大象传媒

NIGHT FLIGHT TO TURIN

Written by John H. Jones

Twelfth of November 1942
The seventh operation for one crew;
Crews in the briefing room were all agog
The wing Commander came in through the smog
He gave the crews a friendly little grin
And said 鈥淭he target for tonight 鈥� Turin鈥�.

A muffled groan was heard for crews, though bold,
Knew that above the Alps the air was cold
And masks for oxygen they鈥檇 have to wear
Another mild discomfort they鈥檇 have to bear.

The briefing went its smooth and well worn way
Each expert had some useful things to say.
The route with tape was on the wall-map shown,
The bomb load, target details were made known.

The weatherman, (alas no satellite)
Was rather vague re weather for the flight-
It looked as though conditions might be grim-
Cumulus cloud and possibly cu-nimb.

Above the Alps crews must beware of ice-
A quite nonsensical piece of advice
For ice which forms in thick cloud can鈥檛 be seen
As on the wings it forms a glassy screen.

The briefing over crews had hours to wait
To doze, play cards or think about their fate.
Collecting parachutes was next to do
And getting flight rations for the crew.

Three tuppeny chocolate bars and coffee flask
What more could any hungry airman ask?
Pessimists had them on the outward track
Optimists saved them for the journey back.

And so our crew above the Alps we find
At 20,000 feet and flying blind
With deadly ice amassing on the wings
And more collecting on some other things.

The extra weight was telling on the kite
The altimeter showed a loss of height
But worse was yet to come, for now I fear
The skipper said 鈥淲e鈥檝e lost an engine here鈥�.

Another engine failed within a trice
The air intakes were blocked with solid ice
And soon, all engines gone, the aircraft stalled
鈥淲e鈥檇 best get out鈥� the struggling pilot called.

Rear gunner had the easiest job no doubt
He swung his turret, slipstream pulled him out.
But at the front escape was much more fraught
Crew members couldn鈥檛 do the things they ought,

Now in a spin, the aircraft held them tied
By 鈥済鈥� force hard against the starboard side.
The navigator strained and pushed and swore
Trying to reach the escape hatch in the floor.

At last the spin began to be less tight
The hatch was opened to the crew鈥檚 delight
And, thankful that he hadn鈥檛 so far died
The navigator sat with legs outside.

All set to jump he felt a gentle tug
He had forgotten his intercom plug
He reached for the plug and heard 鈥渉old on there
An engine鈥檚 come back 鈥� we鈥檙e still in the air鈥�.

As it got warmer and ice all dispersed
It seemed that the crew were over the worst.
But that鈥檚 not the end of their rotten luck
While they were in storm cloud lightening had struck.

The distant-reading compass was u/s,
The pilot鈥檚 stand by compass in a mess -
It鈥檚 needle wandering in an aimless way.
The bombsight compass seemed to be O.K.

The navigator starting from a guess
Worked out a course for England, more or less.
The bomb-aimer got courses from the nav.
And told the waiting pilot what he鈥檇 have
To do in terms of turning left or right
To keep a steady heading through the night.

At last the English Channel came in view
And soon an airfield beacon was seen too,
A fighter station by the name of Ford.
And some crew members said 鈥淥h, thank the Lord鈥�
The crew, on landing, just shook hands all round
And then like Pope John Paul they kissed the ground

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