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Reg Everson

Kitted out with a uniform, I felt the part, 
But the deesire inside is always the art;
I was enlisted as a pilot under training, 
And inoculated, vaccinated in yearning. 

The medical exam asserted no divinity,
And taught us about our own humanity;
I passed it with flying colours, no probs,
And had confidence in my muscular hobs.

I reported to the Babbacombe squadron, 
Lectured to so I took full notes to go on, 
On morse, navigation, given a maths gut,
Had to march at 140 paces per minute.

I haven’t stopped talking about the PT,
The physical training that so let me be, 
The food, the pilchards, were supplied, 
In small, easy open tins for the ride. 

I eventually was sent down to Winslow,
Where I learned I’d been selected, quo, 
To be trained as a pilot in America, 
I could smell it as I saw the panorama. 

I got my greys in Toronto, ’twas neutral, 
Located in Atlanta, Georgia, my enthrawl,  
Where, although wearing civilian disguise, 
Were welcomed with cookies and pies. 

It was dangerous to live, so if we ever, 
Left the base we wore a civilian collar, 
But the food was magnificent as gold, 
Fried chicken and pumpkin pie to enfold. 

I noted with queasiness their last names, 
Many of germanic derivation, no games, 
But I just got used to it and settled down, 
‘Cos it warmed to see the Nazi’s thrown. 

We flew with the seat of our pants fine, 
Had theory exams but did for some pine;
Accidents do happen, that was expected, 
Their deaths no easier than those contested. 

Our Meteorology Officer did always pacify, 
And after Primary Training for t did classify;
We all moved to Cockrane Field Macon, 
For Service Flying Training to button. 

Basic Training complete, we found Dothan, 
With American Wings we were in the pan,
We returned to Bournemouth as Navvies, 
And became instructors with many savvies.

Passed through Gloucestershire to Inverness, 
Then Greenham Common nonetheless, 
Then posted to France Polish Squadron,
Flying low behind enemy lines, not done. 

I was shot down and captured sadly, 
Interrogated and taken to die cruelly,  
But after liberation became an officer,
In France, where I found out the abuser. 

They gave me medals, the Polish nation,
For being at my post, manning the station -
The Polish Gold Cross of Merit, First Class,
And the Polish Air Medal of sparkling brass.


For Remembrance Day 2015

Copyright © | Year Posted 2015




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Date: 11/7/2015 8:41:00 PM
Rhoda, a wonderful write. SKAT
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