The moon is shining, though heavy clouds cover her.
One can see the row of small ships silhouetted
in front and behind us against the grey sea.
And so we sail on towards Caen. You, my angel,
sleep gently in the nursery. A long line
of flares hangs over Cherbourg. Funny to imagine
that there Germans run around their guns.
The engine of our boat rocks and rattles.
With me sleep three officers; how childlike
and natural we look when we are asleep.
The air is free of aeroplanes. The best
we can do now is listen to the wireless.
I hope that Andrew’s golden head
rests gently upon his small pillow.
My eyes become wet when I think of you;
I can imagine how you listen to the news.
From Captain Alastair Bannerman’s diary entry on D-Day, 6 June 1944.
Verbatim Poetry 