Operation Grapple - a poem by Alex Masson

I wrote this poem because some people that serve with us developed “cancer”.  You couldn't tell them, or their families, that they didn’t get it from the radiation from the “bombs”.   I handled all the loads of material for the “bombs”, and when the last of the testing had been done, I flew down to Malden Island into "ground zero” to recover all the ‘flash recording’, 'radiation counting’ and seismograph equipment’ on the island.  If anyone was in danger of getting “cancer”, it could have been me! I am now 85 years old, and as yet, have not developed “cancer”. (Here’s hoping - but you could not blame it on the “bombs” after this length of time.)

The code name for the Hydrogen Bomb Tests, was GRAPPLE. 
 
                                              GRAPPLE

                    There a breeze for ever blowing,
                    But not ever very strong,                    
                    Just enough to keep a-going,
                    Chivying the dust along:
 
                    All along the coral beaches,
                    Through the bushes by the tents,
                    Over scrub and palm tree reaches
                    And ignoring man's intents.
 
                    Such a peaceful little island,
                    Such a lonely little spot;
                    Never dreaming that on one hand
                    It might mean somebody's lot.
 
                    We were young then, we were strong then,
                    And so many didn't care
                    For the work that was the token 
                    Of our business being there.
 
                    We were on the Nation's service,
                    Had to do it in those days,
                    Not much point in being nervous
                    And no point in seeking praise.
 
                    Bear in mind, that, as in my case,
                    Was in fact a volunteer;
                    Not that that engenders solace,
                    Nor dispels the nagging fear.
 
                    We were all exposed to danger,
                    Wasn't just a chosen few;
                    This new ailment was a stranger,
                    None that any of us knew.
 
                    We were worked from dawn to sunset,
                    Even longer sometimes, then:
                    Sweating in the tropic sun. Let
                    That be known by "Union Men". 
 
                    Some there be who fell ill later,
                    Some of them have long since died,
                    Victim of the Savage Reaper
                    Cutting swathes on every side.
 
                    Difficult to see connection,
                    Some affected, some were not; 
                    Not always the same affliction,
                    Very difficult to spot.
 
                    Though unfairly were we treated,
                    Never once did I complain.
                    For our foes to be defeated
                    I would do the same again.               Alex Masson     September 1988