The following 4 poems were submitted (Aug-2006) by Sep Owen of 459
\n\n\n\n
(nor is the old grey stallion)
\n\nSobbed to a man to a tart in Valencia,
\n\nAlas, due to senile dementia,
\n\nI forgot what to do when I meet girls like you,
\n\nWho offer me sexy adventure!
\n\nThat last verse might seem quite uncouth,
\n\nBut is meant to convey the sad truth
\n\nNamely, don’t ever doubt
\n\nThat some talents wear out,
\n\nSo, young men, make the most of your youth!
\n\n
\n\n
\n\nFrom my earliest days, one fact I was taught
\n\nWas that O is a symbol for ‘no’, ‘nil’ or ‘nought’.
\n\nThe above knowledge, most of my life I have carried,
\n\nIncluding the decades since I was married.
\n\nIn those lkong ago decades before I was wed,
\n\nSeldom, if ever, was I in the red,
\n\nI was never a spendthrift – that point I must stress,
\n\nMy book always balanced, i.e. more or less.
\n\nI was never a man who’d speak ill of his wife,
\n\nSo I’m not blaming mine for my grim fiscal strife,
\n\nBut since I’ve been paired with that cuddlesome pet,
\n\nI have seldom, if ever, been long out of debt.
\n\nSo beware, you young lover-boys, don’t be misled,
\n\nNot that O is the difference between “Owed” and “Wed!”.
\n\nOr putting it another way ……..
\n\nThere’s an answer to this question I never could to gather,
\n\nAnd the frown that I’m wearing I have no doubt shows it:
\n\nHaving given my loved one an open slather,
\n\nCould somebody tell me how I can close it?
\n\n\n\n
\n\n
My wife is very thoughtful, as I now will illustrate,
\n\nIt is one of her many virtues which I can hardly overstate.
\n\nAnother worthy principle on which she’s quite insistent,
\n\nIs to practice what she preaches—and always be consistent!
\n\nThus, before leaving the supermarket, this practice she has learned:
\n\nEnsure that the details on the bill are fair to all concerned.
\n\nWhile still in the checkout queue, no visit of her is complete
\n\nTill she’s thoroughly checked each item recorded on her receipt
\n\nShould perchance she be overcharged, I hardly need to mention
\n\nThat she promptly brings this error to the management’s attention.
\n\n(it’s not selfish motivation which prompts her to do so—
\n\njust that she feels the management would like to be let known.)
\n\nBut to make herself a nuisance is not at all like her,
\n\nAnd, being very thoughtful, she knows errors must occur.
\n\nSo when reference to one of her purchases is missing from her list,
\n\nHer impulse to correct things she will, thoughtfully resist.
\n\n\n\n
\n\nWhen our upstairs neighbour has a binge
\n\nHe tends to come home reeling,
\n\nMaking his floor reverberate,
\n\n(That is, our bedroom ceiling).
\n\nReturning from a recent spree
\n\nWith drinking mates in town,
\n\nHis thudding, drunken footsteps sent
\n\nOur lampshade crashing down!
\n\nTo me, quite busy at the time,
\n\nThis proved a dire distraction,
\n\nLikely to strain “good neighbour” ties
\n\nMuch more than just a fraction.
\n\nIt’s true the lampshade didn’t break---
\n\nIt wasn’t even cracked
\n\nIn no time flat I’ll have it back,
\n\nSecure, pristine, intact.
\n\nBut just the same, it made me sob!
\n\n(My wife was seldom tearier!)
\n\nYou’d understand if you could see
\n\nThe bruise on my posterior.
\n\n
\n\n
\n\nThe following song was submitted by Thomas "Tom" Hancock - 459
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One incident will always remain in my memory. Four young Australian boys occupied the tent next to ours, they had a wind up gramophone and were always playing a song I had only heard through them, I quote it here, I often sing it to anyone interested! Tom Hancock
","stylesMapId":"CK_EDITOR_PARAGRAPH_STYLES","linkList":[]},"dataItem-j9lykl49":{"type":"Image","id":"dataItem-j9lykl49","metaData":{"isPreset":false,"schemaVersion":"2.0","isHidden":false},"title":"","uri":"e06141_463d2cb3532442498d8e55f55cd170db~mv2.jpg","description":"","width":350,"height":233,"alt":""},"dataItem-j9lykxh0":{"type":"StyledText","id":"dataItem-j9lykxh0","metaData":{"isPreset":false,"schemaVersion":"1.0","isHidden":false},"text":"Grandma's parcel was a sweet surprise to me,
\n\nGrandma's parcel was as welcome as could be,
\n\nThe socks were warm and cosy,
\n\nJust the size I take,
\n\nAnd Sergeant wants to swap his stripes for Grandma's home made cake,
\n\nShe's an angel and there's little she forgets,
\n\nIt's like heaven smoking Grandma's cigarettes,
\n\nSo tell her that I love her,
\n\nAs you kiss her tenderly,
\n\nSay Thank You for the parcel Grandma sent to me.
