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.

[Baby Ricochet]

Wow. Thanks for the shout out Keith, it's much appreciated. This is a great poem that tells a tragic tale of the Dresden bombing. The most controversial Allied raid of the war. What a lot of folks don't know about that raid is the P-51 mustangs that harassed the long columns of refuges pouring out of the rubble afterwards, mostly civilians. For the refugees it was either go west and play dodge with the American fighter pilots or wait for the Russians to rape and pillage them whom were a mere 40 miles away. That's some messed up choice right there. Great poem Keith. I loved it.

[Keith]

Thanks mate, much appreciated. I had no idea that the fighters straffed the civvies! I read that 22,000 died in that raid, and was it to defeat a failed Germany or to leave nothing for the Russians? I also read it was a historic/cultural town with little military significance. My story was true as far as the gentleman who spoke to me, but nor sure if his city was Dresden. He did sit on a hill and watch a fire storm.
Cheers, Keith

[Nia Hope]

Really good and very touching. Absolutely love the descriptions and love the way it flows :)

[Keith]

Thank you Ankara. I really appreciate your support. :-)