Air Gunner Poem by Colin Ian Jeffery

My uncle Stan was a sergeant air-gunner on Wellington bombers during the Second World War, a tail gunner. He flew twenty-three missions over occupied Europe. The life expectancy of a rear-gunner was ten missions. My Uncle survived the war.

Engines roar
With stench of burning oil
In the darkness a heavy bomber rises.
There is no moon or stars
Only icy fear chilling the soul.

Flying over the white cliffs of Dover
Gunners fire guns to test them
Ready for German fighter planes
Coming swooping like hawks
Darting from darkness guns blazing.

Over Holland bomber joins other bombers
Flying in formation towards Germany
Searchlights seeking them out
Ack-ack shells lighting the night
Trying to bring the bombers down.

Fighter planes like angry hornets sweep in
The bombers have reached Berlin
Path-finders marking targets
Below a vast raging sea of fire
Hitler's punishment for London's blitz.

Bomb-aimer takes control of the plane
Guiding the pilot over the target
Presses the release plunger
And bombs drop screaming
Exploding a factory making tanks.


Bomber makes two runs
Pilot turns for home caught in searchlight glare
Illuminated for fighter planes and gunners below
Slowly the bomber climbs up beyond the light
Damaged with enemy fire.

Burning bomber reaches England
With pilot dying, crew bloody and afraid
Crash landing on the airfield
Rear-gunner pulled alive from his turret
Weeping, thankful surviving another mission.