BLOG OF THE WEEK - A CHAT WITH ROBIN KIMBER ABOUT CHILDHOOD IN LONDON DURING THE BLITZ

We have an amazing feature for you this week, my friends. Robin Kimber, whom we affectionately know as Old Egg, and who blogs at Robin's Nest, is chatting with us about his memories of being a young lad in London during World War II, when bombs, blackout curtains and gas masks were part of normal life. I find his a fascinating story. Pull your chairs in close. You won't want to miss a single word.

Sherry: Robin, when you look back, what do you remember about being a child in London during World War II?

Robin, about 1940, with his father 

and older brother

Robin: We kids ran free, even though it was wartime, with army bases close by and planes flying overhead. But we knew no other life. We climbed trees, waded streams and caught tadpoles and fish in there or in ponds. We pretended we were soldiers just like our dads or uncles but with sticks for guns.

Sherry: Were there signs of war that you took for granted as part of daily life?

               

Robin:  We had to carry gas masks to school until it was considered safe. When the air raid siren went off a teacher led us to an air raid shelter across a school field. Most side streets had a communal air raid shelter built on the road itself, allowing one vehicle to pass.

As there was strict petrol rationing, that was fine, as there was so little traffic. If your parents had a car, which mine didn’t, it was put in storage. Petrol rationing was severe, and available mainly for commercial use only. 

Many families had their own air raid shelter in their own gardens, so they didn’t have to run to a communal one some way from their home. Once or twice an announcement was made at assembly that a classmate had been killed in an air raid.

We had no air raid shelter at home. During air raids we slept downstairs, under the dining room table or under the stairs. Luckily for us there were no bombs dropped close to our house. Living a few miles from an army base, the streets were filled with army vehicles, gun carriers and tanks.

An air raid shelter

Sherry: It is very meaningful to get this real-life glimpse of children's lives during wartime, my friend. Sadly, too many children are still experiencing its horrors.

I would like to include one of your poems here, if I may:

THE BLACK CURTAIN

It did no good of course
Drawing the black curtain
To exclude the night
Was some comfort in war

As under the table
We crept all wrapped up tight
For kids it was fun
Parents were anxious, scared

So the bombs they still fell
But drawing the curtain
Flashes were not seen
We heard not Mum's scared keen

The planes rumbled above
As wrapped up in her love
We slept peacefully
Innocent, unaware

We woke up in our beds
T'was like every day
I went off to school
Through smoke, rubble and fire

A few missing from class
But lessons are the same
Gas mask by our sides
Was some comfort in war

Robin: We lived about 37 miles from London, in between the major Army base at Aldershot and the town of Farnham, Surrey. Luckily we were midway between the two, so only a few bombs nearby by accident! Later on the Doodlebug rockets fell at random when they ran out of fuel, but everyone soon leaned that if you heard the drone of the rocket you were safe, for it was only when the engine stopped would the rocket fall to Earth. Us kids were playing cricket in a field one light evening; we heard one fly overhead but, hearing it, we knew we were safe! 

St. Paul's Cathedral under heavy bombing

[forces-war-records.co.uk]

Britain was bombed through much of the war, especially the industrial cities, docks and military establishments. Children, however, adjusted easily in wartime, so our bargaining tools at school were bomb fragments and shell casings, our toys were planes and tanks and cigarette cards, which were no longer in cigarette packets, so some series were highly valued. Worn or unpopular designs were used to play a card-flicking game trying to get yours closest to a wall!

YEARS GONE BY

Years gone by
With grandparents two doors down
Two aunties there too

Two cousins tucked in
Fathers had been called to war
In Britain's dark hour

The war was raging
Housing appropriated
For the duration

One uncle at sea
The other stationed far away
Each child same story

My dad in London
Keeping things working at night
Dowsing the bombs fires

Same for all of them
All they had was constant hope
And fear for us kids

Nobody was spared
Others uncles at front too
All gone to war's call

North Africa, Burma
Fighting in desert, jungle
Patrolling the seas

War's an ugly thing
Making orphans and widows
and peace for us kids

You fought for our homes
You fought for us your children
Now we honor you

Sherry: Yes, we honor them indeed. They fought a hard battle to preserve democracy from fascism. I know your father had a very important job during the war. Would you tell us about it?

en.wikipedia.org

Robin: My father’s job was to help maintain the electrical power system in London. He also he did compulsory fire watching, as London was being bombed with incendiary bombs that set fire to buildings, necessitating him staying at work all night as the power stations had to be protected. So he and other workers sat on the roof all night with buckets of water and sand to douse them. This meant our mother and us two boys had to cope alone, hoping he would return home the next day.

