68 Years Ago

68 years ago 68 years ago, I was onboard the world's oldest tank ship wooden decks and looking like a sailing ship more than a tanker in the Black Sea on the way to Odesa. The sea had ice flakes, fishing vessels got stuck, and a Russian minesweeper was on its way to help it was painted dark blue and red; the sky was slightly overcast. What I remember best was the silence, no TV. no noise from constant communication in the cold air, above all no mobile phones had yet to intrude. Now, ships loaded with grain follow a mine-free lane on the way to the Dardanelles for inspection by men in uniform before heading for Africa. Not destined for the famished population, not yet the grain is stored in gigantic silos by trying governments distributed by them at an inflated price, the poor cannot afford the starvation continues unabated. We have been here before, in the winter of 1949, people froze to death when fishing and fell like nine pins when spring came; few families had any furniture left. 68 years ago, I recall the unmoving stillness, now there is a cacophony of angry voices protesting against the burden they are asked to carry for our leaders.