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Poems.
High Flight
by John Gillespie Magee, Jr.
This is said to be the most evocative poem for aviators and is used in the Sermon at the annual Battle of Britain Memorial Service at Westminster Abbey.
Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds...and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of...wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew.
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.
John Gillespie Magee Jr. History
During the dark days of the Battle of Britain, hundreds of Americans crossed the border into Canada to enlist with the Royal Canadian Air Force. Knowingly breaking the law, but with the tacit approval of the then still officially neutral United States Government, they volunteered to fight Hitler's Germany.
John Gillespie Magee, Jr., was one such American. Born in Shanghai, China, in 1922, Magee was just 18 years old when he entered flight training. Within the year, he was sent to England and posted to the newly formed No 412 Fighter Squadron, RCAF, which was activated at Digby, England, on 30 June 1941. He was qualified on and flew the Supermarine Spitfire.
Flying fighter sweeps over France and air defence over England against the German Luftwaffe, he rose to the rank of Pilot Officer. At the time, German bombers were crossing the English Channel with great regularity to attack Britain's cities and factories. Although the dark days of the Battle of Britain were over, the Luftwaffe was still on the job of keeping up the pressure on British industry and the country.
On September 3, 1941, Magee flew a high altitude (30,000 feet) test flight in a newer model of the Spitfire V. As he orbited and climbed upward, he was struck with the inspiration of a poem -- "To touch the face of God."
Once back on the ground, he wrote a letter to his parents. In it he commented, "I am enclosing a verse I wrote the other day. It started at 30,000 feet, and was finished soon after I landed." On the back of the letter, he jotted down his poem, 'High Flight'.
Just three months later, on December 11, 1941 (and only three days after the US entered the war), Pilot Officer John Gillespie Magee, Jr., was killed. The Spitfire V he was flying, VZ-H, collided with an Oxford Trainer from Cranwell Airfield while over Tangmere, England. The two planes were flying in the clouds and neither saw the other. He was just 19 years old. He is buried in the churchyard cemetery at Scopwick, Lincolnshire.
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LEST WE FORGET !
(On behalf of the American and English troops active in the conflict zones !)
You stay up for 16 hours
He stays up for days on end.
You take a warm shower to help you wake up.
He goes days or weeks without running water.
You complain of a 'headache', and call in sick.
He gets shot at as others are hit, and keeps moving forward.
You put on your anti war/don't support the troops shirt, and go meet up with your friends.
He still fights for your right to wear that shirt.
You make sure you're cell phone is in your pocket.
He clutches the cross hanging on his chain next to his dog tags.
You talk trash about your 'buddies' that aren't with you.
He knows he may not see some of his buddies again.
You walk down the beach, staring at all the pretty girls.
He patrols the streets, searching for insurgents and terrorists.
You complain about how hot it is.
He wears his heavy gear, not daring to take off his helmet to wipe his brow.
You go out to lunch, and complain because the restaurant got your order
wrong.
He doesn't get to eat today.
Your maid makes your bed and washes your clothes.
He wears the same things for weeks, but makes sure his weapons are clean.
You go to the mall and get your hair redone.
He doesn't have time to brush his teeth today.
You're angry because your class ran 5 minutes over.
He's told he will be held over an extra 2 months.
You call your girlfriend and set a date for tonight.
He waits for the mail to see if there is a letter from home.
You hug and kiss your girlfriend, like you do everyday.
He holds his letter close and smells his love's perfume.
You roll your eyes as a baby cries.
He gets a letter with pictures of his new child, and wonders if they'll ever
meet.
You criticize your government, and say that war never solves anything.
He sees the innocent tortured and killed by their own people and remembers why he is fighting.
You hear the jokes about the war, and make fun of men like him.
He hears the gunfire, bombs and screams of the wounded.
You see only what the media wants you to see.
He sees the broken bodies lying around him.
You are asked to go to the store by your parents. You don't.
He does exactly what he is told even if it puts his life in danger.
You stay at home and watch TV.
He takes whatever time he is given to call, write home, sleep, and eat.
You crawl into your soft bed, with down pillows, and get comfortable.
He tries to sleep but gets woken by mortars and helicopters all night long.
If you support your troops, send this on.
If you don't support your troops well, then don't send this out.
You won't die in 7 days, your love life won't be affected, and you won't have the worst day ever.
It's not like you know the men and women that
are dying to preserve your rights.
REMEMBER our Troops, and do not forget them LATER.
Lest we forget !
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ITS CHRISTMAS DAY ALL IS SECURE.
TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS HE LIVED ALL ALONE
IN A ONE BEDROOM HOUSE MADE OF PLASTER AND STONE
I HAD COME DOWN THE CHIMNEY WITH PRESENTS TO GIVE AND TO SEE JUST WHO IN THIS HOME DID LIVE
I LOOKED ALL ABOUT A STRANGE SIGHT I DID SEE
NO TINSEL NO PRESENTS NOT EVEN A TREE
NO STOCKING BY THE MANTLE JUST BOOTS FILLED WITH SAND
ON THE WALL HUNG PICTURES OF FAR DISTANT LANDS
WITH MEDALS AND BADGES AWARDS OF ALL KINDS
A SOBER THOUGHT CAME THROUGH MY MIND
FOR THIS HOUSE WAS DIFFERENT IT WAS DARK AND DREARY
I FOUND THE HOME OF A SOLDIER ONCE I COULD SEE CLEARLY
THE SOLDIER LAY SLEEPING SILENT ALONE
CURLED UP ON THE FLOOR IN THIS ONE BEDROOM HOME
THE FACE WAS SO GENTLE THE ROOM IN SUCH DISORDER
NOT HOW I PICTURED A LONE BRITISH SOLDIER
WAS THIS THE HERO OF WHOM I'D JUST READ
CURLED UP ON A PONCHO THE FLOOR FOR A BED
I REALISED THE FAMILIES THAT I SAW THIS NIGHT
OWED THEIR LIVES TO THESE SOLDIERS WHO WERE WILLING TO FIGHT
SOON ROUND THE WORLD THE CHILDREN WOULD PLAY
AND GROWNUPS WOULD CELEBRATE A BRIGHT CHRISTMAS DAY
THEY ALL ENJOY FREEDOM EACH MONTH OF THE YEAR
BECAUSE OF THE SOLDIERS LIKE THE ONE LYING HERE
I COULDN'T HELP WONDER HOW MANY ALONE
ON A COLD CHRISTMAS EVE IN A LAND FAR FROM HOME
THE VERY THOUGH BROUGHT A TEAR TO MY EYE
I DROPPED TO MY KNEES AND STARTED TO CRY
THE SOLDIER AWAKENED AND I HEARD A ROUGH VOICE
'SANTA DON'T CRY THIS LIFE IS MY CHOICE
I FIGHT FOR FREEDOM I DON'T ASK FOR MORE
MY LIFE IS MY GOD, MY COUNTRY. MY CORPS'
THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER AND DRIFTED TO SLEEP
I COULDN'T CONTROL IT I CONTINUED TO WEEP
I KEPT WATCH FOR HOURS SO SILENT AND STILL
AND WE BOTH SAT AND SHIVERED FROM THE COLD NIGHTS CHILL
I DIDN'T WANT TO LEAVE ON THAT COLD DARK NIGHT
THIS GUARDIAN OF HONOUR SO WILLING TO FIGHT
THEN THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER WITH A VOICE SOFT AND PURE WHISPERED 'CARRY ON SANTA ITS CHRISTMAS DAY AND ALL IS SECURE'
ONE LOOK AT MY WATCH AND I KNEW HE WAS RIGHT
'MERRY CHRISTMAS MY FRIEND AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT'
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THIS POEM WAS WRITTEN BY A PEACE KEEPING SOLDIER STATIONED OVERSEAS
THE FOLLOWING IS HIS REQUEST.
PLEASE WOULD YOU DO ME THE KIND FAVOUR OF SENDING THIS TO AS MANY PEOPLE AS YOU CAN
CHRISTMAS WILL BE COMING SOON AND SOME CREDIT IS DUE TO OUR BRITISH SERVICE MEN AND WOMEN FOR OUR BEING ABLE TO CELEBRATE THESE FESTIVITIES.
LETS TRY IN THIS SMALL WAY TO PAY A TINY BIT BACK OF WHAT WE OWE TO THEM !
Anon.
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Her hair was up in a pony tail, her favourite dress tied with a bow.
Today was Daddy's Day at school, and she couldn't wait to go.
But her mommy tried to tell her, that she probably should stay home.
Why the kids might not understand, if she went to school alone.
But she was not afraid; she knew just what to say.
What to tell her classmates of why he wasn't there today.
But still her mother worried,for her to face this day alone.
And that was why once again, she tried to keep her daughter home.
But the little girl went to school eager to tell them all.
About a dad she never sees a dad who never calls.
There were daddies along the wall in back, for everyone to meet.
Children squirming impatiently, anxious in their seats
One by one the teacher called a student from the class.
To introduce their daddy, as seconds slowly passed.