\n\n
\n\n\n\n
The following poem was submitted by Norm Gilham - 454.
\n\n\n\n
My pupil is a headache I do not want.
\n\nHe maketh me to fly over green pastures,
\n\nHe leadeth me beside high-tension wires,
\n\nHe ruineth my nerves.
\n\nWhy, for Heaven's sake?
\n\nYea, though I fly in the clearest of days
\n\nYet do I feel much evil,
\n\nFor he is with me,
\n\nAn his flying doth terrify me.
\n\nHe prepareth to crash before me,
\n\nIn the face of all my teacher.
\n\nHe filleth my head with trouble,
\n\nMy mug runneth over.
\n\nSurely terror and strife will follow me all the days of my life,
\n\nAnd I will dwell in the house of lunatics forever.
\n\n
\n\n\n\n
\n\n
\n\n
"Hai Lee" the hell ship to Takioradi on the Gold Coast (now Ghana). The aircrews were hard put to maintain morale over that time, but succeeded by various expedients, including playing cards a lot.
\n\nAssisted a little by the other NCOs, David Barnard turned to versifying to record their situation.
\n\nAlthough scarcely great literature, here are two pieces of doggerel which resulted:
\n\n\n\n
We bitched a lot, we swore
\n\nWe made our presence felt
\n\nWe sweated in the heat and cursed
\n\nThe hand that Fate had dealt
\n\nSome bully beef and jam
\n\nSome bacon and some stew
\n\nSome rancid butter and sour bread
\n\nWas all the food we drew
\n\nThe same each lifelong day
\n\nMonotonous and dull
\n\nNever a cool refreshing breeze
\n\nDisturbed the tropic lull
\n\nComplaints we made - ignored
\n\nSo we became resigned
\n\nWe laughed and joked about the food
\n\nAs if we didn't mind
\n\nBut still we are sustained
\n\nWe think of Home and Peace
\n\nDespite the hardship and the toil
\n\nOur striving will not cease
\n\nAnd when this war is won
\n\nWe'll reminisce with zest
\n\nAbout the travails which are done
\n\nAnd be content to rest.
\n\n\n\n
\n\nInto the waiting launch
\n\nThe motley rabble filed
\n\nThe baggage wogs and dusky men
\n\nIn thick confusion piled
\n\nA short trip down the bay
\n\nAboard our vessel we climbed
\n\nA dirty stinking coastal tub
\n\nWith grease and slime begrimed
\n\nWe waited two whole days
\n\nBefore we passed the boom
\n\nTwo days of stench and tropic haze
\n\nOf sultry heat and gloom
\n\nWith cockroaches and ants
\n\nAnd vermin all around
\n\nThe Hai Lee was a hell ship
\n\nFor Takoradi bound
\n\nThe crew, a motley mob
\n\nOf Chinks and insolent wogs
\n\nOft fought and bickered among themselves
\n\nAnd snarled like angry dogs
\n\nThe hazards of our trip
\n\nImpressed us not at all
\n\nFor many convoy miles have passed
\n\nAnd we have yet to fall
\n\nWe spent each day at bridge
\n\nWith scarce a thought or care
\n\nOur one consoling thought became
\n\n"It's one day less to bear".
\n\n\n\n
\n\n"Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, and waste its fragrance in the air".
\n\n\n\n
Egypt, land of the Pharoahs, consists of four things; the Nile Delta, the desert, tar brushes and boot blacks. The Egyptians live in the Delta and wear tar brushes, the English live in the desert and the bootblacks live on the English.
\n\n\n\n
The Egyptians, with their glamorous and yashmaked women, dwell on the fertile and alluvial plain 'neath the cool green foliage of fruitful date palms and verdant eucalypts. The English and Desert Lilies share the sterile arid and waterless waste.
\n\n\n\n
The "Desert Lily": - Lilium potorum var kerostinium - sometimes Petrolinium - was unknown to Linaeus, and never classified by him. Recent botanic research has finally determined it as the above. Appaarently it is an extraordinary mutation, and very high in the scale of evolution. It has acclimatised itself, and now , like the English, thrives in the desert.
