Just before the war

It must have been late August  
I was only eight, near nine,  
my brother in the pram  
passed Jaconelli''s  ice cream  
on Scarborough's southern shore;  
there just for the day.  
Dad pointed out to sea  
look he said, look there,  
like a cigar it rested  
on the sea, or so it seemed  
silver, shining in the evening  
sun, low, behind the castle cliff.  
Dad said it was Graf-Zepplin  
but now I read it wasn't,  
just another airship with no name.  
checking on the aerials, snooping  
I knew what they were, they tell  
us now it was a secret, but I was eight,  
they were radio-location masts  
to warn about a war. It was all  
so exciting, ice creams and candy floss,  
the Yorshire Man and speed boats  
kites, white chocolate, dodgem cars  
clanking steam trains,leather straps  
to close the windows and gas lit;  
Victoriana,wood and clerestory-roof.  
Bus and home at nine and tired.  
Paper crosses on the window panes,  
sand bucket,'ST’on the door  
for stirrup pump.
Dad in the R.O.C