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Poetry of Direct Personal Experience
Our Collection of Aviation and Military Poetry

Flight Mechanic
Albert "Ack" Ackland 1943

He wears a suit of faded blue

No badge upon his breast

You’ll find more streaks of dirty oil

Than medals on his chest

He wields a heavy hammer

And a piece of oily rag

While other fellows who shoot the Hun

Add an M.E. to their bag

He works in wind, mud and rain

And curses the bloody war

And wonders ninety times a day

What he joined the Air Force for.

He’s only a Flight Mechanic

Nothing more or less

With a greasy suit of overalls

In place of battle dress.

But he strikes a blow at Jerry

With his honest British skill

As well as the pilot who delivers the bombs

Or the gunner who makes the kill.

So when you hear of bombings or a Messerschmitt shot down

When you’ve covered flying hero’s with honour and renown

When you’ve given out the D.F.M.’s and D.F.C.’s and such

Just think of the Flight Mechanic – He doesn’t ask for much

Just shake him by his oily hand

And say he did a lot

To make those roaring engines safe

For the man who fired the shot.

Flight Engineer, Sgt. “Ack” Albert Ackland, 428 Squadron, Halifax V LK906 NA-D. Shot down with the loss of all the crew 23rd November 1943

Submitted to Aircrew Remembered by his niece, Nola Pinnock, in March 2012


428 squadron

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 • Last Modified: 26 May 2014, 08:02