I went to Jersey
They said don’t mention the war
They are ashamed of their surrender
But feel yourself with their choice, or no choice
Not looking coldly at cold facts.
Try to feel their besieged emotions
Pulling at their mother love
The strain of the struggle between principle and pragmatism
What use to get shot or imprisoned for a small defiance,
Leaving your children frightened, unprotected?
There are tunnels under Jersey
Mined deep by the invading Germans
Prisoners gouging out the violated granite
For shelter from an attack which never happened
Now there are waxworks in the tunnels, in German uniforms
They have video screens for faces
Blond, blue eyed Aryan teenage boys
Every mother’s son, far from home, lonely
They ask Will you do my washing?
Have you got a room?
Can I buy your child an ice cream?
Could you give me some food?
Would you mend my jacket?
Well, would you?
