I, who am known as London, have faced stern times before,
Having fought and ruled and traded for a thousand years and more;
I knew the Roman legions and the harsh-voiced Danish hordes;
I heard the Saxon revels, saw blood on the Norman swords.
But, though I am scarred by battle, my grim defenders vow
Never was I so stately nor so well-beloved as now.
The lights that burn and glitter in the exile's lonely dream,
The lights of Picadilly, and those that used to gleam
Down Regents Street and Kingsway may now no longer shine,
But other lights keep burning, and their splendour, too, is mine,
Seen in the work-worn faces and glimpsed in the steadfast eyes
When little homes lie broken and death descends from the skies.
The bombs have shattered my churches, have torn my streets apart,
But they have not bent my spirit and they shall not break my heart.
For my people's faith and courage are lights of London town
Which still would shine in legends though my broadest bridge were down.
London Under Bombardment, Greta Briggs
from the anthology 'Other Men's Flowers' collected by Field Marshall Lord Wavell first published 1944
We all (citizens of every nation) should remember the stand of the fighter pilots of the RAF and the Fleet Air Arm. There are not words.