poem for June 2019: Air raid

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.