It’s the 12th of September 1940, clouds of smoke plumes over the sky;
The roaring engines of the German bombers echo out, as overhead they fly.
The air raid sirens are sounding, which force us to hide under my bed;
My Mum wraps her arms around me, as I pull my arms up covering my head.
I hold my pencil in my hand writing this letter, as crashes seem to be leaving our city broken, damage which could never be repaired;
I turn facing my Mum, as her teary eyes and trembling lips, whisper out I’m scared.
My Father is away at War, it’s been Two weeks since me and my Mum stood in the doorway waving him goodbye;
My Mum tried to be strong and bite her lip, but I could tell that deep down all she wanted to do was cry.
The crashing of buildings fight for noise against the constant sound of sirens, explosions mix with screams of rage;
A plane flies over our house so close, it shakes my pencil from off of its page.
A mass crashing noise makes my Mum scream, as all of our windows implode, smashing in pieces all over the floor;
The explosion was so loud my ears went deaf, as I watch on in silence, bricks and glass crash down through our front door.
The dust and rumble clouds like mist, creeping down to our hiding place under the bed;
I see my Mums lips moving, she was crying, but I couldn’t hear the words she had just said.
I cry out “MUM”, but even I cannot hear what I was trying to say;
My Mums mouth looks like she is shouting, but I can only just about lip read her words “baby are you okay”.
I am shouting at the top of my voice, as I feel blood come trickling down and out from my ear;
I see my Mum start to panic, but my world has become silent, as I drop a single lonely tear.
I don’t know if my Mum can hear me when I shout, so I use this pencil and paper to reply;
My Mum looks over my shoulder at my page, as I write “MUM, I CANNOT HEAR ANYTHING, AM I GOING TO DIE”.
She just pulls me close kissing me gently, everything is so quiet, as I feel her tears roll down her face onto mine as we weep;
I close my eyes to a complete silent darkness, until my pencil falls back to sleep.
BARRY MOWLES ©2011