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 Me 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 herooes with honour and renown
When you’ve given out the DFMs and DFCs 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
At the going down of the sun, and in the morning we will remember
them. - Laurence
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• Last Modified: 06 March 2019, 18:14 •