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Daily Archives: May 18, 2015

Faith Unlikely Attired-promote yourself

 

Bomber Command Poem

Bomber Command Poem

The nose section from Ex-RAAF Lancaster ‘Old Fred’ being discussed by modern suits at the Imperial War Museum, Lambeth. James Kightly.For me, the poem sums up some of the diversity of the contribution from within the UK and outside. Although titled ‘Lancasters’ it stands well, I think, for all of the Command and the crews of the less well remembered types. Found in Martin Bowman’s excellent ‘The Royal Air Force at War‘.

Lancasters
Where are the bombers, the Lancs on the runways,
Snub-nosed and roaring and black-faced and dour,
Full up with aircrew and window and ammo
And dirty great cookies to drop on the Ruhr?

Where are the pilots, the navs and air-gunners,
WOP’s and bomb-aimers and flight engineers,
Lads who were bank clerks and milkmen and teachers,
Carpenters, lawyers, and grocers and peers?

Geordies and Cockneys and Wiltshire moon-rakers,
Little dark men from the valleys of Wales,
Manxmen, Devonians, Midlanders, Scouses,
Jocks from the Highlands and Tykes from the Dales?

Where are the Aussies, the sports and the cobbers,
Talking of cricket and sheilas and grog,
Flying their Lanes over Hamburg and Stettin
And back to the Lincolnshire wintertime bog?

Where are the flyers from Canada’s prairies,
From cities and forests, determined to win,
Thumbing their noses at Goering’s Luftwaffe
And busily dropping their bombs on Berlin?

A reenactor in the RAF’s airworthy Lancaster PA474 seen in 2003 at the Royal International Air Tattoo. James Kightly.Where are the Poles with their gaiety and sadness,
All with the most unpronounceable names,
Silently, ruthlessly flying in vengeance,
Remembering their homes and their country in flames?
Where arc the Kiwis who left all the sunshine
For bleak windy airfields and fenland and dyke,
Playing wild Mess clinics like high cockalorum,
And knocking the Hell out of Hitler’s Third Reich?

Where are the Poles with their gaiety and sadness,
All with the most unpronounceable names,
Silently, ruthlessly flying in vengeance,
Remembering their homes and their country in flames?

Where arc the Kiwis who left all the sunshine
For bleak windy airfields and fenland and dyke,
Playing wild Mess clinics like high cockalorum,
And knocking the Hell out of Hitler’s Third Reich?

Where are they now, those young men of all nations,
Who flew though they knew not what might lie ahead,
And those who returned with their mission accomplished
And next night would beat up the Saracen’s Head?

The Lancs are no more, they are part of legend,
But memory stays bright in the hearts of the men
Who loved them and flew them through flak and through hellfire
And, managed to land them in England, again.

The men who were lucky to live to see victory,
The men who went home to their jobs and their wives,
The men who can tell their grandchildren with pride
Of the bomber which helped to save millions of lives.

Audrey Grealy

Lancaster G for George at the Australian War Memorial. James Kightly.

Audrey is the widow of an RAF pilot, and while the poem may not achieve greatness as a poem for some, the reason for its creation is more than good enough for me

Poem – On Lancaster Bombers

Lancaster617

 

 Poem – On Lancaster Bombers

on lancaster bombers

there are gunner turrets

this is where gunners live

occasionally the gunner

gets to protect the plane

the plane does’nt care

and the gunner is expendable

gunners can’t work effectively

when 12 people are talking to them

hence turrets

they are hard to get into

they are exposed

many of the basic human needs are absent

a turret is a fairly decent place to write poetry

all things considered

so don’t bother me when I’m in the turret

dear

the plane will thank you

later

Earth angels

Angels are all around us

Look out for them on this earth

They have been with us all the time

From the moment of our material birth

There are many other angels

Who all come in different sizes

People who walk this world

Show themselves in different guises

Ordinary people passing by

Close friends and family too

For when you are in trouble

They will be there for you

You are yourself and angel

When you feel someone’s pain

Seeing those who are suffering

Wishing them all well again

Not all angels are angelic

Be aware what you say and do

For those that looks least likely

Could be an angel standing next to you

By Malcolm Bradshaw

TEACHINGS

memories
Time will pass People will be born
We will grow old And then we die.
But memories will go on
And we will go on after….
On the long road of life
We meet people.
And they too, will grow old and die.
And the memories will go on.
The footprints we leave behind
The impressions we leave on life
Will help others learn:
Learn to live
Learn to grow
Learn to die.
And that is what we do today
And everyday.
We go through challenges in life;
We may fail,
We may succeed.
Either way we are learning.
And with our knowledge we teach others.
And even though we will die.
Our memories, impressions, and our footprints,
Will help others grow.
Had a bit of clear out today with old papers and came accross this poem  that someone sent me years ago ,
all I know they called themeslves “Megumi”…. its called Teachings… I thought it was worth sharing:
Sent in by Simon Icke
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