For kids, though, war was exciting. My brother and I would be so pleased when Dad came home from the midst of the bombing with chunks of shrapnel from burst bomb fragments. All kids would collect what they could to show off to other boys, and we were always pleased to have him as a source of collectibles! 

Families were often split up through the war or shifted to safer housing with a relative further from the bombing zones. After the port of Southampton on the south coast was bombed, my wife Maureen’s aunt and cousin came to came to live with her family until war’s end.

Sherry: Such a time of turmoil. I am amazed by your lack of fear. But then you were very young. Your parents must have done an admirable job of making you feel safe, amidst such uncertainty.

Robin: It was only after the war that I fully understood the gravity of war and the effect it had on everyone. In the main, those uncles that came back from serving overseas were not keen to talk about their experiences. My favorite uncle who had served in North Africa, Italy and Austria couldn’t, as he had seen too much and couldn’t share it. 

Both Maureen, my wife, and I lost uncles in the war, both in Europe and in the Far East, particularly in German and Japanese prison camps. Meaning some of our young cousins grew up not knowing their fathers who had died.

Sherry:  My favourite uncle served in the RAF in those years. He could never talk about what he had seen either. He had such sadness in his eyes. Your uncles must have suffered terribly in the prisoner of war camps.

I would like to include another of your poems here, if I may:

           

WEIRD WAR FOR YOUNGSTERS

Toddler in peacetime
Then schoolboy when the bombs fell
But we had free milk

Food was very scarce
Everything was rationed then
Except mothers love

Kids ran wild and free
Bus to school and Ma to work
Dad in London town

His job was great fun
Dowsing incendiary bombs
Dropped by enemy

Eyes on the skies
Looking for the hostile planes
No that's one of ours

Empty grocers shelves
Food was short and so was I
Cold damp bomb shelters

Wrapped up in blankets
Waiting for all clear signal
Let's get back to bed

Wrote childish scrawl note
To uncle in Italy
Cheered him up he said

Another aunt sad
This uncle's not coming home
So she cried a lot

All kids at school fence
Army trucks and tanks pass by
Heading for the coast

Us kids played in the fields
Doodlebug flew overhead
Good it has flown on

The tide was turning
We found out how bad it was
For millions more

We all cheered at last
For peace was finally here
Weird war for youngsters

Sherry: I am sure there was cheering, at war's end.  Is there an especially vivid memory you have, of a defining moment of the war?

en.wikipedia.org

Robin: Man had not been flying for 40 years, but the skies were full of planes. We boys could identify them by wing shape and the sound of their engines.

On one of the last days of summer 1940, our family spent the afternoon on the Hampshire downs. In that glorious setting, we watched a dogfight overhead – tiny planes droning and firing and circling and falling on that dying day of summer. It was the culmination of the Battle of Britain, a deciding point in the war. The action that day was proof to the British that we could win despite the odds.

Sherry: My goodness, Robin, that sounds amazing. It is like you lived in all the movies I ever saw about World War II. It must have been glorious when the war came to an end.

Robin: The war ended, but not the privation of those dreadful years. There was not much of anything in the shops. Rationing continued for a few years. With no television, our great pleasure was to visit the cinema, to watch a grey film in that grey town in a grey country in those grey times.

Sherry: What an amazing childhood you had, my friend, and what heart-stirring memories. Thank you so much for sharing these vivid recollections with us. It has been such a privilege to have this chat with you. We thank you from the bottom of our hearts.

What a very special chat this has been with our beloved Old Egg. We are sure it has been meaningful for you. Do come back and see who we talk to next. Who knows? It might be you! [If you have an amazing story to tell, email me and we'll chat!]

Poems of the Week by Robin, Julian and Frank

It is time to listen to the men again, my friends. Today we have poems written by Robin Kimber, our Old Egg, who blogs at Robin's Nest,  Julian  Clarke, of Pen to Poetry, Guernsey, and Frank Tassone, of  American Haijin.   I was so happy to gather them together and offer them to you today to celebrate our love of poetry. Enjoy!                      

