Pilots waiting, drinking tea;
For some, their very last cup.
The Field Phone rings out urgently,
It’s ‘Ops’ and I run to fly up.
Pull back stick,
Gain height quick.
Attack from high in the sky.
Cool and brave,
Lives to save.
Bombers come, wave after wave.
Get in first and use the sun;
Smoking trail, I’ve scored a hit.
Then out of blue, comes the Hun,
A cannon spitting Messerschmitt.
His shells strike,
My plane’s alight.
Slide back hood. It works! Good – good.
Pull metal ring;
Chute opens, God, my face does sting.
Hit the sea, chute covers me;
Turn metal disc on belt and thump.
Cords are traps – it’s hard to see;
Free! Now, my life jacket pump.
Blow in air,
Now, try some more and swim for shore.
Salt stings burns,
My heart, for home and Mother yearns.
Boat appears, hands pick me out;
My burns are gently dressed.
I’m drifting, what’s this all about.
A cool drink, they know what’s best.
My body’s sore,
Feels quite raw.
Get me right, to fly my ‘kite’.
Help me, do;
Must win through.
Age twenty guys; one of ‘The Few’.