\n\n\n\n
The origin of The Desert Lily is unknown. It is an exotic species. Nature probably introduced it as a necessity. This modern variety, Kerosintinium, grows on a sandy soil, with a stoney rubble like sub-soil 2'6" to 3' in height. It has a simple bulbous taproot. The paucity of roots needing frequent watering. It reproduces by 'cuttings', never by budding or grafting. Irresponsible lorry drivers often cut short the seedling in its youth. When young, the bark has a hyshine bloom, but being very susceptible, rapidly succumbs to the 'rust' fungus, which usually extends over its entire surface.
\n\n\n\n
The stem seldom branches, but bends at the mode and leans toward the direction of the prevailing wind. This chemotactic attraction of the prevailing wind is only partly understood, probably again the result of necessity. When the archeologists of posterity dig up and discover "Desert Lilies", they will exclaim... "Ah ah, the English wined, dined and drank beer here.
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The following poem was written Wilf Darby (June '94) and was included in the Addendum to the 50th Anniversary Booklet issued with the Xmas 1994 Bulletin
\n\n\n\n
Remember back in '42
\n\nWhen we put on Air Force blue?
\n\nWe were young and so naive,
\n\nexpect to wear a ring on sleeve!
\n\nDon't you remember? C'mon, confess,
\n\nYou surely fell for the B.S.!
\n\nLater - an idea, a notion -
\n\nThere'd be no damn promotion
\n\nOn either side of that bloody ocean.
\n\nRumours flew - so much 'duff gen'.
\n\nPosted here, there now and then.
\n\nStudied airborne - a ground course too.
\n\nTexas beckoned, both me and you.
\n\nThere, as guests of the U.S.A.,
\n\nDid you get to Monterey, or Houston, Dallas,
\n\nSan Anton?
\n\nRemember, we trained with old Tyrone!
\n\n(Tyrone Power that is)
\n\nBack to Clinton - short stay, at least.
\n\nThen posted to - the Middle East.
\n\nBoyhood yarns of history,
\n\nAfrica, with all its mystery.
\n\nPlace names with romantic sounds,
\n\nChinese Gordon and Beau Geste towns:
\n\nLagos, Accra, Kano, Khartoum.
\n\nAny promotions yet?
\n\n....It's too damn soon!
\n\nNo longer don our Air Force blue,
\n\nIt's khaki battle dress, quite new.
\n\nBy desert train, go "up the blue",
\n\nThrough Alemain and mersa Matruh,
\n\nSidi Birani and Tobruk too.
\n\nAnd....sure enough -
\n\nRecall the green of Wadi El Kuf?
\n\nFlies, fleas and grit, they do us greet.
\n\nBare ground was our bed and no groundsheet,
\n\nYou're an L.A.C. and that's your lot.
\n\nGet a commish and they provide a cot.
\n\nExpect there were personnel, who..
\n\nHappened to be stationed at Cairo, H.Q....
\n\nSand in our hair, ears, eyes and nose,
\n\nSand in our tea, food, bed and clothes.
\n\nRations we shared with the flies and fleas,
\n\nAs time went by, we browned our knees.
\n\nFrom time to time, I will confess,
\n\nI asked:
\n\n"Where in the hell is the R.C.A.F.?"
\n\nFoolish lad, I almost forgot,
\n\nThe R.C.A.F. gave us no thought.
\n\nTwo years passed and, H.Q., of course,
\n\n"Joed" radar mech's to the Tiger Force.
\n\nThe posting's cancelled, the signal stated,
\n\nBecause the Japs had -- capitulated.
\n\nSo, my friend, just like thee,
\n\nI left the Force on L.A.C.,
\n\nThere came then - an unusual twist
\n\nA request from "them" to re-enlist.
\n\nWith no vacancies in Air Commodores' ranks,
\n\nMy response was brief,
\n\nI said: "No Thanks".
\n\nWe came back from overseas,
\n\nWent our ways and earned degrees.
\n\nOne became a biologist,
\n\nAnother an oil geologist.
\n\nDoctor, lawyers, engineers - it's true.
\n\nThere were even a C.A. or two.
\n\nAnd -- what's more,
\n\nWon promotions by the score.
\n\nCan't say the same for personnel, who -
\n\nServed at H.Q. with their lower I.Q.
\n\nGotcha! Gotcha! Gotcha!
\n\n\n\n
\n\nProvided by -- Ken Rimmer [RAF] -454 RAAF Squadron
\n\nWords were written to be sung to the tune of the Rifle Song depicting the spirit of 454 Squadron.
\n\n\n\n
"Ho cast your eye toward the high sky
\n\nHo, up on high you'll see us flying
\n\nO'er for we are out on a raid
\n\nNo, by flak we'll not be dismayed
\n\nHo, devastation in formation
\n\nSo, to your guns you Huns
\n\nYes man your stations
\n\nFor the eagles up in the blue
\n\nAre out to strike hard and true
\n\nWe're 454".
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