The BBC reports thirty-seven deaths confirmed so far in today's London bombings.
Here's a piece of Glyn Maxwell's story, towards the beginning of The Sugar Mile, of the bombs falling on London sixty-odd years ago (and no, I'm not planning on making a habit of poetry in this blog):
Everyone's come to look at where we were.
There's nothing to see, though, is there, Julie. There,
there. I say it to you but you're not crying
I'm the one.
You're the one not doing a single thing
but looking at your fingers, I'm the one.
Everyone's come to look at our old home
when it's too late
for visits. Should have been there yesterday.
Given you lemonade we did have plenty.
Didn't think I'd cry, it's not as if I'm
at the pictures,
it's just that I loved that house it's never sunk in.
It never has. Mrs. Piper, she was digging
yesterday and she said for Victory
poor old Jule.
Look, there's Joey Stone. I knew he'd come.
Nothing's happened to him. I had this dream.
There's the silver balloons, are they just there
to say hello?
Halloo, silver balloons. Can you lift us up
and put us down in a bluebell field of sheep
high in the mountains? We want to hitch a ride,
me and my sis,
if that's your destination. What did you say?
What did you say there, Jule? The Crystal County?
You heard her. The Crystal County, silver balloons,
at the double!