NINETEEN FORTY-TWO

I didn't cry.
You wonder why.

Sanatorium was mother's home,
To gran's in Durham, I had gone.
And dad was left - alone.
I was only nine.
I didn't cry.

Sirens wailed - enemy sighted
Endless falling bombs
Shattering homes every day.
Some of the reasons I was sent away.
I didn't cry.

On Christmas morn,
Above a warming range,
China dogs and chiming clock,
A woollen, bulging stocking hung.
Could this, I wondered be for me.
Gran stood by, gave a nod and smile.

          AND I CRIED.