About Me

Ludford Magna

Seven men plus one addition, climbing turn to set position

Navigators got our fix, out from Magna twelve o six

Throbbing mighty Merlins roar, over fields and over hoar

Straight and level cruising height, enemy coast comes into sight

Fifty miles to destination, one o nines our consternation

ten miles on the targets near,

Cold nervous heads drip beads of fear

flack explodes and rattles round,

Five hundred pounders crash to ground

the jobs now done we head for home,

Our thoughts are loved ones at the drome

an eighty eight gives us a fright,

While Brownings chatter through the night

our luck held right we reach the base,

Unwilling smiles break deadened face

all shut down checks are now complete,

The pilot leaves his sweaty seat

intelligence calls, then off to bed, as ghostly sounds........ ring through my head.

A Dam Bad Day

We'll make for home the captain said, as every crewman peers ahead.

Decisive action comes to play, while enemy aircraft steal the day.

A twenty mils gone through the port, to leave them rather more than short.

The engineer just grins and smiles, still twisting knobs to gain lost miles.

While gunners stare into the night, and pray no action is in sight.

But from the cloud they both appear, two one-o-nines are sharp and clear.

Glued to his radio 'Pinky' Jones, could hear their voices through his phones.

Just as the skipper turns on course, a blast so loud and with such force.

Throws men and chutes around their craft, positioning maps both fore and aft.

Winged not killed they stagger on, their toying captors now have gone.

A moments thought, will they survive, but good to know they're still alive.

As Binbrook base comes into view, they laugh to know they've rallied through.

John C Haywood Copyright © Poetry In Action

Digby's Winters Tale

When cold and wet it's hard to find enough will power to feed the mind
But will I must to fight the foe, although my body say's don't go

I'll overcome this restless threat, and from my sole the mind will set
A bombers moon or so they say, I want to go 'I'd rather stay'

We climb on board each man in turn, as individuals stomachs churn
A noisy start up fills the air, while ground crews stand, and wave, and stare

Their pride will now depart in flight, and disappear in depth of night
Who knows of others from this base, on radar lost without a trace

Are never ever seen or found, while resting heads on foreigh ground
Our thoughts are cast but kept inside, each man as one but single pride

We run the flack and corkscrew right, requested cloud fades out of sight
It's sextants out and track made true, the ever closer winter hue

So soon the Wolds enclose our ship, engulfed by fog, our thirteenth trip.

John C Haywood Copyright © Poetry In Action

Dam This Winter at Barkston Heath

Dam this winters ice and snow, for on the ground it's quite a blow
an engineer has got to work, unlike an office filling clerk

In weather rather more than good, and part of this is understood
to be outside in wet and cold, "may I speak out may I be bold"

I know I signed up for a while, but soaking wet is not my style
the RAF gave me this grade, from civvy job that was my trade

And now from hangar soaked outside, I do have fealings and some pride
so please when winter has a grip, and majors with a complete strip

Remember me don't leave me out, just open lungs and give a shout
"I'm here, I'm here" it's cold and damp, dispersed to yet another camp

When will they let me back inside, I'll work like mad take all in stride
I know quite soon it will be hot, so mind in gear I'm going to plot

If I work over that's enough, to overcome the sergeants bluff
at last he's let me back inside, you cannot say I have not tried

When will I learn this hangars hot, but will I whinge, "certainly not"

John C Haywood Copyright © Poetry In Action

Cranwell

I joined the lads at Cranwell with such a lot to learn
there's lectures here, and lectures there, I have no room to turn

On Monday it was plotting, a long consumming job
we swapped and changed the figures round, my head a constant throb

I've fixed the met work in my book, it guides me through the day
but what with all this work to do, there is no time for play

Tuesday is not a good day, maths plan is our first action
trajectories have all gone wrong, by one quarter of a fraction

Wednesday's direct learning, so the library is the best
I hope these books all spread about, will help me with the test

The other day's I like the most, when flying does take place
and that just leaves the Sunday, which certainly is the ace.

John C Haywood Copyright © Poetry In Action