I know, I know… my name is not Barbara and the town is not Brest (even though Brest is not far at all).
I dared self-ironically to paraphrase the famous poem of Jacques Prévert
Il pleuvait sans cesse sur Brest ce jour-là
Et tu marchais souriante
Epanouie ravie ruisselante
Sous la pluie
Il pleuvait sans cesse sur Brest"
It was raining nonstop in Brest that day
and you walked smiling
artless delighted dripping wet
in the rain
It was raining nonstop in Brest”
By the way it’s one of my favourite modern poems.
I find it soberly touching and it contains one of the most suitable definitions of war
“Quelle connerie la guerre”
Brest, the Breton town mentioned in the original poem, was the main German submarine base for the Atlantic during World War II.
Brest was totally destroyed by bombing raids by the end of the war.
Only three buildings were left standing.