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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=460796" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>0354 Not Quite War</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Too young to know the horrors of a war I've fought, <br>too young to know war's fear, or yearn for heroism, <br>but old enough to have lived through; <br>boys but one year older than myself<br>lived and fought and died; and younger, some, <br>who fought in Malaya, Kenya, Korea, to the death...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Slit trenches in Hyde Park were the first photos in 1938, <br>apart from the official ones to stir our patriotism; <br>then cycling home from town as radios in every house<br>spread Chamberlain's sad patrician voice<br>telling us with regret that from Herr Hitler<br>'no such reassurance has been received' -<br>and consequently Britain was at war...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Leaving the house which Mother had designed and Father built<br>a bare few yards from the barbed-wired beach and sea<br>where unbeknownst to us, the Germans planned to land<br>their first invasion of support troops and supplies...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Herded one day unwarned into the basement changing room at school; <br>the first invasion scare; accompanied by - was it serious<br>or not? - the story that our wicked enemy<br>was to parachute its advance troops disguised as nuns, <br>but you could spot them as they descended<br>by their boots...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Junior Training Corps turned out as firewatchers and Home Guard<br>with the Lee Enfield rifles, the wind-round puttees, <br>the smell of cordite and of rifle oil<br>of equipment - oh supreme irony - kept from World War One, <br>the 'war to end all wars', to be continued; <br>our Sergeant Major's face<br>a scary pattern like a camouflage, part white, part livid skin<br>from mustard gas in that first bloody war...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Days of vapour trails in the sky, as we cheered<br>the sky-high calligraphy of aerial dogfights; <br>the nights spent in the thump of bombs; <br>the prickly uniforms for us raw cadets; the battle drill; <br>the kick of grown-up rifle butt in shoulder, <br>the assembly of the machine-gun; the naming of its parts; <br>all this in far-off teenage memory; <br>not quite war.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But war enough.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Michael+Shepherd">Michael Shepherd</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=460796" data-title="0354 Not Quite War de Michael Shepherd" data-description="Too young to know the horrors of a war I've fought, 
too young to know war's fear, or yearn for heroism, 
but old enough to have lived through; 
boys but one year older than myself
lived and fought and died; and younger, some, 
who fought in Malay..."></div>
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