Recalcitrant Memory Poem by Martin McLean

Memory's deception is tantalising
Especially when it is incomplete.
The blast from an errant V1 Flying
Bomb showered glass, knocking us off our feet.
My mother was flat out, quite motionless.
Two years old what could I do? Quite helpless.

That I do remember. Then blank. Later,
Mum tells me, in hospital coming round.
'Where's my boy? ' None had news to give her.
There were only the two of us around.
She found me in hospital near enough,
But five days after and with Whooping Cough.

I remember I was tied down in a bed
By a nurse, on the roof. The sun shone straight
In my eyes but I could not move my head.
Then my mother came to me so elate.
I'd had two days of medical support.
Of the other three there was no report.

Many years, from records I found
The V1, launched in Belgium, came down
In London, the other side of a mound
Fifty metres from us. Only the top crown
Of a hillock saved us. My thought
Was only on the five days I had not caught.