War- the tragedy, the horror of the human race. We live on such a tiny planet, the universe is infinite, unknowable in its size, so why we would want to keep on fighting each other. The only ones who gain are the weapon makers. We should have grown up after over 2000 years of history and no longer behave like barbarians. But we haven’t.
This brings me back to a favourite subject – Shakespeare, I have just arrived back in England. I switched on the tv to watch the news….missed it, but instead got Kenneth Branagh’s film of Shakespeare’s ” Henry V”. If you want to get a taste of the horrors of battle, watch this superb film. Its depiction of the sadness, the ugliness of war is heart breaking. It is wonderfully staged and shot – cinematography by Kenneth MacMillan, for which he won a BAFTA. It is a film that truly drives home the ghastliness of people living and destroying each other in a war zone, all perfectly understood and portrayed by the genius mind of that great writer. It transcends generations. War and its horrors never change.
I was born in the midst of World War II and remember little about it. One sound sticks in the mind – the sirens – the warning of an imminent bomb attack, that loud wailing sound, never forgotten. Like many children, as a toddler, I was evacuated to the country and have memories of a beautiful garden, grown and cared for by two retired women, former missionaries, somewhere in Shropshire and their delicious English strawberries – I ate more than my fair share, I am ashamed to say. Sadly can’t seem to find those sweet, small ones anymore, except growing in a garden.
I had no real family life – my father was a German refugee and my mother an English artist. It was a brief wartime marriage, which should never have been. But it gave me a really interesting family background, so completely different in culture and experience. Maybe if I ever write my autobiogaphy, I will expand on this. Dad joined the British army and Mum carried on working as an artist for a woman’s magazine. They never shared a home and I lived with my mother, seeing my father once a week on a Saturday. Still, children accept most of the situations, they find themselves in and just get on with it and so did I.
So – although England was under the constant threat of invasion, the actual reality of the worst war was more distant. I am sad though for those children in Ukraine, the Middle East and other current war zones, having to suffer the fear and sadness of growing up in such cruel conditons. The politicians and anyone perpetuating the wars should be forced to live in the midst of a battle zone for a while, to clearly comprehend what they are doing and the misery it causes. Still, hope springs eternal and maybe, one day we humans will come to our senses, before we completely wipe ourselves out.
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