Military AircrewA forum for the professionals who fly the non-civilian hardware, and the backroom boys and girls without whom nothing would leave the ground. Army, Navy and Airforces of the World, all equally welcome here.
For those FAA types, or anyone from the other Services who has ever served with the FAA, all of the FAA Associations are marching down Whitehall this year together as part of the Fly Navy 100 years commemoration. We assemble in Horseguards around 9.30am - please come and join us for what is always an emotional and meaningful couple of hours.
If this is inapropriate to this thread MODS please delete. I read this a few moments ago.................... It brought a lump to my throat.
Daddy's poem.
Her hair was up in a pony tail,
he favorite dress tied with a bow,
today was Daddy's Day at school,
and she couldn't wait to go.
But her mommy tried to tell her,
that she probably should stay at home.
Why the kids might not understand,
if she went to school alone.
But she was not afraid;
She knew just what to say.
What to tell her classmates
of why he wasn't there today.
But still her mother worried,
for her to face this day alone.
And that was why once again,
she tried to keep her daughter home.
But the little girl went to school
eager to tell them all
about a dad she never sees
a dad who never calls.
There were daddies along the wall in back,
for everyone to meet.
Children squirming impatiently,
anxious in their seats
One by one the teacher called
a student from the class,
To introduce their daddy,
as seconds slowly passed.
At last the teacher called her name,
every child turned to stare.
Each of them was searching for
a man who wasn't there.
'Where's her daddy at?'
She heard a boy call out
'She probably doesn't have one,'
another student dared to shout.
And from somewhere near the back,
She heard a daddy say,
'looks like another deadbeat dad,
too busy to waste his day.'
The words did not offend her,
as she smiled up at her mom.
And looked back at her teacher,
Who told her to go on.
And with hands behind her back,
slowly she began to speak.
And out from the mouth of a child,
came words incredibly unique.
'My Daddy couldn't be be here,
because he lives so far away.
But i know he wishes he could be,
since this is such a special day.
And though you cannot meet him,
i wanted you to know.
All about my daddy,
and how much he loves me so.
He loved to tell me stories
he taught me to ride my bike.
He surprised me with pink roses,
and taught me to fly a kite.
We used to share fudge sundaes,
and ice cream in a cone
and though cannot see him.
I'm not standing here alone.
'Cause my daddy's always with me,
even though we are apart
I know because he told me,
He'll forever be in my heart'
With that, her little hand reached up,
and lay across her chest.
feeling her own heartbeat,
beneath her favorite dress.
and from somewhere here in the crowd of dads,
her mother stood in tears.
Proudly watching her daughter,
who was wise beyond her years.
For she stood up for the love
of a man not in her life.
Doing what was best for her,
doing what was right.
And when she dropped her hand back down,
staring straight into the crowd.
She finished with a voice so soft,
but its message clear and loud.
'I love my daddy very much,
he's my shining star.
and if he could, he'd be here
but heaven's just too far.
You see he was a British Soldier
and died just this past year,
when a roadside bomb hit his convoy
and taught Britains to fear.
But sometimes when i close my eyes,
it's like he never went away.'
And then she closed her eyes,
and saw him there that day.
To her mothers amazement,
she witnessed with surprise.
a room full of daddies and children,
all starting to close their eyes.
Who knows what they saw before them,
who knows what they felt inside.
Perhaps for merely a second,
they saw him at her side.
'I know you're with me Daddy,'
To the silence she called out.
And what happened next made believers,
of those once filled with doubt.
Not one in that room could explain it,
for each of their eyes had been closed.
But there on the desk beside her,
was a fragrant long-stemmed rose.
And a child was blessed, if only for a moment,
by the love of her shining star,
and given the gift of beliefing,
that heaven is never too far.
Sorry for any typo's sight not to good right now...............A little moist.
I do not post often, however, thanks to BATS for the moving piece at the the start of this thread ----- I have shown it to my local minister and as a result will be reading it in church this Sunday------------ Respect:
A memorial to Bomber Command will be dedicated at Heidelberg Repatriation Hospital, Melbourne at 11:00 hrs on 11th November for anyone in the area with an interest.
This thread is so very appropriate, thanks for starting it.
I've been a poppy seller in my little village for several years, ever since I retired from the RAF. Sadly this year I am also now the organiser for the appeal as a dear friend & old soldier sadly passed away a few weeks ago.
I am always impressed by the response of the small children who are always keen to know the whys & the wherefores of the meaning of the simple poppy. The older ones already have an appreciation, either from school or their parents. It is reasuring to know that our departed heroes will never be forgotten.
I wanderer thru a country town, 'cos I had some time to spare,
And went into an antique shop to see what was in there.
