At The Museum

Vultee Vengeance and Tiger Moth
Stand side by side on the floor.
He looks at them now with a different view,
To how he had viewed them before.

He’d wanted to fly since he’d been a boy,
And with the misfortune of war got his chance.
In the machines that he flew, as his confidence grew,
He learned how to make those planes dance.

Many planes Britain used in defence and attack,
And many of these he was able to fly in.
Tiger Moth to Oxford; then Tempest and Typhoon -
But the Hurricane was the best plane to fight in.

He looks up at the Vengeance and wonders aloud
How he’d climbed up there as if on a bike;
To fly that machine with great skill and élan,
Firing machine guns and cannon alike.

He was a daredevil and that he wouldn’t deny,
But he learned to control his high spirits.
He’d seen too many mates die when they’d lived too high,
And he’d vowed to himself he’d come through it.

The pride of the squadron he’d quickly become
Because of his skill and his daring.
He could make a plane do just what he wanted it to,
But it was because of his great love of flying.

He remembered one flight where he’d encountered a storm
And the visibility was down to near nothing.
He’d found the runway through the shining “chance” light,
And his landing, though rough, was quite stunning.

At least twice he’d flown on when he should have turned back,
With a plane whose condition was dicey.
He’d kept to the flight so he’d not miss the dance,
And his sheer skill had got it through safely.

He looked now at those planes standing next to each other,
The small Moth and the big fighter bomber,
And he marvelled again at what he used to do then
With these, the first and the last planes that he’d flown.