A Long Summer

It was a long summer
While sun smirked down on us
Like an errant uncle
Outstaying his welcome

We needed a shaman
To sing a song for us
We needed the dark clouds
To pour rain down on us

Oh sincere singer sing
Spirit the days to change
Muddy our paths for us
Flood the roads, we don't care

We've lost our dignity
We've forgotten our pride
We lose much more each day
The raven shakes his head

It was a long summer
Clouds darken the night skies
We listen to the rain
Watching from the window

Now just who do we praise?
We had cursed and ranted
Thunder booms, lightning strikes
Someone is not happy


Sherry: I love the shaman, singing his song. As our summers grow hotter, year after year, we are all feeling this kind of heat and thirst, Robin. You have described it well.

Robin: The poem “A long summer” is quite typical of my poems about Australia, where the seasons are not always kind. When first settled, South Australia (the Australian state where I live) was the only British colony in the continent of Australia that was not settled with convicts from England being the main occupants. The colonists here decided to settle by a river, which is now the state capital of Adelaide, and spread out from there, farming first the plains to the north and hilly areas to the east and south.

At first farming was very successful, which encouraged more to come to the state and spread out much further north, and at first the harvests were fine. Then a few years of drought, and the soil now drained of nutrients, crops failed and settlers found they could not make a living anymore, went broke and abandoned the settlements. A government surveyor named Goyder visited the areas and worked out that many farms were too far north or in fact outside the 10 inch average rainfall line, which was the minimum agreed standard for cropping.

Abandoned farmhouse

As farmers went broke and left their farms, they left the stone houses they had lived in, which now dot the countryside and are a photographer’s delight!  The former settlements were, however, suitable for rearing stock. So grazing was adopted instead but not before many farmers went bankrupt and left the land, leaving evidence of this in the empty abandoned stone houses that still dot the scenery far north of Adelaide. 

Old Silverton farmhouse

Goyder’s line however, was not a straight line across the state but rose and dipped in latitude according to the 10 inch average rainfall that was the accepted standard. Now having bored everyone with that, I have often written poems about farming illustrating the difficulties faced and feelings it brought to settlers in those early days. In fact a few days before you asked me about this post I wrote “Swarms of flies” published on 13 May, then there is “Goyder’s Line” published 16 Sep 2015, “Across the gibber plains” 28 Nov 2015, “The country wife” 12 June 2016, and “My vision splendid” 4 Jan 2017. 

I was lucky enough to work 150 miles north of Adelaide many years ago, so had to drive through the area I have written about countless times, as well as exploring even more desolated settlements which are so poignant to see.

Sherry: It must be poignant indeed, seeing those abandoned homes - and dreams. This is such interesting history, Robin. Thank you for giving us the back story of this poem. Those must have been hard days for the settlers, in an unforgiving climate. I checked out the poems you mentioned, and they tell the story so well.

Julian recently posted a beautiful poem about a song carried on the wind. Let's take a look.

I hear your song

Gone, gone: on the west wind I hear your song,

The breath of your soul sweeps through to my heart

As winter leaves danced and scattered, then settled,

Lay frozen, crystallised in pure white snow.

Your life had reasons laid out in a line

Many of them good ones bearing no lies.

Spring exudes beauty, only you compare

Like nature nurtures new life to the world,

And smiles, with sun flowers of summer;

Gone, gone: on the west wind I hear your song.

Sherry: So beautiful, "On the west wind, I hear your song."

Julian: However you decide to interpret my poem, it is not one of sadness, but full of wonderful memories of an exceptional person. that person being my father who passed ten years ago. It amazes me how poetry can take you from feeling quite melancholy, which is how I felt before writing this poem, of which was not planned, and flowed easily from my pen, (that's a rarity in itself). The end result left me feeling warm and in a far better place at the wonderful memories I hold dear.

Sherry: Golden memories indeed. It sounds like you had a remarkable father. Thank you for sharing this poem, Julian. I love it, especially the beauty of your closing line. Sigh.

Let's take a look at Frank's contribution, shall we?

