Air raid
You´ve delivered the grain,
job done, now home.
you walk beside old Fanny´s
head
to the steady beat of her
hooves on the road,
enveloped in her warmth and
tangy smell.
a hum, a rumble, in the sky
behind you,
black dots growing in size,
you run for shelter
under the lime tree, vast
and leafy,
nestle against its roughness
out of sight.
growl turns into thunder,
they ´re flying low
searching for prey they ´re
screaming past.
you´ve held your breath and
closed your eyes
then silence falls – you
gaze at the empty road.
the horse and cart have
disappeared.
still feeling numb you let
go of the bark
and stumble towards the road
look right, look left,
they´re nowhere in sight.
Where have they gone? What
shall I do?
My hosts - what are they
going to say? - To them
you´re just a stranger,
another hungry mouth
barely earning his keep by
his work.
Anxiously you´re heading
for the farm
racked by guilt yet yearning
for its safety.
"Where have you been?"
the farmer gruffly.
"She´s home, knows
where that is, she does."
Gudrun
Rogge-Wiest, July 2018/April + July 2019
When during World War II air
raids on the industrial Ruhr area of Germany were expected, the
children were evacuated. My father who was about 12 years old at the
time was quartered with a farmer near the town of Soest for some
time. He earned his keep by helping with the farm chores.
Later, he spent another
period of evacuation with a family near Achern on the slopes of the
Northern Black Forest where he was treated like one of their own
children. He has always kept up relations with the family.
