War babies.

War babies.

Children played at war

Sometimes drew blood by mistake

Using sharp sticks

As swords

They made bows

From Churchyard Yew

Thought it was brave

To rip a branch from a tree

Stealing a longbow from the long-dead

It wasn’t funny

To be in stitches

But they laughed.

Rites of passage

Were tribal

When they were older

The sharp barbs were words

Used as grappling irons

Wielded indiscriminately,

Social climbing.

Not that they knew,

It was ignorance

The ginger jibe

The lardy boy

Some went too far

Joined the forces

Went to war

Lost touch with each other

Uniforms were anathema

Real life was a ploy

Brokered by parents

To frighten children into performing well

Finding their station

When so many were closing.

They were meant to

Find their own way

Even though

Sometimes it was

Better to be lost.

Children played with toys

Doctors and nurses

With the girls

Relationship dynamics

Were always complex

They would compete

Play differently

Sometimes pretending to be dead

Played for sympathy

Played the fool

Played for laughs

Played tricks

Turned the tables

On each other

Until losing track

Of who started what

Why and when

But they never played at funerals

Which were scary

Grown-up things

To be avoided until

Childhood was a duffle coat

Hung from a hook

Behind the kitchen door

Left unworn

Outgrown

Donated to the Salvos

The end of life begun