ESSENTIAL

“In the beginning was the word…”

Logos. The essence of consciousness, the embodied will of creative Love, from which the universe began with a Big Bang. An utterance of voice so tender and loving that potential gave birth to actual. A voice so awesomely heartbreaking, and heard now only in the heart of silence.

thunder

and the rain’s rattle …

frog croaks

Who would the Logos call to share the presence? Who would point the finger at the moon, steal the fire that would light the way of humanity, salve the wound festering from ancestors’ egoistic mistakes? 

Who else? Call us Bards, for the verses we craft bare true stories. Call us Troubadours, for our songs shatter hearts. Call us Warrior-poets, for through our art we eviscerate the lies that ensnarl all. Call us Pathfinders, for we show the way. What else would you call teachers?

“Taoing …

the way you can go

isn’t the real way”

Sherry: I love the whole idea of Warrior-poets and Pathfinders. Indeed, I believe we are! A wonderful write, Frank!

Frank: I am honored to offer you my permission to republish "Essential".

This haibun evolved out of two prompts: a bridge prompt from  dVerse Poets’ MTB–Bridging the Gap and Real Toads’ Job Title. I felt inspired by the opening verse of both John's Gospel and Ursula K. Le Guin's rendition of Lao Tzu's Tao Te Ching, so I used them. Logos, the Greek word for word, and Tao, the chinese word for Way, share a similar connotation. I have always been fascinated by the symmetry, so that informed the poetic prose of the first stanza. 

I wanted to complement that with an ordinary haiku grounded in my experience at the moment of writing. Next, I wanted to do justice to my own profession. I have used the titles in a previous haibun, and they resonate as a part of my own vision statement. I rewrote them in this stanza, adding new contextual descriptors that tied in with the heights I introduced in the first prose stanza. I then ground the haibun again in that final haiku.

Sherry: This poem is wonderful on so many levels. I have been enjoying the format of your poems lately, Frank.

Frank: I'm not sure what you mean by a new format. I've written haibun in single prose-haiku or multiple prose-haiku "Stanzas" before. I've also written tanka-prose, often sandwiching a prose portion between two tanka. As for voice, I let the subject inspire me, and I write in response to that inspiration. I chose to personify water in Aqua, for example, because that's what felt right when I reflected on water. I thought of its importance in our lives, and how every culture has Gods of different aspects of water, and the poem called for water as the narrator.

source

Sherry: I loved "Aqua". It was a tossup which poem I wanted to feature. But the warrior-poets won out! Smiles.

Frank: Thank you for your invitation to feature "Essential". I've enjoyed discussing it with you.

Sherry: And we are enjoying the conversation, Frank. Thank you.

Well, my friends, wasn't this delightful? Thank you, gentlemen, for sharing your thoughts about your very wonderful poems with us. 

Do come back and see who we talk to next, fellow poets. Who knows? It might be you!

POEMS ON GRIEF: BY ROBIN, ERIC, LEE SAN, AND BJORN

Today we are featuring four from-the-heart poems written by Robin Kimber, our beloved Old Egg, who blogs at Robin's Nest, Eric of erbiage, Lee San, known to us as dsnake, who blogs at Urban Poems, and the inimitable Bjorn Rudberg, of Bjorn Rudberg's Writings. Each of these poems travels straight from the poet's heart to ours. I gathered them together so we can reflect on all that life comprises: love and joy, loss and pain. Because I know we wouldn’t trade our greatest joys and deepest heartaches for anything.

SINGING THIS SAD SONG

Late evening slowly darkens
I love our walks in summer
The day's air now cool and clear
Skies darken, the stars come out

Twinkling lights take charge up there
Croaking frogs still like to shout
Your soft warm hands safe in mine
Fireflies flash as we pass them by

Moon peeps from behind a tree
For nightlife and us to see
Now lighting up your beauty
You let me taste your soft lips

But I wake up having dreamed
Singing this sad song of you
Pretending you were still here
As you always used to be


Sherry: So beautiful the dream, and so sad the awakening! Beautifully done, Robin. 

Robin: My wife and I were great explorers of the countryside and forest in search of birds, as she was an enthusiastic birdwatcher. She was always hoping to add one more Australian bird to her life list. This found us is in some odd places, such as dark forests with the trees whispering to us but not letting on where the birds were, and clambering over rocks on beaches which others shunned, looking for migrating shore birds. And even wandering around rubbish dumps and tips, where other birds, not having a rotting odour problem, searched for food as we ticked them off our lists holding our noses. 

