Queen Victoria Monument
There’s a picture in a book.
I often stop and take a look.
The monument was one thing left
Amongst a city quite bereft
Of buildings there the day before,
Then bombed to bits and there no more.
He’d worked all day with short resources,
Printing fly-sheets for the forces
Who from ships would shortly land.
But he had not the time to stand
And contemplate a job he’d botch.
He had to go on fire watch.
A drink he’d had, a sandwich swallowed,
He his comrades quickly followed,
Suddenly all hell broke out
‘Run!' He heard the stricken shout.
They climbed upon her knee in turn
And could only watch their City burn.
The Queen Victoria monument
Was never as a shelter meant.
I’m glad whoever built it, did
It saved the precious life of Sid.
If they never ever had,
I’d have never known my Dad.
By Jeann Neale