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Black and White Memories

Black and White Memories

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Published by LadySekhmet1st
Black and White Memories “Don’t let her see those newspapers” he said. My Father referring to some press coverage at the end of the war. The papers were duly removed from my sight. But my Mother to whom this plead had been addressed, only Stacked them for rolling into spills to be used for lighting the daily fire. A task that always fell to me, an eight year old with a vigorous reading habit you see. On my knees before the black grate with it’s brass fittings gleaming, and ash tray emptied and c
Black and White Memories “Don’t let her see those newspapers” he said. My Father referring to some press coverage at the end of the war. The papers were duly removed from my sight. But my Mother to whom this plead had been addressed, only Stacked them for rolling into spills to be used for lighting the daily fire. A task that always fell to me, an eight year old with a vigorous reading habit you see. On my knees before the black grate with it’s brass fittings gleaming, and ash tray emptied and c

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Published by: LadySekhmet1st on May 20, 2010
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Black and White Memories“Don’t let her see those newspapers” he said.My Father referring to some press coverage at the end of the war.The papers were duly removed from my sight.But my Mother to whom this plead had been addressed, onlyStacked them for rolling into spills to be used for lighting the daily fire.A task that always fell to me, an eight year old with a vigorous reading habit you see.On my knees before the black grate with it’s brass fittings gleaming, and ash trayemptied and clean, made ready to receive our daily offerings to Belenos.I spread the sheets of yesterday’s news across the rug revealing what my Father haddreaded his first born might behold.Large black and white pictures filling page after page, photographs never before published editors proudly told.Barely recognisable but yes human beings. Faces gaunt with huge dark eyesstaring back at me. Fingers little more than bones thrust through greatwalls of wire. Expressions of helpless hope to be free.Garbed in crude bold strips. Strange and ugly uniforms in an age when handsomemilitary clothing was the proud fashionable scene.These ill fitting symbols of rank downgrading their wearers into even less thannonentity. No Grimm’s Fairy Tale this story, nor Robin of the Green. Cinderella and SleepingBeauty along with Mother Goose never shared such misery, before reaching the inevitable happy ending where justice and truth must prevail.Pictures without words of people and places, of conditions and treatments,of horror undreamed by Edger allen Poe.That is what my Father did not want me to know. Now so many years after, the memories still surface occasionally. Re- enforced bymore knowledge of those unspeakable happenings through books, and diaries.By word of mouth, and the struggles of a whole restored nation in attempting toretrieve it’s dignity, and I wonder about his motive, and just what it was he did notwant me to see? Was it Germany’s shame or cruelty?. Was it Man’s inhumanity?.Was it a chosen people’s two thousand years of sad destiny?.Was it the base nature that then, and now still pervades us as a species so unique inthe annals of Darwinian history?.He was right my Father so long ago, in those days when innocence was mine,and he had wanted to preserve that for me eternally.For I shall take to my grave the newspaper’s pictures dated sometime in 1944,

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