´óÏó´«Ã½

With kind permission of the Author

The ‘Alert’ sounds, ululating panic-stricken howl
That we have listened for and practised to before,
But somehow we feel that this is for real.
We go the same way, along the same corridors, across the same field
To those same, square, squat, brick-built sheds,
But our hearts beat a different rhythm,
Our feet beat an urgent pace,
And our instant eruption from classrooms
Asks impossible things of the space.
The surging sea of the infants
Has lifted me off my feet,
Is bearing me straight to a corner
Where wall and doorway meet
And no one has noticed the impact,
The blindingly painful impact,
The staggering star-studded impact,
Exploding inside my skull,
As the Infants carry me onwards,
Sustain me against my will,
As we hurl into blinding daylight,
Still in our tight packed mass
An the dam burst of children, freed to flee,
Deposits me on the grass
And I’m reeling, reeling, reeling
To the undulating wail
And I’m feeling, feeling, feeling
In darkness for bench or wall.
For someone has dragged me in here,
For somebody saw me fall.
I want to thank my saviour
But I cannot see the face
Of the pint-sized saint who saved me
From the bombs and the German race.
I feel that the penny they gave me
To press on my swelling head,
Should serve instead as a just reward
For my hero, in this Air Raid.

‘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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