VE Day80

 

I shook the hand of Hans the boy who rejoiced at chocolate dropped by parachute during the Dutch Famine.

I talked with Fred, wounded tank crew in Monty's mighty Army.

I kissed the cheek of my mother who kissed Otto a German POW, and welcomed the Americans billeted in the village.

I stood on the spot where my father described St Andrews full of flame in the Bath Blitz.

I watched 'The Darkest Hour', reflecting on the burden Churchill and others carried.

I listened to a son describe the moments before his Nazi father was hung at Nuremberg.

I think about the brave who fought on in the east and the veterans now so few.

I visit the care home for an afternoon tea celebration, where the wartime generation live, flags flying, Vera singing,stories telling,  balloon and poppy  held in equal measure.

I touched this special generation that saw such trauma, their courage, resilience, sacrifice, and the awful price of peace. 

And I listen afresh to birdsong, smell afresh the sweet scent of an early rose, thanking God for them, longing for the day when all wars will cease.