My sister’s shrill voice ebbs away like the tide,
Before racing back in to deposit
Unwelcomed syllables of piousness
Into my weakened body, mind and soul.
She warily tip-toes through the broken bar
Careful not to debase her bony legs,
Breezily surveying the bombed boozer while
Fixing her beautiful long brunette hair.
I sit and mutely stare at tiny rainbows
Refracted off a resilient pint pot;
A single intact item from our lives
Laid bare by the sun shining through the ceiling.
Piece produced for OU study.
Source: University of Sussex, Mass Observation Online, British Social History, Diaries 1939-1945, Diarist 5226, August 1941.