Many thanks to Dave for posting the following poem on the Bomber Command Research Facebook page today – I thought I would share it as a poignant thought to the boys in ground crew – as vital as the boys that flew, but I think in honest truth usually overlooked, in terms of their contribution to the success of the Bomber Squadrons.
On querying the origin of the piece Dave said that in truth he had found it a few years online under the title ‘The Riggers lament’, but felt it worked better for a fitter – if anybody out there knows anything more about this piece, I’d and I am sure Dave would like to know.
The ‘Fitters’ Lament
He wears a suit of faded blue, no brevet on his chest,
And you’ll find more streaks of grease and oil than medals on his breast,
He doesn’t sit behind the guns of a multi-engined ‘plane,
Or steer a graceful fighter above the cloud and rain.
He wields a hefty spanner and a bit of oily rag,
While the other fellow shoots the Hun and boasts about his bag,
He works in sleet and mud and rain and curses this senseless war,
And wonders ninety times a day what he joined the Air Force for.
He’s just an Engine Fitter,
Nothing more and nothing less,
With a suit of dirty blue instead of battle dress,
He strikes a blow at the filthy Boche with his honest British skill,
As sure as the man who aims the bomb or the gunner who makes the kill.