Our fair young son his part to play,

Left home and friends without delay.

‘Twas on a chill November day

We said good cheer, he marched away –

For well we knew and so did he, 

The future veiled uncertainty.

The need was great, the planes were few,

He volunteered his work to do.

But every one must do his part

E’en though it breaks the mother heart,

This is not for a few ….. for all –

It is our country’s urgent call,

We dare not leave this job half done

For if we do, we’re slaves of Hun.

I like to think he’s just away

And has not gone for long to stay.

But we must know joy and defeat

And take the bitter with the sweet.

Somewhere on foreign land he fell;

His final fate we cannot tell.

But man that is of woman born,

A thousand years are as a day

And earthly things soon pass away.

He notes the tiny sparrow’s fall

We know His love is over all.

He lost his life? This is not true.

He gave his life for me and you

That generations yet to be

May freedom have and liberty.

My son! He must have sensed my tears

Amid the singing of the spheres.

Olive Wray Heywood, mother of Sgt William Wray Heywood 150 squadron. 

Killed 8th May 1941 Wellington bomber R1374