Some Little Thoughts

I remember my mother’s screams in the shelter, on which mattresses had been laid;
I remember the smells of the cold and terrified, huddling in the night;
I remember, listening to the whistling sounds of bombs: Would this be the one?
I remember the hot tea and the songs of the living, after the planes had gone;
I remember the burning; the crunching sounds; the fire engines, rushing left and right;
And, I remember the burning London buildings, after a raid.
 

I remember the ration books: Six ounces of meat per week;
I remember the fish-and-chip shop, with the sign: ‘No fish, today.’
I remember a bottle of milk, given to every child at school;
I remember the dry American bananas – a treat to be sure;
I remember Opera Bona Luciente, my Christchurch School’s motto, which I used to say;
And, I remember the hunger pangs that gnawed at my every night, just before my sleep.
 

I remember the wreckage of a building, once home to my friend, now gone above;
I remember the faces of those, long dead and forgot;
I remember streets, demolished, after buzz bombs had done their deadly work;
I remember the tobacconist, selling Player’s cigarettes, by the stick;
I remember, standing in the station, waiting, not knowing for what;
And, I remember my tears at being alone … unloved; no one to love.
 

I remember The News of The World; the African Campaign: All very boring;
I remember The State Cinema in Wilsden Lane, showing daily duties of a grubby little soldier: A Desert Rat;
I remember the signs, plastered on walls: ‘Waste Not! Want Not!’
I remember, at the end of a film, the audience, rising to sing: ‘God Save The King!’
I remember the organist, just like magic, rising from beneath the stage, not far from where I sat;
And I remember the illuminated red sign, at the exit: ‘Air Raid Warning’.
 

I remember the Kilburn High Road, with chairs and tables, all over the place;
I remember the laughter of V.E. Day – Victory in Europe! Over at last!
I remember the sandwiches and tea – with sugar!
I remember, being kissed by strangers on that memorable day;
I remember, sleeping that night in my bed – undisturbed after my first, real repast;
And, I remember, being called: ‘Greasy Jew Boy!’ A slur upon my race.
 

What is a Jew?
What distinguishes him from any other?
What differentiates a Muslim, from a Brahman, from a Christian, from a Buddhist?
What is the difference between one babe and another?
What causes man to hate his neighbour?
What causes the madness of war, where a father may kill a son, or a brother?
 

Memories can fade with the passage of time;
Memories are all that is left when the terrible deed is done;
Memories are inconvenient testaments of a government’s past crime;
Memories leave deep scars on the hearts of some;
Memories of war; and,
Memories of hatred: No-one has won.
 

Where is my country, fair and bold?
Where is humanity’s warmth?
Where is my childhood?
Where are my friends, be they hungry or cold?
Where is that elusive love?
Where are the lessons, supposedly learned of old?