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Poem written by a pilot in Ernest Walter Smith’s Coastal Command 220 Squadron

He wears a suit of faded blue no brevet on his breast
You’ll find more streaks of dirty oil than medals on his chest
He wields a hefty spanner and a bit of oily rag
While the other fellow shoots the hun and boasts about his bag
He’s just an engine fitter nothing more and nothing less
A suit of dark blue overalls in place of battledress
But he strikes a blow at the filthy hun with his British skill
As sure as the man who aims the bomb or makes the kill
He doesn’t ask for glory for this is not a fitter’s way
All ht wants is the pilot’s smile when he says, ‘She flies OK’
When you’ve covered flying heroes with DFM’s and such
Spare a thought for the engineer who doesn’t ask for much
Just shake him by the hand and think he done a lot
To make those engines safe for the man that fired the shot.

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