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One thing is sure, the case made for conflict is fabricated long before full-scale war is declared. It is begun by nurturing within the people of a nation hatred of a perceived injustice, leading to a desire for revenge, and ending in utter futility. At the time, this madness sprang up in Nazi Germany, inspired predominantly in their youth. Those who survived the Second World War are old men now; some regretting having partaken of the "sour grapes" that set the teeth of successive generations on edge. But while the inhumanity of one's forefathers cannot be concealed, the judicial decision of God is that each man "shall die for his own wrongdoing". (4) I think it important to note that only those wars initiated by God against apostate nations are deemed holy wars.
How we boys loved the warm summer sunshine at weekends, with so many things we wanted to do. Some of us waited for weeks for a short heavy downpour of rain, and then after it, were quick off the mark to the fir grove. You see, Tommy Stanbury and me had discovered a secret place, a couple of miles away in the countryside, on a gentle slope. It was a large depression in the ground, shaped like a huge basin, which would quite deeply fill with water. The basin was in the centre of a clearing, on the other side of a densely overgrown fir grove, conveniently surrounded be fir trees. We were up early on one particular morning, Malc and me, excitedly cutting sandwiches like doorsteps and filling pop bottles with drinking water, stuffing it all into Dad's haversack, along with a towel. Mam and Dad were still sleeping, or so we thought, when we heard, "R-o-n-n-i-e!"
It
was Mam. On Sunday mornings Mam and Dad would stay in bed for hours (if
Dad wasn't working, that is) with their newspapers, and gorge
themselves on enormous bars of chocolate. I'd trot over the road in my socks to
Mrs Bright's, the corner shop, for their ritual chocolate bars, while Malc would
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