Sunday 31 January 2016

This Is Me

This Is Me

I look in the mirror but I do not recognise the person staring back at me
Sunken eyes, the colour faded, dried lips, cracked and sore
Cheek bones protruding where once there was flesh, pale and pasty like a piece of unbaked dough
My head an odd egg shape no longer covered in layers of pretty auburn hair
My ribs on show for all to see, as easy to count as one, two, three
My arms black and blue, dented and bruised – wounded soldiers in this war on me
My stomach, which was once, deemed to big, now a saggy mess of unwanted flesh
My shoulders droop under the weight of stress, my legs barely support me they are so frail and thin
My wedding ring adorns a stand on the dresser, a reminder of all that I have lost
My heart is broken into two, loss and grief ripping at its very being
My wardrobe once full of elegant dresses and the finest of suits replaced now with standard issue grey tracksuits and comfy fitting jumpers
High heels buried at the back, not much need for those any more
Photos of the life I once had thrown into a box on the floor – I cannot look at the painful reminders, the wounds cut too deeply
Once I was happy and madly in love, I had a full life ahead of me with a man who offered me the world on a plate
He promised before friends and family to love me in sickness and in health, to take the good times a long with the bad
When the doctors told me I was ill he stood there in shock, literally frozen to the spot
As my world came crashing down around me I didn’t think things could get any worse
I tried to be bright and pretend things were ok, smiled in all the right places and kept my chin up
The doctors said my diagnosis wasn’t a death sentence things had come along way
Drugs and determination were the key to beating this evil thing that had invaded my body and destroyed all the good in me
The questions were endless, the appointments tiresome
I guess something had to give!
I had to resign from my job, give my carer prospects up, life was permanently on hold
For a few months he stood by me watching me fall apart
He walked around like a robot saying and doing all of the right things but the love we once shared in abundance just wasn’t there
One day he was my husband the next just a man in a faded photo smiling without a care
I have seen the statistics; there is a good chance I will beat this cancer

I touch the glass, my haunted reflection – this is me, there is still life in me yet

A Pilots War

A Pilots War

We sit in a small room playing cards, reading a well thumbed book or pondering fruitlessly over a crossword puzzle, each with our own mixed emotions
A ringing phone shattering the silence, we all run to our planes – scramble is the fancy name
A synchronised dance of men in flying suits
Chairs fall to the floor as we leave, card games half finished, drinks left untouched
Some names on the board never to be seen again
They count us out with cheers of good luck and see you soon
We are up and away in minutes
No time to waste
Like tiny ants we march across the sky
For some this will be their very last outing
Its all down to the roll of the dice, no one is beyond death
Alone in our cockpits we don’t have time to think just to react
Cold and isolated the cockpit of a Spitfire or Hurricane feels like a lonely home
Guns fire lighting up the night sky – it’s a strategic game of cat and mouse
Hunt or be hunted
We throw our planes this way and that, diving away from falling debris, all the time praying we are not hit
Sometimes you get separated from the crowd
A blanket of darkness washes over you, disorientates you until you go mad with fear
Concentration is vital, watch the dials or face certain death
It’s what we have trained for, our destiny
For some the training is so brief it’s a wonder they get off of the ground at all
Brave men risking everything for their country, serving the men and women left behind
The cruelty of war is all around – crashed planes, burnt out with no chance of escape, buildings reduced to piles of smouldering rubble
Innocent men, women and children displaced, grieving loved ones, praying for a swift end to the endless bombing
The fear of what else is to come grips the nation
As countries capitulate we fight on with our heads held high
Adrenaline kicks in and we act like robots, automatic responses drilled into our minds
We aren’t special; we aren’t heroes’ just ordinary folk doing a job that needs to be done
For many to fly a plane was just a distant boyhood dream now here we are up in the sky
Defending our country for all it is worth
We go up at all times of the day or night, always praying for good weather conditions
Fighting the enemy is one thing to have to fight the weather as well is a frustrating hazard we could well do without
Our lives are expendable it is the bigger picture that matters
We do not serve to get medals, to get recognition, to get our photos in the paper
We do not crave adulation from the wider public – how can you celebrate killing a fellow human being for that is what we have done?
Our greatest goal is to live, to see our families again, our children
To watch them grow up in a country they are proud to call home
Many of us are barely men at all; we haven’t tasted but a tiny drip of life
We haven’t proposed marriage to a girl, bought our own house – all that is but a dream waiting to come true
Our friends and colleagues die, picked off one by one
Some only last a day, hours even
A lost plane, brutal injuries that result in death, burns that scar a mans body for life
Men who parachute out of a dying plane only to be shot at and killed by the enemy
Some parachute too late and crash land into the world below, others drown when they are forced to bale out over the sea
We look for our missing men when time allows but often there is no trace, it is as if the earth has swallowed them whole, taken them some place where no further harm can come to them
Names written on a chalk board so easily rubbed out, replaced and rubbed out again
We cannot allow ourselves to grieve or we would never get out of bed
So many have gone leaving behind broken families and heartbroken friends
A new name, a new fresh face replaces them eager to do their bit for the cause
They cannot replace the men we have lost no matter how many jokes we share with them, no matter how many tales we tell them
We come back in to land battered and bruised – mentally as well as physically exhausted
A few are missing; some we saw meet their maker others vanished into the night sky never to be heard of again
The men on the ground patch up our wounded planes as best they can – working miracles all hours of the day and night, maybe they are the silent heroes of this merciless war?
We count up our achievements, say a silent prayer for those lost and head off for a stiff drink or a well earned sleep
Many sleep fitfully as nightmares creep in
In a few hours maybe less we will be doing this all again, the bombardment is endless as is our urge to win
We are but a few, an army of men pulled from every corner of the globe fighting with everything we have to obliterate an unwelcome foe
We cannot dwell on our achievements as for every enemy plane shot down a man has most probably died or at least been wounded
He is a man with family and friends just like us, just like us he is doing a job
One day roles into another, then another – the faces change but the objective always remains the same