Raiding hoards assemble to make the attack;
Aerodromes on high alert, we’ll fight them back.
Brave souls scramble to cockpits everyone;
Awaiting the final vector to where the deed is done.
Away boys! Away!
And off they take to meet their fate,
The dwindling few do not hesitate.
Some to return and some to not;
Together forward they meet the onslaught.
Sirens blare the target is sure,
To your guns lads! We’ll give’em a cure.
Flax balloons aloft, we’ll keep’em up high,
The gunners are ready, waiting the spotter’s eye.
Run from your flat to the safe tube below,
Gas mask at the ready, you just never know.
The old man leads us in songs of good cheer,
Knowing all the while that our end could be near.
Bombs drop and the guns blaze,
Another neighborhood disappears with a haze.
The docks are burning a bright orange hue,
Damn you bloody bastards, our boys will take care of you!
Swirling trails against blue skies,
Belie the deadly dance taking place before our eyes.
Flaming wreckage, another early grave,
More mothers grieve, have we all gone insane?
Finally all clear, we creep from our boroughs,
Shattered buildings surround, but the Jack’s still unfurled.
Mr. Churchill walks the rubble to buck up our faith,
On the beaches, in the fields and in the streets he says,
We’re standing alone, but to persevere is our fate.
This one is for Gladys. She was 11 and living in London during the blitz.