Tag: World War II

Haiku: The Bombardier

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Doing your duty
Negated conscience see all –
where the night bombs fell

copyright Leofwine Tanner 2019

 

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World War 2 Memorial, Ayscoughfee Hall

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Recently a new memorial to Spalding’s WWII dead was unveiled.

It is a masterful, yet understated and fitting tribute to those who gave their lives in the most devastating conflict yet known to mankind.

It is also a fine complement to Edwin Lutyens’ earlier, more classically styled WW1 memorial, just a few yards away.

Milly Reynolds’ new ebook: ‘Manifesto’

See Milly Reynolds’ work here:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Milly-Reynolds/e/B0056IY4OE/ref=s9_simh_gw_p351_d0_al3?_encoding=UTF8&refinementId=368165031&pf_rd_m=A3P5ROKL5A1OLE&pf_rd_s=center-2&pf_rd_r=09P41BQ8Y1KG91WBSJMJ&pf_rd_t=101&pf_rd_p=317828027&pf_rd_i=468294
available at amazon.com and amazon.co.uk

‘Manifesto’ is due out on amazon and kindle imminently!

Synopsis

Taking a break from crime fiction, Milly Reynolds’ new ebook is an imaginative and quirky take on the state of current affairs as well as the meandering course of history.
Eleanor Cross, a disaffected Tory MP, takes us with her as she rides on the waves of destiny towards the formation of a new political party which will challenge old ideas.
Written as a very loose prose poem, this book sets down the policies that some might put in place if given the chance to take over the country.

Review

Aiming where novella meets prose poem, Milly Reynolds has really pulled out the stops with this unusual new ebook. Both mysterious and funny, contemporary yet timeless, Milly’s head strong heroine, a disaffected MP, is challenged to ride the transformative waves of destiny towards a new future for herself and her country. An imaginative and quirky take on the state of current affairs and the long course of history.

Poem ‘Rear Gunner’

I come here most days
after school. Dad says it’s ok, so I
head straight away to my

friends, the chickens; I help them
dig for worms. Sometimes
a school friend drops by too

and we race up the stacked bags
of guano; they’re almost warehouse high, our
voices muffled like we’re in a cave. Later,

when it’s time to go, I sit and wait
for Dad, stare at old pictures
on the wall. A bomber

plane in camouflage, the rows of cheerful
men before it with little to smile
about, Dad said. I can

point to his friend, the rear
gunner who never gets out. I’m stuck in
there, spinning round

and round in the noise, the ground’s
approach quickening— then nothing—
until this awareness

and I am his son

© copyright David F. Barker 2012

*Notes: When I was seven or eight years old, my Dad used to work in a warehouse and I did play with the chickens, climb the bags of guano. There was an office, with a picture of an old British Blenheim bomber, with rows of RAF men lined up in front…