There is a poem in the Officers' Mess at Aldergrove - reprinted below - which sums up a few thoughts about the old girl :
An ‘Ode’ To the Wessex
“The Queen of the Skies”, “A Fine Girl” and all
“A bag of bits welded with glue”
All favourite names for a craft that we call
She survives here longer than some of us do
Except aviators who‘re grey
If you try to work out if that includes you
Count from year fifty-seven, in May
She supported troops here since sixty-nine
Flying thousands of soldiers and more
And the latest I heard on the Bosses’ grapevine
Is she stays till two thousand and four
She can carry twelve troops, fifteen I’ve been told
Plus her full compliment of three crew
But much more than that and her rotors will fold
With the left hand seat yelling “Three-two”
She carries the Queen with abundance of care
Though she once caused a major alert
When her rotors blew protocol up in the air
Along with poor Princess Di’s skirt
She may not be fast or pretty or slick
And not very adept at gliding
But she isn’t French or made of plastic
And there’s no chance of rotors colliding
Through all types of rain and bad weather she runs
Enemies are often surprised
She survives attacks from missiles and guns
Though wing-overs aren’t well advised
So let us then toast the last of the few
For the Wessex I’d like you to rise
And drink to the stalwart of Seventy-Two
You’re truly “The Queen of the Skies!”