A good mate of mine read this poem out at the recent funeral of another good mate. He told me he had 'doctored' some of the words to make it more aplicable to aircrew! Well done Terry, it's nice........
Its simply call 'Flying West'
I hope there's a place, way up in the sky,
Where aircrew can go, when they have to die.
A place where a guy can get a cold beer
For a friend or a comrade whose memory is dear.
A place where no doctor or lawyer can tread,
And a scribbly-type would not be caught dead!
Just a quaint little place, kind of dark, full of smoke,
Where they like to sing loud, and love a good joke!
The kind of a place where a lady could go,
And feel safe and secure by the men she would know.
There MUST be a place where old aircrew go,
When their wings become weary, and their airspeed gets low;
Where the whisky is old, and the women are young,
And songs about flying and dying are sung.
Where you'd see all your mates, who'd "flown west"
before,
And they'd call out your name, as you walked thru the door,
Who would buy you a drink, if your thirst should be bad,
And relate to the others, "He was such a nice lad!"
And there thru the mist you'd spot an old guy
You’d not seen for years, though he'd taught YOU to fly,
He'd nod his old head, and grin ear to ear,
And say, "Welcome, my son, I'm pleased you are here!
For this is the place where true flyers come,
When the battles are over, and the wars have been won;
We've come here at last, to be safe and alone,
From the government clerk, and the management clone,
Politicians and lawyers, police and the noise,
Where all Hours are Happy, and these good ol' boys,
Can relax with a 'cool one', and a well deserved rest.."
"Cos this is Heaven my son, you've passed your last test!"
Farewell AWACS Warrior
RIP Paul
God Bless
Kind regards to all
The Swinging Monkey