I knew A Bloke

A casual conversation of probably less than 4 minutes, but it "shook me to the core".

I knew  a bloke who rarely spoke,
A gentle kindly soul.
Then one day his words did flow
Through my heart they tore a hole.
His soft voice told a story so hard
It changed  my perception of war.
Another point of view from which
I hadn't considered  before.

He went to church his faith was strong
But I never heard him preach.
And how to help your fellow man
So much that he could teach
His home a refuge  open wide
If you need a place to dwell.
We were all aware  of his good deeds
But I never knew him well.

The first communion of our sons
Both were 10 years old.
Proud parents gathering afterwards
Was when his story told.
This man so proud of his only son,
He reflected way back when
He was a child of that same age,
Things were so different then.

We all had childhood heroes
Mine were  pilots of the sky.
The “Dam Busters”, what a movie
I watched those bombers fly.
I applauded the Allied victories
Like the thousand bomber raid.
Reeking havoc on the enemy,
A strategic impact made.

We were living in serenity
The peace of a tropical isle.
His memories overwhelming,
The story began with a smile.
He was born in nineteen thirty five,
By the tender age of ten
He had only ever known of war
Daily bombings happening then.

He spoke of air raid warnings
And in bunkers underground.
The constant pounding of the earth
So loud their screams were drowned.
They lived in different places
Each time a brand new start.
The reason being their last house
Had just been blown apart.

He spoke of  grief and sadness
And how his mother cried,
Each time they learned an uncle,
Or little cousin died.
Occasionally he went to school
And hung his bag up on the rack.
Each time another empty hook
A little child won't be back.

I was fighting back my tears by then
My eyes beginning to swell,
On learning that this gentle man
Had risen out of hell.
He played amid the ruin and rubble
And occasional body piece.
At ten he’d never considered
That war would ever cease.

Sometimes he skipped the shelters
To watch from a nearby hill.
Exploding bombs and tracer bullets
A horrid childhood thrill.
He bore witness to  the spectacle
Of bombers going down.
He watched the firestorm burn
Cremating his whole town.

And my hero bomber pilots,
How could they ever know
That a little boy named Helmut
Played in Dresden down below?
His words cut deep into my soul
They shook me to the core.
Surely no one truly believes
In victory from war.

Author's Note

A Story that I have wanted to tell for a long time. It thanks was to Baby Ricochet's brilliant write of "The London Blitz 12/29/1940" that finally inspired me to get of my arse and make it happen.

Reviews

[David Scott]

Even in a just fight, innocent lives are affected. Yet humanity does achieve a temporary reprieve when evil is cut out. Like an unpleasant surgery to remove a tumor. Hard to take and the body suffers, but the life is preserved. I agree war is sickening for all parties.
A worthy write and reminds my eye of another poet from Aussi land, David Lewis Padget.

[Keith]

Thank you so much for thoughtful review, yes the evil must be cut out, at least in WWII evil was easy to identify. I do feel most honoured that it might in some way remind you of David, I am a huge fan.

[Rita L. Sev]

This is an incredible story, presented so well in your poem. We read about war, and never really understand its impact on the people living it. Your last stanza brought tears. Thank you for sharing this...

[Keith]

Thank you so much Rita. A story that I have been wanting to tell for a while.

[Jack...]

I have no experience with war except for what i read, but in reading your fine poem I feel a bit more awakened to the torment and pain it reveals. Very nice Keith.

[Keith]

Thanks Jack. I grew up after WW2 and just missed the Vietnam draft. I used to think that maybe I should have volunteered, but now so glad I never.

[Jack...]

We must be about the same age, because I missed the Viet Nam draft by the skin of my teeth. I remember going to the barber shop in the little town where I lived because they would post the draft listing there each week and one Monday, there was my name on the 5th day of that week and the draft was stopped two days before I was called.

[Keith]

Ah yes. In Australia a ballot based on birthday. My day never dropped out.

[TL Boehm]

Oh good LORD. Such a powerful piece. By the end I was bawling. My father in law was a bombardier - the only one to survive his B17 being shot down. He was a POW for 13 months in Austria - and the thing that really got me when he spoke of it (which was once or twice in twenty years) was that he was of German descent - his parents spoke German, and there he was "an American" held by German soldiers - he understood them a bit - and he said they never "mistreated him" which puts another spin on it.
Wow I cannot get over the emotional whollop this poem packs. Well penned.

[Keith]

Thank you so much for another kind review, I would rather make you laught than cry, but I needed to get this one out. I think you may have actually sown the seed with your wonderful about your father in law, then BR came thru with his London blitz and Helmut's words kept swimmimg thru my head wanting to get out. I suspect that those brave aircrew also went through the rest of their lives troubled by the thought of where their bombs went. They did what they had to do, but even those who survived 'unscathed' carried that dreadful burden.

[Keith]

Sorry for the typos.. Im too clumsy on my tablet.. Too hard to fix.

[carol burgess romance]

So well written...I lived four years in Germany and made many friends and heard many stories. There is no winning at war, never.

[Keith]

Thank you Carol, my sentiments exactly. But what do we do when an evil force marches into your country? Hopefully as we all communicate around the world, we will see ourselves as "people", not foreigners to be mistrusted. Look at WC, one family of people from all over the globe!

[Morgan Storms]

It's cool to hear that other writers on here are inspiring other writers to write. I I really took a lot away from your poem. I think that it melted my heart in a sad way. I think it was very well done. Thanks for sharing.

[Keith]

Thank you Morgan. I really do feel humble when the likes of BR & Quin take the time to ad some background information to my poem. A story I have wanted to get off my chest for about 15 years. My boy who did his communion that day is about to have his 25th birthday.

[quinfinn]

the night raids over Dresden by the royal air force were probably one of the worst mass murders of the entire second world war...all incendiary bombs, a firestorm of epic proportions...man, woman and child burnt to a crisp at 4000 degrees....this poem is gut wrenching to say the very least, but you put a face and a name on your story, making it all the more human and heartbreaking. well penned, Keith!

[Keith]

I appreciate the added insight provided by yourself and BR, the poem by itself will not necessarily have full impact unless people are aware of the Dresden horror. Thanks again mate.

[quinfinn]

always willing and ready to read your writes.....

[Marie]

I'm very glad you did tell it. Children are the innocent victims of a victorious war.

[Keith]

Thank you Marie, always appreciate your reviews.

[Archangel Gabriel]

This describes the paradox of war so well. Perspective is a wonderful thing if we realise different people see it from their view Keith. Wether Dresden, Coventry, London or Bagdad was is a vicious,destructive political machine.

[Keith]

Thank you Gabriel. I actually had another verse saying that Helmut's story continues in Bagdad , Syria and esewhere today. But decided shorter hadt more impact. Thank you again.

[DCT ponderings]

Always interesting when someone pulls back the curtain and lets us see to the other side. What a great way to tell the tale of a horrible act of war. I like that we are invited to join you in this man's sharing and your evolution of understanding. Great Write.

[Keith]

Thank you again Dana, I really appeciate a kind review from someone in the industry.