'At dark the boys are busy on the field;
Tis 'take off' time on one of England's airdromes,
For they must fly, or perhaps forever yield
To those who would destroy our happy homes.
One last smoke before they take their places,
The ground-crew chat; each has his favourite crew,
The flyers turn and seek these friendly faces;
It's nice to talk 'fore taking to the blue.
Each has his thoughts of those so far away;
Their mothers, sweethearts, those they love so dear;
with mirthless laughter, they try hard to be gay,
Lest those who watch might guess their hidden fear.
One last farewell, and each into his kite,
Then 'contact' comes the shout, and the engines roar
Like thunder breaking the stillness of the night,
Then down the runway, leaders to the fore.
Up, they go into the darkness of the night,
And quickly disappear like huge birds set free,
To distant lands they will carry on the fight,
Brave lads who fly to guard our liberty.'
Written during 1941-1942. Jack survived the war, passing away in 1974. He never married but was part of a family of 10 children.
Submitted to Aircrew Remembered by someone who left an incorrect email address, but we thank you for sending this in.
At the going down of the sun, and in the morning we will remember
them. - Laurence
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• Last Modified: 06 July 2016, 18:40 •