Old Bikes and pumps and kero lamps, but hidden by it all,
A photo of a soldier boy - an Anzac on the Wall.
"The Anzac have a name?" I asked. The old man answered "No,.
The ones who could have told me mate, have passed on long ago.
The old man kept on talking and, according to his tale,
The photo was unwanted junk bought from a clearance sale.
"I asked around," the old man said, "but no one knows his face,
He's been on that wall twenty years.... deserves a better place.
For some one must have loved him, so it seems a shame somehow."
I nodded in agreement and then said, "I'll take him now."
My nameless digger's photo, well it was a sorry sight
A cracked glass pane and a broken frame - I had to make it right
To prise the photo from its frame I took care just in case,
Cause only sticky paper held the cardboard back in place.
I peeled away the faded screed and much to my surprise,
Two letters and a telegram appeared before my eyes
The first reveals my Anzac's name, and regiment of course
John Mathew Francis Stuart - of Australia 's own Light Horse.
This letter written from the front... my interest now was keen
This note was dated August seventh 1917
"Dear Mum, I'm at Khalasa Springs not far from the Red Sea
They say it's in the Bible - looks like a Billabong to me.
"My Kathy wrote I'm in her prayers... she's still my bride to be
I just cant wait to see you both, you're all the world to me.
And Mum you'll soon meet Bluey, last month they shipped him out
I told him to call on you when he's up and about."
"That bluey is a larrikin, and we all thought it funny
He lobbed a Turkish hand grenade into the Co's dunny.
I told you how he dragged me wounded, in from no man's land
He stopped the bleeding closed the wound with only his bare hand."
"Then he copped it at the front from some stray shrapnel blast
It was my turn to drag him in and I thought he wouldn't last .
He woke up in hospital, and nearly lost his mind
Cause out there on the battlefield he'd left one leg behind."
"He's been in a bad way Mum, he knows he'll ride no more
Like me he loves a horse's back, he was a champ before.
So Please Mum can you take him in, he's been like my own brother
Raised in a Queensland orphanage he' s never known a mother."
But Struth, I miss Australia Mum, and in my mind each day
I am a mountain cattleman on high plains far away.
I'm mustering white-faced cattle, with no camel's hump in sight
And I waltz my Matilda by a campfire every night
I wonder who rides Billy, I heard the pub burnt down
I'll always love you and please say hooroo to all in town".
The second letter I could see , was in a lady's hand
An answer to her soldier son there in a foreign land.
Her copperplate was perfect, the pages neat and clean
It bore the date, November 3rd 1917.
"T'was hard enough to lose your Dad, without you at the war
I'd hoped you would be home by now - each day I miss you more"
"Your Kathy calls around a lot since you have been away
To share with me her hopes and dreams about your wedding day.
And Bluey has arrived - and what a godsend he has been
We talked and laughed for days about the things you've done and seen"
"He really is a comfort, and works hard around the farm,
I read the same hope in his eyes that you won't come to harm.
Mc Connell's kids rode Billy, but suddenly that changed.
We had a violent lightning storm, and it was really strange."
"Last Wednesday, just on midnight, not a single cloud in sight,
It raged for several minutes, it gave us all a fright .
It really spooked your Billy - and he screamed and bucked and reared
And then he rushed the sliprail fence, which by a foot he cleared"
"They brought him back next afternoon, but something's changed I fear
It's like the day you brought him home, for no one can get near.
Remember when you caught him with his black and flowing mane?
Now Horse breakers fear the beast that only you can tame,"
"That's why we need you home son" - then the flow of ink went dry-
This letter was unfinished, and I couldn't work out why.
Until I started reading, the letter number three
A yellow telegram delivered news of tragedy,
Her son killed in action - oh - what pain that must have been
The Same date as her letter - 3rd November 1917
This letter which was never sent, became then one of three
She sealed behind the photo's face - the face she longed to see.
And John's home town's old timers - children when he went to war
Would say no greater cattleman had left the town before.
They knew his widowed mother well - and with respect did tell
How when she lost her only boy she lost her mind as well.
She could not face the awful truth, to strangers she would speak
"My Johnny's at the war you know, he's coming home next week."
They all remembered Bluey he stayed on to the end.
A younger man with wooden leg became her closest friend.
And he would go and find her when she wandered old and weak
And always softly say "yes dear - John will be home next week."
Then when she died Bluey moved on, to Queensland some did say.
I tried to find out where he went, but don't know to this day.
And Kathy never wed - a lonely spinster some found odd.
She wouldn't set foot in a church - she'd turned her back on God .
John's mother left no Will I learned on my detective trail.
This explains my photo's journey, of that clearance sale.
So I continued digging, cause I wanted to know more.
