Chapter 4

The heath lands were not very far for us to walk.
We kids would go there, all chatter and talk.
On those heaths things were not all right;
German raiders would hit them through the night.

There were bomb craters everywhere.
Us kids would play there - we didn't care.
We'd look for shrapnel; bullet cases.
Find some - see the joy on our faces.

Old jam jars tied up with bits of string.
Some of the craters were full to the brim.
We didn't dare to go in, they were very deep,
Besides which the sides were extremely steep.

Water movement on the edges formed a lip.
Homemade fishing nets under these we'd dip.
Tadpoles, frogs, newts were what we would catch,
The biggest prize tho' no other could match.

Not frogs, not newts, but in their place
Something which made our little hearts race.
After awhile it wasn't so very hard
To find this stuff left by the home guard.

Our previous catches - jam jars soon forgot
When we began finding this little lot;
Clips of three 0 three greased ammunition
Hidden there, still in good condition.

To find this stuff was so very rare,
It had been hidden with some care.
We'd barter most for silly things;
Bits of shrapnel or Perspex rings.

One stupid thing we sometimes did
With the one or two bullets we had hid;
We would take along a father's six-inch nail -
The next bit makes me shudder and pale.

We'd dig a hole with bullet or nails pointed end,
Only because we knew that neither of them would bend.
The bullet was put in - casing uppermost,
Nail sharp end down, buried just like a post.

Earth replaced, then tampered down,
All to be seen was the nails crown.
Now with a hammer or brick, gave it a smack;
The bullet fired with an almighty crack.

Dig to find the casing, shattered, all rent apart.
The bullet never to find; give up heart.
Wonder then how deep the bullet would go,
Not thinking of the danger, too young to know.

One dark night atop the Anderson
Not long after the siren had gone,
We heard a most peculiar sound;
Something dropping all around.

We saw flames - the school was hit!
Cheering from kids, didn't care a bit.
The school caretaker soon put it out;
The least kids called him "Blinkin' lout!"

Next morning, if you would please,
Was a guard on a tray of incendiaries.
Another odd thing that littered the ground;
Something we took it that made that sound.

Were strips of paper, silver one side, black the other.
Dropped to fool radar, give their bombers cover.
One other thing dropped from the skies;
Bombs which were called "butterflies".

Posters warning kids not to touch, everywhere,
But we looked for them, we didn't care.
One wonders if they ever dropped
A terror weapon on kids; probably stopped.

Butterfly looking thing; a three-foot rod.
Bomb on the bottom, touch it, dead poor sod.