´óÏó´«Ã½

By kind permission of the Author

The bomb that saved my life was dropped one night
On the playing field. It blew the local curate
Clean off his feet, the while it flattened out
The Infant School Assembly Hall. At that
They crammed us in another school. We sat
Half classes, each half day, to learn in tight
Packed rows. No room for fripperies. We wrote,
We read, we did our sums. At last I’d fit,
Learning the lacking social skills. I met
That curate, puzzled hero of the night
That saved my sanity, if not my life.
He could not understand my inner strife.

‘This story was submitted to the People’s War site by ´óÏó´«Ã½ Radio Merseyside’s People’s War team on behalf of the author and has been added to the site with his/ her permission. The author fully understands the site’s terms and conditions.’

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