At last the teacher called her name, every child turned to stare.
Each of them was searching, a man who wasn't there.
'Where's her daddy at?' She heard a boy call out.
'She probably doesn't have one,' another student dared to shout.
And from somewhere near the back, she heard a daddy say,
'Looks like another deadbeat dad, too busy to waste his day.'
The words did not offend her, as she smiled up at her Mom.
And looked back at her teacher, who told her to go on.
And with hands behind her back, slowly she began to speak.
And out from the mouth of a child, came words incredibly unique.
'My Daddy couldn't be here, because he lives so far away.
But I know he wishes he could be, since this is such a special day.
And though you cannot meet him, I wanted you to know.
All about my daddy, and how much he loves me so.
He loved to tell me stories he taught me to ride my bike.
He surprised me with pink roses, and taught me to fly a kite.
We used to share fudge sundaes, and ice cream in a cone.
And though you cannot see him. I'm not standing here alone.
'Cause my daddy's always with me, even though we are apart I know because he told me, he'll forever be in my heart'
With that, her little hand reached up, and lay across her chest.
Feeling her own heartbeat, beneath her favourite dress.
And from somewhere here in the crowd of dads, her mother stood in tears.
Proudly watching her daughter, who was wise beyond her years.
For she stood up for the love of a man not in her life.
Doing what was best for her, doing what was right.
And when she dropped her hand back down, staring straight into the crowd.
She finished with a voice so soft, but its message clear and loud.
'I love my daddy very much, he's my shining star.
And if he could, he'd be here, but heaven's just too far.
You see he is a Canadian soldier and died just this past year
When a roadside bomb hit his convoy and taught Canadians to fear.
But sometimes when I close my eyes, it's like he never went away.'
And then she closed her eyes, and saw him there that day.
And to her mothers amazement, she witnessed with surprise.
A room full of daddies and children, all starting to close their eyes.
Who knows what they saw before them, who knows what they felt inside.
Perhaps for merely a second, they saw him at her side.
'I know you're with me Daddy,' to the silence she called out.
And what happened next made believers, of those once filled with doubt.
Not one in that room could explain it, for each of their eyes had been closed.
But there on the desk beside her, was a fragrant long-stemmed rose.
And a child was blessed, if only for a moment, by the love of her shining star.
And given the gift of believing, that heaven is never too far !.
Anon,
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A poem heard at the time went:
Join the Air Force. Learn a trade.
Adventure, travel and well paid
These are the things you're fed upon
And like a sucker you sign on.
But when they've got you in their grip
Where are those smiles, that comradeship,
Where are those friendly helpful types
And who's the B... d with three stripes
With brasses bulled to bright perfection
Pay parades and kit inspections.........
The verses go on and on, so if anyone knows the rest please get in touch.
They were rough days and worse nights but like most National Servicemen we persevered and did our bit WE DID GO !
Regards Ray Taylor.
We would like to complete this ditty - can anyone help please ! PGH webmaster.
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Just a common Soldier !
He was getting old and paunchy and his hair was falling fast,
As he sat in the legion hall telling stories of the past.
Of a war that he had fought in and the deeds that he had done,
In his exploits with his buddies, Heroes every one.
Tho' sometimes to his neighbours his tales became a joke,
All his Soldier mates, they listened, for they knew where of he spoke.
But we'll hear his tales no longer for old Bill has passed away,
And the worlds a little poorer - for a Soldier died today !
He'll not be mourned by many, just his children and his wife,
For he lived a very ordinary and an uneventful life.
He held a job and raised a family, quietly in his own way,
And the world won't note his passing, though a Soldier died today.
When politicians leave this earth, their bodies lie in State
While thousands note their passing and proclaim that they were great.
Papers tell of their life story from the time that they were young,
But the passing of a Soldier goes unnoticed and unsung !
Is the greatest contributions to the welfare of the our land
A man who breaks his promises and cons his fellow man ?
Or the ordinary fellow who, in times of war and strife
Goes off to serve his Country and offers up his life. ?
A politicians stipend and the style in which he lives
Are most times disproportionate to the service that he gives;
While the ordinary soldier, who offers up his all,
Is paid off with a medal and "maybe" a pension, small !
It's so easy to forget them for it was long ago
That the "old Bills" of our Country went to battle but we know
It was not the politicians, with their compromise and ploys,
Who won for us the freedom that our Country now enjoys !
Should you find yourselves in danger with your enemies at hand,
Would you want a politician, with his ever shifting stand ?
Or would you prefer a Soldier, who has sworn to defend
His home, his kin, his Country and will fight until the end ?
