Anyone scheduled to be over Lincoln, next Thursday morning?

[Al R]

The crematorium to be exact, and 0910.

Apologies for being presumptuous and I know it's almost certain to be a non starter, but my ex father in law (ex Wellington/Sterling/Lanc/Washington gunner, two and a bit tours and DFM) is making his final flight (his first vertical one I think).

John would be gobsmacked and embarrassed if he were reading this. But if anyone was navigating or transiting overhead sometime near that time anyway and was able to tweak things a little to coincide, it would crown a wonderful life.

Thanks. :)

[Al R]

I hadn't seen this before now, I thought I would share it with you. It's going to be a reading for this Thursday (delivered by my eldest) unless anyone has something else to consider? John was especially proud of his rear gunner status, I seem to remember reading a poem about rear gunners ages ago but can't find it anywhere at all.

Anyway..

Showpiece Lancaster (http://www.nicks-cave.pwp.blueyonder.co.uk/jane/poem2.htm)

[Guernsey Girl II]

Al,
How about

Men for All Seasons

Fickle as a young girl’s heart,

Weather played a vital part.

Forecast winds could change and veer

A navigator’s constant fear.

In spite of every new device

All crews feared the demon ice.

Downstairs, if shrouding fog came down

Ops are cancelled, off to town!”

Remember, too, those luckless types,

The ground crews who, despite their gripes

Worked through winters foul and grim

To keep their precious Lance in trim.

But there were times of awed surprise

As towering cloudscapes filled the skies;

And sunsets when the climbing kite

Glowed crimson in the fading light.


Or


Supreme and proud

We had no common bond

Save that of youth.

No shared ambition,

Except to venture and survive.

Until, aloft within that roaring fuselage,

Each dependent on the others,

We found in war’s intensity

Good cause to say with pride in later years,

To those who chronicled the great events

We flew in Lancasters

Or


Furrows into Silence

The Lancs have left; from Fenland skies

The clamour and the fret has gone.

Their crews and those who watched with anxious eyes

For homing kites are long departed.

Through roofless huts and fissured tarmac grow

The thrusting weeds

And there is little left to show

What once was here.

Nor should we grieve, or yearn

For what is past.

This place, designed for war, has served its turn

Let Nature now take back its own.

The ravages of age and time can not decay

The greater work.

These artefacts of steel and concrete pass away;

The deeds remain.

Or

Air Gunners

Alone in his transparent shell,

A speck in space,

He sits, poised in his airy kingdom;

At his back the unknown,

Before him the unfolding map

Of his journey.

Guardian of seven lives,

Taut with the concentration of survival,

He swings his turret through vigilant arcs,

Eyes straining for the fighters,

Braced for the violence of surprise.


All by Philip A. Nicholson

[Guernsey Girl II]

Al,
Maybe it's this one you had in mind (but perhaps not for the service),

It starts:

From far and near you often hear of a pilot’s skill and dare
But little is known of the WOP/AG or why he’s really there
To be exact as a matter of fact he’s the backbone of the crew
When you take into account the large amount of work he has to do
.......

And ends:

So when you see a plane go sailing o’er the blue
Remember there’s a WOP/AG aboard – and thank F@&k it isn’t you!’

But I can't find reference to the rest on the www :ugh:

[Mal Drop]

From Air Gunner - The Men Who Manned the Turrets (Alan Cooper, 2009, Pen & Sword Publishing)

IF I MUST BE A GUNNER
If I must be a gunner,
Then please Lord grant me grace,
That I may leave this station
With a smile upon my face.
I wished to be a pilot,
And you along with me,
But if we all were pilots
Where would the Air Force be?
It takes guts to be a gunner,
To sit out on the tail
When the Messerschmitts are coming
And the slugs begin to wail.
The pilot’s just a chauffeur,
Its his job to fly the plane;
But its we who do the fighting,
Though we may not get the fame.
If we must all be gunners,
Then let us make this bet.
We’ll be the best damn gunners
That left this station yet.

Cpl. George Harding (RCAF)

... and ...

THE AIR GUNNER’S ROLE
The Air Gunner sits alone in his turret
Anxiously scanning the unfriendly skies
Looking for approaching enemy fighters
As on an operation his bomber flies.
Confined in the dismal, cramped quarters
In a circle his turret continually rotates.
Tensions mount as they near their target
Alert and on guard for any peril he waits.
For hours he must maintain constant vigil
On a Mitchell bomber, he’s the only defence
The crew’s survival depends on his alertness.
During an Op there’s no break in suspense
An air gunner’s life is barren of glamour
Recognition or medals are not in store
Overlooked when they hand out the glory
No fame for performing his dangerous chore.
To a bomber’s crew the air gunner is vital
A thankless and dangerous task is his role
To protect his bomber from enemy fighters
Ensuring its safe return to base is his goal.
When a bomber is on an operational sortie
And comes under an enemy fighter attack
The crew will reply on their trusted air gunner
To provide the protection needed to get back.
From his crewmates he will gain recognition
Acknowledgement that on him they depend
They know that when their bomber is in peril
A capable air gunner will their aircraft defend.

George Olson 20 October, 1944.

[Al R]

.. thank you very much (and for the other response late last night which I saw on my phone). I'm very grateful.