The forests, however, were our favorite with the unseen call of birds requiring our total silence, sitting still to see if they might approach, and the delight when they did. This was especially so if we moved not a muscle and came up really close.

So I have many happy memories doing all these things, with the forest the most beautiful and romantic of them all.

Sherry: So lovely, Robin. I can see the two of you sitting there, waiting for the birds to visit. Such lovely memories you have! How you must miss your beautiful wife.

Eric speaks of a grief I am familiar with: the grief we tap down, especially as children, when we are not assisted in our grieving. You will see why I resonate so strongly with this fine poem.

A garden of grief

She'll look in my eyes, bless her so
For my loss and my pain to show
But those corners are not dark enow
For my tears to flow

By the time grandma died
I'd learnt to shut that off
Shut down my heart
And silently laugh it off

But deep within me there was
A black fist, holding, squeezing.
Stashing it all in there.  The loss
Remorse, unworthiness.

So sweetheart if you want to know
Where my tears go
Watch me dig my garden
In my sweat my tears do show

the spade cuts into earth, mother
Sweat glistens in the dark heat
Ill turn the earth to inter my grief
This is why these tomatoes are so sweet

Eric: I grew up across the street from a zoo.  The lions would wake me in the summertime with their roaring.  Not common in New Jersey.  It didn't happen that often, for the noble beasts were quite lethargic. I think that this is what happens to grief.  We take the wild thing and lock it up in a cage.  We hide, deny, ignore.  By we I mean I, I'm just hiding behind that.  

Well I went all Casks of Amontillado on my grief, so when my grandma died I didn't feel a thing.  Which only compounded my grief, and that black fist got a little stronger.  What finally broke me was my cat.  She was around for my formative years, in the cellar or outside mostly, as mom was allergic.  The cat and I were sometimes in the same place, but mostly it was more like an orbit.  

So when she passed, we put her in a cardboard box, and I dug a hole in the back yard.  I put the box in, everything was fine.  But the first shovelful of dirt caved in the cardboard box, and I just crumbled.  Tears streaming, arms trembling with each shovelful...  It's a wordless thing, felt in the body.  So I'm afraid I can't say much more about grief, except a footnote:  I forgot about that incident with my cat for many many years.  And I'm weeping again now.

Sherry: I absolutely know that feeling, Eric. As a child, my coping mechanism was to numb my feelings. As a single mom, I had to stay strong through many losses. In 2011, my wolf-dog died, and I cried for seven years - all the tears of my life.

Thank you for sharing such a long-held grief, in such a beautiful way. Sigh.  And I can't believe you lived close enough to hear lions roaring! How amazing!

The following poem by Lee San, about the loss and grief of losing someone  beloved, really speaks to our hearts. When love is that deep, the grief lasts long. Let's tiptoe in to take a look, for this poem is very tender.

TEDDY BEAR

another year already?
your teddy bear sits
alone
on the dressing table
among the combs and cologne.

today i was at the temple
offering incense to you.
silent
i have not heard your voice
for the past two decades.

the man staring back
from the dark glass
has aged.
you may not know him
as the one you had loved.

a mynah lands on the
aircon unit outside.
looks at me
perhaps to ride the rain
perhaps to see me weep.

image from pixabay

Lee San: It is my honour to have my poem ‘Teddy Bear’ featured.

This poem is about grief, and perhaps how to cope with the memories of a loss. I wrote this in the memory of my late spouse. She was a brave and lovely soul, and to have lost her after only some short years together is something quite hard to take at first. The teddy bear in the poem is one of her possessions.

I wrote this poem a couple of years back, and it stays put in the Blogger drafts until recently when I took it out to check for grammar and punctuation for posting. Anyway, I was too busy to post anything last year.

This poem is what may be called confessional poetry. I think most of the poems in my blog are of this type. This poem is quite short too, which is how I usually like the length of my poems. And yes, there is a certain form in the structure of this poem.

Sherry: It is very beautiful, Lee San. How very sad to have lost your young wife so soon. A deep grief for certain. The lines in the poem that say, were she to see you now, she wouldn’t know you really struck me. Yet, looking through the eyes of love, I am certain that she would. 

Thank you for sharing this beauty of a poem with us, Lee San. 

