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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Through her window,she could see nothing in the clear blue sky. Its deep colour was reflected in the calm waters Of the estuary which spread out in the distance. Even the normal busy shipping traffic Seemed to have been lulled to sleep this hot summer afternoon. There would usually be the sound of ships' horns Out in the Elbe as they signalled for the lock gates to open. Water was calm, sky was calm. It felt to Petra that she was looking at a painting where nothing Was really alive but only replicated in oilpaint. The ever-growing buzz in the sky was the only indication that the scene was real. Others had heard the sound as well. Like hundreds of bees, but these had a special sting The temperature was high and it was very dry There had been no rain for some time. Now there was a rain of bombs. Petra saw the explosions through her window before she heard them In the distance as the skyful of B17 s unloaded their cargoes. Petra and her little sister were terrified, struck immobile in fright. Their window bellied in like a giant glass balloon suddenly over-inflated, And jagged, face-ripping shards of glass snarled across the hall And embedded themselves in the cushions of the sofa. The woolly innards of the cushions spewed out, Dangling lifeless from the slash-wounds. Luckily the girls were not cut. Suddenly, the whole area became one big fire With air being sucked in with the force of a storm. Fires joined together, temperatures rose to melting lead, Wind speed picked up to hurricane levels, Trees were hurled into the flames, furniture, cars, even people hurled in. Fire trucks unable to get through roads blocked by rubble. Dying by carbon monoxide poisoning When all the air was drawn out of their basement shelters, The shelters were filled, but few people were really alive. And then it was over. As the exploding fireballs gradually died away, The drone and throb of the buzzing B17s faded off To the blue sky of the east, to torment some other part of the city. Walls crashed to the ground, gas lines exploded, people cried and screamed, The girls shook with terror, but the B17s had gone. History called it 28 July 1943 - Hamburg firestorm. Petra always called it Day of the Bees. .. .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Entered in Debbie Guzzi's Contest Hot Time Summer in the City
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