I found John's name with thousands , in the records of the war.
His last ride proved his courage - a ride you will acclaim
The Light Horse Charge at Beersheba of everlasting fame.
That last day in October back in 1917
At 4pm our brave boys fell - that sad fact I did glean.
That's when John's life was sacrificed, the record's crystal clear
But 4pm in Beersheba is midnight over here.......
So as John's gallant sprit rose to cross the great divide,
Were lightning bolts back home, a signal from the other side?
Is that why Billy bolted and went racing as in pain?
Because he'd never feel his master on his back again?
Was it coincidental? same time - same day - same date?
Some proof of numerology, or just a quirk of fate?
I think it's more than that you know, as I've heard wiser men,
Acknowledge there are many things that go beyond our ken
Where craggy peaks guard secrets neath dark skies torn asunder,
Where hoofbeats are companions to the rolling waves of thunder
Where lightning cracks like 303's and ricochets again
Where howling moaning gusts of wind sound just like dying men
Some Mountain cattlemen have sworn on lonely alpine track,
They've glimpsed a huge black stallion - Light Horseman on his back.
Yes Sceptics say, it's swirling clouds just forming apparitions
Oh no, my friend you can't dismiss all this as superstition .
The desert of Beersheba - or windswept Aussie range,
John Stuart rides on forever there - Now I don 't find that all strange.
Now some gaze upon this photo, and they often question me
And I tell them a small white lie, and say he's family.
"You must be proud of him." they say - I tell them, one and all,
That's why he takes - the pride of place - my Anzac on the Wall.
By Jim Brown.
Last edited by Brian Abraham : 8th November 2009 at 11:53.
Reason: Attribution
I know that Remembrance Sunday is primarily about remembering 'the Glorious Dead', but this year in particular I will also be thinking with gratitude about all of those who have stood up and served their country in time of war, Cold War or peacetime, whatever their uniform, living or dead, and I'll say a prayer for all of those engaged in operations today.
The poem touches upon something I heard about only recently on the ABC. How a war historian in Sydney is going through the patient list from the 1920s and 30s of Callan Park, the major mental institution in Sydney, because a really large number of the patients/inmates were women who lost husbands or (sometimes and, and all too often multiple) sons in the Great War and for whom there was no grief counselling nor any help at all, so very many of them ended up in Callan Park.
MTOW, many thanks for the attribution, and the link, I have no idea where I picked it up from, but it was without the name of author. Many thanks once again.
Good to see Prince William in RAF uniform at the Cenotaph wreath laying today. Has to be the first royal flight lieutenant to lay a wreath I would have thought!
In the past I've thought it a shame how rarely Prince Philip and Prince Charles represent the junior service at this ceremony, as they both hold retired rank, (actually not even retired in Prince Philip's case as he is an MRAF).
Many thanks to 55 Sqn for the flypast at Horncastle, and also the Tornado that flew over our war memorial just as the band struck up God Save The Queen.
Crawley was well attended especially by the Young Generation in the shape of cadets from all three services, and even younger ones in the Scouts. Four young lads (was going to say boys but they'd never forgive me) smartly turned out in Royal Marine Parade Dress stood Sentinel on each corner of the Town War Memorial, Resting on Arms Reversed. The Arms being .303's of course. Hopelessly old fashioned, just like me!
I felt very humbled to be able to carry the wreath for our local RAFA branch today at our town service (last Remembrance Service for me in uniform!) . Also felt honoured to sit in church with one of our very senior members who is an ex 152 Sqn (Spitfires) Armourer and who served in the Far East; he lays the wreath for the Burma Star Assn. One of the hymns we sang is one that, until recently, was considered very passe - "Oh Valiant Hearts." It is not at all passe now, if it ever was. I managed to sing the words of the hymn with my older comrade but it wasn't always easy - but the sun shone and we all remembered.
One of the best threads mods. The previous poems have me in tears. Thank you all.
I went to the service at Bury St Edmunds today. My daughter has only just joined the ATC and although she and her younger brother drive me crazy at least ten times every week, to see her and hundreds of other cadets, Air Force, Army and American military personel marching and then standing to attention at Bury's war memorial brought a hell of a lump to my throat. Spontaneous rounds of applause rang out as they all marched past. I looked around at other onlookers and saw tissues being deployed and heads bowed in respect. An old gentleman next to me clapped and made several remarks which lead me to believe that he had served and when he said that that the cadets looked very smart as my daughter marched past I felt great pride. It was only then that I recognised him as Lord Tebbit. He looked frail but smart.
There's a lot of respect out there now for those who serve from people from all walks of life.
Today I felt glad to be British. Well done all. Stay safe.
Thanks to BATS
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