The German's you bombed showed us the light; well all still wonder, was it worth the fight? The Bomber's you rode came back with a bite. The patche's you wear show you have been through great despair. We all know, war is not fair. Least we forget, your honorable bet. Your life saved many it would be worth all the pennies. LEAST WE FORGET; MOOSA ASWAYITA No.419 Royal Canadian Air Force Thank you for keeping our Country safe and free. God bless Rcaf 419.
Written by Sqn Ldr Raymond Baxter, 1922-2006, WW II Spitfire Pilot and a Tomorrow's World presenter. Air Thoughts Grounded There is a world I deeply love, And thither would I roam, Where I can find true solitude And be at peace alone. And feel the living pulses Of the thing they call “my kite”, The feeling of belonging As part of it in flight. Up where the air is clear as ice In the realm of living light; Where the silence is eternal, Save for the song of flight. There shimmering mountain masses rear Their rounded heads in space; And I would soar above them, turn And dive upon them. Race Along their clear cut canyons With speeding, weaving ease, Then bore into the hillside Where swirling vapours freeze, Blanketing the senses. For I can spin the Earth before my eyes, and throw it o’er my shoulder, Because I love the skies! These fancies flit before me As I watch the patch of blue, Framed by the ward’s white window Which is my prison view. And I think of those I flew with, Of those who fly no more, Patrols and sweeps and “doggers-ho” Above the fields of war. The never-ending searching Around the glaring skies: The hunter or the hunted Its he who has the eyes, The skill, the nerve, the quickness, And Lady Luck’s sweet kiss, It’s he who lives to shoot the line And claim his pretty miss! But there is heart ache to it, There’s tragedy and fear! But who recalls the horrors When there’s singing, and there’s beer? Yet when the songs are ended, And there isn’t any beer, Come the shadows of the heart ache And agony and fear, Blanketing the glamour. But I can spin the Earth before my eyes, And toss it o’er my shoulder, And still I love the skies. Amen.
From Marcel G. Comeau's book Operation Mercury: An Airman in the Battle of Crete http://www.amazon.ca/Operation-Mercury-Airmen-Battle-Crete/dp/1900511797 Number 33 Squadron song (Greece 1940 - 1941. ) There is an RAF Squadron, it’s called thirty-three, Existing on sand storms at Mersa-on-Sea. We rise every morning the last star to see, Then nip away smartly to skive and make tea. ‘Duff gen’ is our motto – another move near, Then we all get blotto on “shandies” and beer. Far out in the desert, way out in the blue, Existing on sand storms at Mersa Matruh.
From Marcel G. Comeau's book Operation Mercury: An Airman in the Battle of Crete http://www.amazon.ca/Operation-Mercury-Airmen-Battle-Crete/dp/1900511797 Bomber Squadron Song (Greece 1940 - 1941.) To Valona, to Valona Every morning just at nine Same old kites and same old Squadron Same old target, same old time. North of Corfu dawn is breaking And the sun begins to shine Macchi-hundreds and G fifties Waiting for us dead on time. Do four runs up says the CO And make every bomb a hit. If you do, you’ll go to heaven, If you don’t, you’re in the grit. On the way back, same old fighters And the gravy’s running low. How I wish I could see Larissa Through the snow storm down below. How I wish I were in Athens, Drinking cognacs by the score, And I need not ever go back To Valona any more.
John Gillespie Magee, Jr. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Gillespie_Magee,_Jr. A US citizen (who never lived there) who flew for the RCAF. KIA in a mid-air in Dec 11 1941. Sonnet to Rupert Brooke "We laid him in a cool and shadowed grove One evening in the dreamy scent of thyme Where leaves were green, and whispered high above — A grave as humble as it was sublime; There, dreaming in the fading deeps of light — The hands that thrilled to touch a woman's hair; Brown eyes, that loved the Day, and looked on Night, A soul that found at last its answered Prayer... There daylight, as a dust, slips through the trees. And drifting, gilds the fern around his grave — Where even now, perhaps, the evening breeze Steals shyly past the tomb of him who gave New sight to blinded eyes; who sometimes wept — A short time dearly loved; and after, — slept."
Perhaps the most famous of all. John Gillespie Magee, Jr. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Gillespie_Magee,_Jr. "High Flight" Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings; Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there, I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung My eager craft through footless halls of air.... Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace. Where never lark, or even eagle flew — And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod The high untrespassed sanctity of space, - Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.
