Photograph of a Bristol University ceremony, 1941
I went down to Bristol to receive a degree at the hands of the Chancellor, Mr Winston Churchill … During the previous evening the Great Hall of the University was destroyed. When we arrived the ruins were smoking; there was wreckage everywhere. Members of the faculties arrived wearing their academic robes over their smoke-stained battledress. – Robert Menzies, Diary.
Radiant grins. Two men in archaic robes
In a burning city. Just out of sight
Rescuers dig through rubble. The bombers
Will be back again that night.
And behind those grins? We know they know
barring some miracle, the end is near.
The options have come down to little more
than to grin and wave, and not show fear.
Nearby, they know, the Home Guard drill
with brooms and shot-guns. That is all
there is left to do. The smoke-clouds drift
from the wreckage of the city, from the hall.
But the photographs may cheer some refugee,
Some soldier standing in a lonely breach,
Some mother, fireman, factory worker –
Robes and grins are weapons now, like speech.
About the only weapons. “Last hope island”
The Polish airmen call it. Who knows when
The end will come, the last hope drown in blood.
Gestures are left. Give them a gesture then.
In Poland the death-trains roll to East and West.
Smile for the cameras, leaders! Never betray
The anguish and despair beneath the smiles.
We have made a new Doctor of the Laws today,
Confronting all the modern age in arms.
A ridiculous, hopeless gesture at the dark.
The money and the guns are running out.
There are no allies now. Those are the stark
and towering facts behind the grins.
Tired, fallible men, strutting in fine dress,
radiating hope upon the ramparts
of an old fortress that is more or less
empty. Each moment the sun is sliding
down towards the horror of the night.
But pretend that civilization has a chance,
make a good ending in a hopeless fight.
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