When I read it, I recognized that Bjorn’s poem “Spoon-Feeding Mother” would be the perfect poem to feature alongside it, since there are so many ways to lose a loved one, and Bjorn is living one of the hardest. Let’s read:

Spoon-Feeding Mother

when parting came slowly
as words you forgot
or when you were lost

we thought we had time
to listen to music
to read or to dine

we never could tell
   you
      goodbye

now when you’re silent
and we still cannot tell
but we wait
we spoon-feed you soup
and wonder
if you’ve already left.

Sherry: This is such a heartbreaking way to lose your mother, Bjorn. I am so sorry.

Bjorn: The background to this poem comes from the experience with my mother who is the victim of dementia. A couple of years ago she was still living at home and we thought that she managed, though sometimes she was a bit confused, as she lives in another town I didn’t get to visit very often.

Things got worse and we were happy that she got place at a good nursing home. At first she improved and we could visit and go for walks with her, but after a period of illness she ceased to talk and cannot walk any longer. She is bound to wheelchair and has to be fed.

Sherry: Dementia is such a long goodbye.  Our hearts go out to you, my friend.

Thank you, gentlemen, for your stirring and beautiful poems and the sharing of your experiences. And for continuing to keep coming back to Poets United. We so appreciate you! 

I am sure we can all relate to these poems on memory, love, loss and grief. We hope you take away something in your hearts from the sharing. Do come back and see who we talk to next. Who knows? It might be you!

A Chat With Robin About Humans, Whales, and the Great Barrier Reef

Some weeks ago now, Robin Kimber, whom we know affectionately as Old Egg, who writes so charmingly at Robin's Nest, wrote a poem reflecting on how the world has changed since we were young. I think many of us feel the same way, looking back on simpler times, when there was a certain societal expectation of behavioral norms, that seems to be lacking today. I asked him if he might reflect a bit on his poem, and his feelings writing it. I bring it to you today, for your thoughtful consideration.

SAND THROUGH MY FINGERS

Little did I think playing on the beach
A child many years before
Those sand castles, moats and dams that I built
Were mountains in days of yore

As the sea washed over my little toes
I knew not what came before
That my ancestors had crawled up on this beach
A new place to live they saw

For as I hopped and skipped without a thought
As I grew each year by year
We had once feared wild beasts and birds around
Pets now that I hold dear

Did they stay close or forsake Mother Sea?
To find a safe place to hide
Live in a cave or construct a wood hut
Safe from predators abide

Mankind has struggled many years thus far
Now to reach this point in time
But found it best to fight in bloody wars
And to trash this Earth sublime

As the sand through my fingers now does run
A tear runs down my face
This paradise in which we once lived
Has been made hell in its place



Sherry: It does seem a very different world today from the one we knew as children. I often wonder if today's children feel about life the way we did, when life was safe and stable and calm. I do hope they have the same pleasures and hopefulness and dreams that we did. 

Robin: When I wrote my ‘Looking back’ poem a few weeks ago, I was getting frustrated with the Australian government for supporting international mineral magnates to come and drill for oil in off South Australia’s shores, and mine for coal in Queensland, which had the likelihood of affecting not only the unique fauna in the neighborhood but would also seriously endanger the ocean's inhabitants and the unique Great Barrier Reef of the coast of the state of Queensland. 

The Reef is already suffering due to global warming, causing it to bleach, but the proposal was to provide a deep shipping channel to the ports so the coal could be easily transported abroad.  

Catlin Seaview Survey

Australia doesn’t really need it, with the feasibility of all our energy being sourced through renewable means, such as Wind and Solar generation in the near future.

Sherry: I have been concerned for the Reef, too, Robin. They must be protected, and helped back to health.  I am also inspired by your country's efforts to switch to clean energy. 

Robin: Oil may also be found in the Great Australian Bight, which is the massive bay that stretches hundreds of miles from Western Australia to South Australia. It is a sanctuary for Southern Right Whales to come in wintertime to escape the frozen Antarctica, and for females to give birth in safety. 

news.com.au photo

Because there are very few sites for harbours for hundreds of kilometres, it is a safe haven for other sea life too. Strict fishing limits are imposed on both commercial and recreational fishermen there to ensure the fish stock numbers are kept viable. Clearly having a huge exploration effort for oil in the Bight would affect not only the wildlife but Australians as well, together with the tourist industry that this unique environment attracts.

