Poetry - By/for/about aircrew

[Antipodean Andy]

Okay, this has me caught up with the ones I've found recently...good way to get post count up!

The 22 Squadron Lament

From Kamchatka down to Moresby, from Canton across to Leeds,
There are men who hit the headlines, by the merit of their deeds,
Every paper tells the story of sturdy suntanned Gods,
Who came from way down under and despite inhuman odds
Never hesitate or falter or stand asking what to do,
But it’s hard to find a mention of the men of TWENTY TWO.
Down at Airboard where it’s busy, and the seats are wearing thin,
And the Squadrons bound for action, have been picked out with
a pin,
Billy Bostock and Big Wigs and the great MacArthur too,
Rest happy in the knowledge that they still have Twenty Two.
Other Squadrons, new formed units have departed for the fray,
And the Air Force band has played them to the station on their way,
While all along the tarmac, looking pitifully blue,
Stand the pilots and the groundstaff of the Fighting Twenty Two.
All the fellows in the Squadron think they have the right to kick,
The indifference of the Airboard seems to them a bit too thick,
Why, you’ll hear the airmen grouching “should they treat us all
like dubs?”,
“Don’t they read the Daily Tele? Don’t they know about our subs?”
There have been a thousand rumours, we’ve had panics by the score,
But the Squadron’s still at Richmond and we’ve still to win the war.
Every morning just at daybreak when the sun begins to rise,
You can hear the Bostons zooming up into the skies,
And the civvies cheer and tell their friends “These chaps will see
us through.”
But it’s circuits and landings for the boys of TWENTY TWO.
Men grow older up at Richmond and their frame work stands to bend
And their brows are lined with worrying, that when the turmoil
ends
They’ll be stranded with the Bostons and won’t know what to do,
And the history books call them the FORGOTTEN TWENTY TWO.
And in peacetime in the taverns when the squadrons breast the
bar,
Someone’s bound to tell the barmaid, “I know who these fellows
are”,
They’re the Dinkum Richmond Anzacs, but whatever else you do,
For heaven’s sake don’t mention the FORGOTTEN TWENTY TWO.
SGT. ANON

[Kitty]

Andy, several of those poems are mess songs/poems from the RAF.

[Antipodean Andy]

Okay, this might be a little sad or slightly obsessive but, believe it or not, I wrote this last night in about five minutes flat. The first six lines came to me as I lay in bed and I made myself get up and write them down before I lost them. The rest came to me as I was writing. Don't be too harsh!

Oh for a Beaufighter

Oh for a Beaufighter, fast, silent and low
With rockets, some shells and a nav in tow
Roaring along just above the grass
Or skimming across a sea of glass
Smoke trails and tracer reach out ahead
Hitting home, the calm is dead
Wingtip arcing across the sea
Fighters up high, it's time to flee
Making it home with fumes in the tank
Clambering out with erks to thank
for getting us home without any woe
in our Beaufighter, fast, silent and low

[Antipodean Andy]

Originally Posted by Kitty

Andy, several of those poems are mess songs/poems from the RAF.

Interesting. Which ones, Kitty?

[Kitty]

I seem to recall They Gave Me A Seafire was originally a Fleet Air Arm song, and also the Phaphamau Saga. These were a two of a handful of songs that can be posted on a public forum without the internet catching fire.

[Antipodean Andy]

The following poem was submitted by Norm Gilham - 454.

The Flying Instructors Lament

My pupil is a headache I do not want.
He maketh me to fly over green pastures,
He leadeth me beside high-tension wires,
He ruineth my nerves.
Why, for Heaven's sake?

Yea, though I fly in the clearest of days
Yet do I feel much evil,
For he is with me,
An his flying doth terrify me.

He prepareth to crash before me,
In the face of all my teacher.
He filleth my head with trouble,
My mug runneth over.
Surely terror and strife will follow me all the days of my life,
And I will dwell in the house of lunatics forever.

[Antipodean Andy]

Found this on an air crash site that I'll post elsewhere. An English translation of words by Bram Vermeulen. Says it all really:

These young men who lost their lives, do not cry for them,
They are not really gone, you know; It's just a body which they left behind,
They will only be gone forever when we no longer remember them...

[Kitty]

The old adage is true, a person is not dead until their echoes die too.

[David Layne]

Lie in the dark and listen
It's clear tonight so they're flying high
Hundreds of them, thousands perhaps
Riding the icy, moonlit sky
Men, machinery, bombs and maps
Altimeters and guns and charts
Coffee, sandwiches, fleece-lined boots
Bones and muscles and minds and hearts
British saplings with British roots
Deep in the earth they've left below
Lie in the dark and let them go
Lie in the dark and listen.

Lie in the dark and listen
They're going over in waves and waves
High above villages, hills and streams,
Country churches and little graves
And little citizens' worried dreams
Very soon they'll have reached the sea
And far below them will lie the bays
And cliffs and sands where they used to be
Taken for summer holidays
Lie in the dark and let them go
Theirs is a world we'll never know
Lie in the dark and listen.

Lie in the dark and listen
City magnates and steel contractors
Factory workers and politicians
Soft hysterical little actors
Ballet dancers, reserved musicians
Safe in your warm civilian beds
Count your profits and count your sheep
Life is passing over your heads
Just turn over and try to sleep
Lie in the dark and let them go
There's one debt you'll forever owe
Lie in the dark and listen.

[Antipodean Andy]

From Alamein to the Alps 0 454 Squadron, RAAF 1941-1945 by Mark Lax. A ditty written by F/L Mark Wishart "Curley" Phillips RAFVR and inspired by F/O Ray Crouch DFC and his crew's running battle with '109s who were circling the lighthouse at Anti-Kythera - the duty pilots who "booked" 454 in and out of the Aegean. The crew, in Baltimore FA468 "R", were on their return trip with some fuel problems after flying a high level diversion for the CO (if you've read about Beaufighter strikes in the Med and Aegean, you'll remember that Baltimores played a huge part in recce and shadowing convoys).

The Last Time I Saw Paros

The Last Time I Saw Paros
The flak was flying high
And lots of little 109s
Were nipping round the sky.

The Last Time I Saw Paros
We flew round Nassau Bay;
But Gerry took a meagre view
And chased us far away.

So! We beat it for the water
With engines going full blast
And we make our way through Anti-K
With a Messerschmitt up our...

The crew got through without a scratch but the aircraft received 26 cannon hits and was a write-off. Crouch was awarded the DFC for his airmanship.