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The
Americans they call us the veterans
To the British we are the Old Sweats
Now it’s sixty years on from the conflict
which to us was our finest hour yet
We
were only young Lads when we joined up
Not knowing what it was about
But when our lives and our country’s in danger
It needed us all to turn out
I
decided the RAF was my forte
as I wanted to don flying gear
And fly with my crew over Deutschland
Showing bravado instead of dark fear
We
were a mixed bunch all we aircrew
from posh cats to lads from the streets
But we all joined in with the mission
doing a job that needed no freaks
I
remember well my first training
when we were taught to fly Tiger Moths
It was my first time to be airborne
At home with the birds and the Moths
And
what a great thrill to a young fellow
Sitting in the rear cockpit alone
Soaring up there in the great yonder
With just the wind and engines low drone
Our
instructor had been a Spit pilot
whose heart wasn’t in it at all
And it seemed that his reason for living
Was to make we young trainees look small
He
showed us young lads how to do it
But his heart was away in the clouds
And for all that he taught us of flying
Was to get far away from the crowds
We
all were dead keen on our training
In the hope that we’d better our chums
But by now there’s a surfeit of pilots
So I re-mustered in charge of four guns
At
gunnery school our Squadron Leader
The chief of A squadron called Spayne
He said that we were his best detail
And with him we would train for the game
The
fact he was mad as a hatter
to us was no really great matter
As like him we were destined to be
Now to him the Luftwaff was just a big laugh
Now his cannon fodder were we
We
were afterwards sent to our squadrons
Sporting our new sergeants stripes
To fly at the rear of the Lancaster bombers
as lonely Air Gunners who always had gripes
We
all thought that this was a great lark
all flying together comrades we
Until our dispersal was emptied of aircrew
Then were left to face re-al-ity
But
where have they gone all the aircrews
The ones who are now out of sight
With their memories of flying and fighting
in the flak and the glare of searchlights
The
war came to an end far too early
for we who were foolish and brave
But had it gone on any longer
no doubt we were meant for the grave
Year
by year we are getting much fewer
who in the furnace of war were hard tried
But no doubt on this day of remembrance
we remember with pride those who died
We
who are left shared the mundane
of jobs that were all just the same
But where are the thousands of aircrew
who were robbed of the role which they trained
They’ve
now beaten our swords into ploughshares
And our planes have long gone to scrap heaps
But the memories of the best of our efforts in war
Are the finest of hours we still keep
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