Sherry: It is the same struggle everywhere, addressing the need to protect wild ecosystems, against the voracious demands of the multinationals, whose bottom line is always money, at the expense of all else. 

Robin: In the poem I wrote, I tried to convey how the innocence of mankind has been lost over the millennia. We have developed the ability to do almost anything on Earth and beyond with the aid of education, cooperation, scientific discoveries and our inventiveness, but we still cannot feed the starving, we cannot preserve the precious forests that give us air to breathe, we pollute the atmosphere and cause an acceleration of global warming and still fight each other like savages, as we don’t want to share or we dislike the way that others worship their gods, thinking that we are the only ones that are right.

Sherry: I feel the same way, Robin. I resonate very much with your poem "What's Happening?" and would like to include it here, since it continues this lamentation.

What's Happening?

What's happening to our world?
As we now cringe in mortal fear
Are terrified of rulers vain
That will destroy all we hold dear

Happiness is so hard to find
Despite our Earth's once rich domain
Too many greedy and cruel in charge
Some of our leaders seem insane

With forests felled and icecaps gone
Wild animals search for a home
Our waste strewn across all the Earth
Our rivers filled with toxic foam

What's happening in our world
Please let there be a hopeful light
To see a future for all kids
I fervently pray that I'm right

Sherry: I do, too, my friend. I have always been determined that the transformation of human consciousness would occur in time, that humans could not possibly be so short-sighted as to put money before planetary survival. With the election of the U.S. president, I admit to falling into utter discouragement. The planet doesn't have four more years to ignore climate change.

But I am noticing his withdrawal from the Paris Climate Accord has galvanized and strengthened most people and countries of the world, including cities and states in the U.S.,  to work all the harder to make the switch to clean energy. So, in a way, his approach has backfired quite nicely.

Robin: This Earth we live on will continue with or without us changing slowly or dramatically, if we are foolish. But mankind sees only money in the bank, not trees in blossom, see castles of their making rather than the health of all living things. We think we are so big and important but we can’t see we are upsetting the balance of nature and are hastening a disaster that may well be catastrophic.

Sherry: It is astonishing to me, when we have all the information, see the poles melting,  coastal areas already flooding, that we are still so slow to act. We are the only species so greedy and heedless that we destroy our own habitat (and that of every other living thing).

A Southern Right Whale, breaching

copyright Doc White / naturepl.com

Robin: Southern Right Whales as well as seals and sea-lions can often be seen all along South Australia’s and other states coastlines. Now that it is winter, we can expect a whale sighting any day now at Victor Harbor, a former whaling port where they like to come for a rest.

Sherry: Our whales on the west coast of the island are here too, migrating up to Alaska from Baja. Some of them will stay all season in our area, becoming accustomed to the tour boats. Each year, there is a "friendly," who sometimes approaches a boat and allows itself to be seen close up, looking in at the people with its big, ancient eye. More rarely, one allows itself to be patted, a gift and an amazement. I always think that "whoosh" they make sounds like the voice of God. Their breath is very ancient too. It smells of ocean bottoms and things long gone.

Robin: Curiously there’s a rule here that you shouldn’t approach too close to a whale when they are in-shore just in case they suddenly notice you and make a sudden movement causing your boat to capsize!

Sherry: We have that rule too. Boats must stay a good distance away and may not chase or pursue whales. We do not want to disturb them. When we spot them, we stop the boat, turn off the motor and drift. I find that whales approach the rubber zodiacs more often as, in them, we are drifting silently, at almost the same level. I remember one diving right beside my boat once. It thrilled me to my toes!

A not-very-shy Tofino whale

freshtrackscanada.com

Robin: My wife and I looked over a cliff on the Bight (between South Australia and Western Australia) and there must have been over twenty whales placidly making themselves at home and there were young ones there too. 

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In the Barrier Reef's tranquil waters, people swim miles from shore, (which I have done!), but I didn’t stay in too long. I didn’t want a shark to sniff me out!

Sherry: It must have been amazing! Robin, I have enjoyed this interesting chat so much! Thank you for sharing your knowledge and reflections with us. You have given us much to think about.

Well, my friends, there you have it: humans, whales, the great barrier reef, climate change and clean energy, a conversation  for our times. Do come back and see who we talk to next. Who knows? It may be you!