devouring flames. Policemen, Wardens and Home Guard, lend a hand to those who cannot control their shattered minds nor bleeding bodies, 鈥淭he world mankind has made for them, for me.鈥�
The bombs have ceased their punishment of land and flesh; the banshee鈥檚 bleat is heard again. Still the buildings and the people burn, their pyres their ruined habitats. The only silence to remain comes from the gaping mouths of London鈥檚 dead. The still proud City grunts and groans as buildings fall, crushing those who still strive below. 鈥淎nd I still have the eyes to see.鈥�
Wide-eyed humans surge from stations underground, their faces full of hope... only to find despair. At the siren鈥檚 call they come; the signal that ALL IS CLEAR as dawn breaks upon the turmoil of the night... 鈥淭he one mankind had made for them鈥� for me.鈥�
Rubble raised; tear drenched eyes search and seek for those that had stayed behind. Shock, Sorrow, and Sadness displayed at contents of gruesome discovery. Some laughter joins the tears of joy... the dog鈥檚 tail wags as it is found and none can explain to it that London鈥檚 Blitz has only just begun.
My father comes... beneath the stairs I am safely found. This night鈥檚 morbidity would, in the many, many nights to follow, repeat its deadly delivery upon my Beloved City. And, fortunately like myself, it would survive.

鈥淚 hope that my three Daughters shall never see,
a world like mankind had made for me.鈥�
S
U
F
F
E
R
LITTLE CHILDREN TO
C
O
M
E
U
N
T
O
M
E

Word Count: 1,022.
漏 Mike Karel. 2003
shadowtraveller@unexplained.info

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.