He was just a common Soldier and his ranks are growing thin,
But his presence should remind us, we may need his like again.
For when Countries are in conflict, then we find the Soldiers part
Is to clean up all the troubles that the politicians start !
If we cannot do him honour while he's here to hear the praise
Then at least lets give him homage at the ending of his days.
Perhaps just a simple headline in a paper that would say:
"Our Country is in mourning - for a Soldier died today".
A Lawrence Vaincourt. WW2 Air Force Veteran. 1985.
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I SAW THE SOLDIERS MARCHING.
by A. Lawrence Vaincourt
I saw the soldiers marching, one drear November day,
Those heroes bold, from wars of old, in countries far away.
I heard the drums like thunder, the sound of marching feet,
As men of ancient valor marched down our little street.
I heard the skirl of bagpipes, the blare of brasses bold,
As heroes from another time relived the days of old.
The old, the halt, the lame, the slow, they marched with solemn pace,
To honor comrades fallen at another time and place.
I felt the tightness in my throat, the tears that burned my eyes,
As I watched the quiet dignity of old men marching by.
The fine young men, and women too, in battles long ago,
Who gave their youth and some, their lives,to fight our country's foe.
On this day will be remembered by comrades who remain,
And by the heavens, weeping, with softly falling rain.
The medals softly jingling on every passing chest,
In memory of companions who've long been laid to rest.
There are some unfit, and some who sit, in wheelchairs, row on row,
While they recall what price was paid to turn our country's foe.
And some will stand with tear-dimmed eyes, and some with faces grim,
While all repeat the solemn vow,
"WE WILL REMEMBER THEM."
2004 A. Lawrence Vaincourt
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THE UNKINDEST DEFENCE CUT OF ALL.
I'm the last man left in the Air Force,
I've an office in MOD
and a copy of Queens Regulations
which only apply to me.
I can post myself to Leuchars
and detach me from there to Kinloss,
or send me on courses to Innsworth,
then cancel the lot - I'm the boss.
I'm the last man left in the Air Force,
but the great Parliamentary brains
neglected, when cancelling people,
to sell off the Stations and planes.
The result is, my inventory bulges
with KD and camp-stools and Quarters,
plus a signed book of speeches by Trenchard
which I keep to impress the reporters.
I'm the last man left in the Air Force,
I suppose you imagine it's great
to be master of all you survey, but
I tell you it's difficult, mate.
I inspected three units last Thursday,
As C-in-C ( Acting ) of Strike,
then I swept half the runway at Laarbruch
and repaired Saxa Vord's station bike.
I'm the last man left in the Air Force,
it's not doing a lot for my health.
Unit sports days are frankly exhausting
when the Victor Ludorum's oneself.
On guest nights the Mess is so lonely,
there are times when I wish I was able
to pass the port to the chap next to me,
without seeing it fall off the table.
I'm the last man left in the Air Force,
my wife says I'm never at home,
when I'm not flying Hercs, I'm at Manston,
laying gallons and gallons of foam,
or I'm in my Marine Craft off Plymouth,
shooting flares at the crowds on the Ho,
or I'm Orderly Corporal at Luqa.
It's an interesting life, but all go.
I'm the last man left in the Air Force.
I'm ADC to the Queen,
I'm Duty Clerk at St. Mawgan,
I'm the RAF rugby team.
Tomorrow I'm painting a guardroom
and air-testing numerous planes.
The day after that I'm for London,
to preach at St. Clement Danes.
I'm the last man left in the Air force
and I'm due to go out before long.
There's been no talk of any replacement
and I won't even let me sign on.
I hope to enjoy my retirement.
I've put up a fairly good show,
and I won't cut myself off entirely.
There are always reunions, you know.
(c) Peter Wyton
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UNMENTIONED IN DISPATCHES.
Some of them never come home to fanfares,
they dump their kit-bags down at the door,
kiss their wives and let their children
wrestle them down to the kitchen floor,
switch the telly on, pour out a whiskey,
search for the local football score.
Some of them skip the quayside welcome,
dodge the bunting and cannonade,
make their landfall in silent harbours,
nod to the coastguard, but evade
the searchlight of public scrutiny
like those engaged in the smuggling trade.
Some of them land at lonely airfields
far removed from the celebration,
hang their flying gear in a locker,
cadge a lift to the railway station,
make for home and take for granted
the short-lived thanks of a grateful nation.
Some of them miss the royal salute,
the victory parade along the Mall,
the fly-past, the ships in formation passing
the cheering crowds on the harbour wall.
Remembered only by friends and relatives,
some of them never come home at all.
(c) Peter Wyton
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