大象传媒

These Poems were composed to summarise my thoughts, emotions and some of the more significant facts I uncovered while researching the WW2 Bomber Command career of my late father, Squadron Leader Maurice "Roy" Skeet.
They are included within the pages of my personal Website at ^{About links}

"WINGS OF THUNDER".

They rode the wind on "Wings of Thunder",
with targets to find and tear asunder.

In that 'Time of Need' they answered the call,
giving their youth and many their all!

Probing the skies over land and sea,
setting aside, thoughts of what might be.

Borne aloft on their thundering wings,
parted from home and their cherished things.

Delivering cargoes of deadly intent,
to leave their enemy battered and bent.

Braving the Fighters, Shells and Flak,
knowing that many might never come back.

Hung high on fate in that fearsome hell,
torn from flight, many tumbled and fell.

The lucky few saved by their silken threads,
sent to ponder their war in prison camp beds.

They carried their missions time and again,
facing the fears and taking the strain.

In thousands they rode their wings to the sky,
so great were their losses it brings a tear to the eye.

No Campaign Medal was cast for these men,
yet we must not forget their sacrifice then.

In Bomber Command, the bold and the brave,
with a Nations hopes to serve and save.

Forging a freedom for all to live under,
they rode the wind on "Wings of Thunder".

Dedicated to the Valiant Aircrews of
RAF BOMBER COMMAND 1939-45,
particularly the 55,573 who made the ultimate sacrifice.

****

'THE FORGOTTEN FEW'
(The Battle for RAF Habbaniya May 1941)

The tale must be told of the 'Forgotten Few', of the Pupils, Pilots and the Planes that flew,
Of the 'Battle' they fought and the 'Victory Won', in the month of May, back in Forty One,
Little is known of the Men at that Station, preserving the oil for the needs of their Nation.
Of their intrepid deeds and lonesome stand, to 'Hold Habbaniya' in Iraq's 'Hostile Land'.

A 'Peasants Revolt' so the records do say, but a well-equipped Army were camped over the way,
Besieging the Station with Tank, Gun and shell, intending to blast 'Those British' to hell.
The men and machines of the 'Air Striking Force', against the insurgent's with so little recourse,
than to brave their burden way back then, with a makeshift mixture of old craft and young men.

At dawn on the second the Crews took to the skies, dive-bombing and strafing the foe with surprise,
The Training School lofted their ancient steeds, bodged up with bombs on racks, as must needs.
Gladiator, Gordon, Audax and Oxford all flew, for these were the shires of that unseasoned crew,
In shells and tracer they shouldered their task, accomplishing more than their orders did ask.

By torch light their craft were patched and repaired, for the next days action with little rest spared,
Again and again they flew into that hell, with too little time for the stories that History might tell.
Sortie on Sortie almost without count, the pupils and pilots with such vigour did mount,
In those Outdated Aircraft, doing their best, the No 4 Traning School stuck fast to the test.

And yet, there was 'Comm's Flight' with Valentia's Three, parked in full view of that raging melee,
By the first day's noon they were tattered and torn, no flying for them joint liason was borne.
Some Aircrew on loan, others defending the station, the men of 'Habbaniya' stood proud for their Nation.
With the Siege subsiding and repairs underway, the Flights ancient craft were prepared for their say.

Then late on the Fifth one was bombed up to go, the bunds at Fullujah with 500s, to blow,
Little success was had on that day, yet the Valentia's had joined their role in the fray,
The 520s were tried and crutches changed, then some heavy night bombing was so arranged.
The Iraqi Airfields were given a pounding, to prevent 'Axis' planes from gaining a grounding.

With the Battle near done, reinforcements arrived, it was 'Habbforces' turn to be tested and tried.
'Comm's Flight's' planes by now were most mended, and given new orders their tasks became blended.
Transporting troops and moving supplies, with some heavy night raids in Iraqs moon-less skies.
The crews were worn and their craft more so, yet still they kept their steeds on the go.

The 'British' pressed on and 'The Battle' went hither, then the 'Iraqi's' resolve began to wither,
'The Air Striking Force' had stood their ground, while 'Rachid's Army' was turned around.
And when at the finish the foe faltered and fled, few honours were granted or citations read.
Though little is said of that 'Mixed Motley Crew', yet the tale must be told, of 'The Forgotten Few'.

Dedicated to the Men and Machines of,
'THE HABBANIYA AIR STRIKING FORCE'
RAF HABBANIYA STATION, IRAQ, MAY 1941.
Made up of'
The 'No 4 Flight Training School' and,
The 'Communications Flight, IRAQ'

***

"AN AIRMAN'S SON"

I was just a wee child, when the world went wild, with war bird, bomb and gun,
Not knowing then, whether or when, we might see the next rise of the sun,
In this time of great fear, when death seemed so near, could we hide or possibly run?
There was nowhere to go, for the place was aglow, with such chaos, all senses to stun.

I was not quite a lad, when told about Dad, and that I was an "Airman's Son"
He had served with ambition, to fulfill a tradition, and gave up his life and fun,
With the pride of his Nation, and their brave dedication, in Bomber Command, he was one,
Sent to stop the machines, and the ways and means, of the foe they called "The Hun".

However!

Casting ethics aside, High Command did decide, Area Bombing, would have to be done,
For this task then belied, with convention denied, "The Whirlwind" was begun,
With honour all spent, and his loyalty bent, his conscience then twisted and spun,
So he finished it all, yet his way, held no call, for his memory any to shun.

It's a long time now, since I found out quite how, he made that stark final choice,
Yet year upon year, I shed a small tear, and ponder the thoughts he might voice,
Many lives and dreams ended, when traditions upended, in the War that had to be won,
Though he is never quite known, I am ever his own, and proud to be his "Airman's Son."

Dedicated to the memory of my Father,
"SQUADRON LEADER" "MAURICE ROY SKEET."
(39800) "R.A.F. BOMBER COMMAND" (1937-1942)
(Who took his own life on the 26th of June 1942, aged 24)

****
Slightly revised versions of the above poems are now readable on my personal Website at ^{About links}

Mike Skeet, 17th February 2005.

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.