navwin » Archives » Open Poetry #44 » Letters Home.
Open Poetry #44
Post A Reply Post New Topic Letters Home. Go to Previous / Newer Topic Back to Topic List Go to Next / Older Topic
Windhover
Member
since 2003-11-17
Posts 179
UK

0 posted 2009-03-15 06:49 AM


Friday, April 20th, 1917.

So, here I am in France, my love; in Flanders... but, I know not where
and even if I knew, I could not tell you. Censorship takes care
of that, by blotting out the place name; all that I can really say
is, I am now joined with my squadron, on my first foray today.
Dawn patrol across the lines, seeking out those Hun balloons,
The Boss man says it's quite hot, round there... we'll find that out pretty soon.
For these are Hun Artillery spotters, well protected on the ground
by hordes of Archie... anti-aircraft guns, that try to knock us down.
The Boss Man says they look much worse to us, than is their real threat
and I must take his word for that... he knows, and I've not seen them, yet.
I'm really pleased with my machine... a pretty little Sopwith Pup,
so sweet and nimble in the sky... yes, things are really looking up.

--------------------------------------------------

Tuesday, 24th April, 1917.

Yesterday was ripping... for we caught the Hun, all unawares,
we came in from the east, from out the sun, all hidden by it's glare.
With no time left to winch down the balloons, the crews jumped overboard
and parachuted to the ground... and then, a spiffing toll we scored
by popping all of their balloons, to send them flaming, to the ground...
and not one ounce of Archie hit us, though it whistled all around.
But, fate is fickle, and we soon found out it doesn't pay to crow;
just east of Arras, somewhere near a little place they call Fampaux,
Archie popped away at us... and suddenly, a fateful shot...
one second, Jamie's Pup was there.... then, in an instant... it was not.
Just a dirty brownish smudge... a flaming, tattered, tumbling whirl...
Poor Jamie; just Eighteen... the Squadron Baby... never kissed a girl.

---------------------------------------------------

Thursday, 17th May, 1917.

Last week, we had a Frenchie visit... one of their crack Escadrilles
flying pretty little Nieuports... much like our Pups... but less frills.
"Les Cicognes"... (that's French for Storks)... and painted on all their machines
a splendid emblem of a stork... they are big on Élan, it seems.
And as we chatted, then we heard a strange word used... perhaps, in fun,
sounding something like "dissepteeairs," and we all asked, as one,
as to what it meant... the French Commander gave a rueful grin...
"It's French... Dix-Septiers... the seventeeners... where do I begin?
It means, my lambs, where you are going, that is the full, reckoned span
of days you can expect to live, before they kill you, to a man."
The Escadrille was going up the line, towards the town of Lille,
and we were taking over in their quadrant, where the War was real.

--------------------------------------------------

Saturday, 9th June, 1917.

The Froggie flyer caused a stir... something then, completely new;
Hun Squadrons they called "Jastas"... brightly painted, Red, and Green, and Blue;
rumoured to be all crack pilots; every one, an Ace it seems...
Don't worry, we'll be alright, chaps... you know our Pups fly like a dream.
But, just the same, the Boss Man said that we should all, a letter write...
just in case; left with the Adjutant, before we made each flight.
And so, I wrote to you, my love... put somewhere easy for to find,
but, you will never have to read it... it is just for peace of mind.
Our only loss, so far, is Jamie; and, though such a cruel blow...
it just seemed his luck ran out... it really was pure chance, you know.
Besides, I have my good-luck charm you gave to me... that last goodbye;
the silken stocking... favour from my Lady, I wear when I fly.

---------------------------------------------------

Tuesday, 26th June, 1917.

This week we lost the Boss Man on the Dawn Patrol across the lines,
a bright red Albatross just got him cold... he stood no chance, this time.
We saw him smoking... then, the tiny flame into a blossom bloomed;
a petrol fire... all red and yellow, and he streaked down to his doom.
l hope to God a bullet got him, and he was not condemned to fry;
a fiery comet through the heavens isn't the best way to die,
but still, much better than the poor old Tommy drowning in the mud,
living out his days with rats and trench-foot, splintered bone, and blood.
My nimble Pup won't let me down, I know I won't end up that way,
she handles like your Arab Mare...so fleet and swift... just born to play
among the clouds, although, this is no longer, just a game for us;
for there are fewer of us every night, when tactics, we discuss.
This Flying Circus; as we call it now... it is a real test;
for every time we meet it these days, we end up as second best.

---------------------------------------------------

Friday, 14th September, 1917.

Today, we lost two more; it seems we really are the hunted now.
At first, we were the hounds... but, now the fox, we seem to be... somehow;
and there is only Albert left, who has more flying hours than me,
and He's the Boss Man now, and all the young sprog pilots seem to be
watching me for guidance...and I'm here, but for the Grace of God...
Funny, that's what Albert said to me, six months ago... how odd!
And, I am getting tired and weary, though my Pup is still a joy
to fly... and here I am at Nineteen, wondering, where is the boy,
that once I was, so carefree then, with you, my love... an age ago,
or so it seems, though it is only six short months... Oh I don't know.
Since then, I have despatched above a dozen Huns, caught in my sights,
but that thought brings no comfort in the dark, and cold, and lonely nights.

---------------------------------------------------

Sunday, 4th November, 1917.

This morning is a bright, crisp day, the skies a cloudless, cornflower blue;
No Dawn Patrol this morning, just a recce flight I have to do.
No problem there, just Albert and myself... a quick jaunt up the line,
I'll finish this when I get back... just now, I haven't got the time.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Miss Phillips;

It is with the deepest sadness and regret
I must inform you of the loss of Alex. We know not, as yet
whether he is safe, or lost; the only thing I truly know
is that he was shot down this morning... sadly, then... I saw him go
gliding down, towards the lines; his motor coughing, cutting out.
With luck, perhaps, he managed to pull up and land, but there is doubt
as to whether he was our side of the line... I could not see,
but doubtless, we shall have some further information presently.
Today, I needs must post him missing. There is nothing more, for now.
I send you my condolences, and ask you to be brave, somehow.

Albert Thomas O.C. 54 Sqn RFC
Sunday, 4th November, 1917.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Dear Miss Phillips;

It is with the deepest sadness and regret
I must inform you, nothing has been heard of Alex, as of yet.
And so, it is with heavy heart, my Duty now, must be fulfilled.
I must post poor Alex now, as Missing in Action... Presumed Killed.
Enclosed; the letter that he wrote, in case this thing should come to pass.
The ones we joked we should not send; but, now I fear, I must... alas.

Albert Thomas O.C. 54 Sqn RFC
Friday,18th January, 1918.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Oh, my Love; if this should reach you, I have gone, yes... I am lost
somewhere, out in Flanders Fields... my hopes all scattered, dreams all tossed
and tumbled, by the Winds of War... this War; how little then, I knew,
except this... I fought not, for King and Country... No, I fought for you.
For you, my love, were worth the struggle; you, my love, were worth the pain,
and given free choice now, my love... yes, I would do it all again.
For what we had, was sweet, my love, and what would be... the sweeter yet,
remember me, remember us... for, you my love, I won't forget.
Wherever, then, I find my rest; I promise I shall wait for you...
I shall not say goodbye to you, my love... but, just..... adieu, adieu.
And somewhere out in Flanders Fields, a tiny part of you will stay
with me, to keep me company, my love, for we have known the days.

Alex.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

No trace of Captain Alex Campbell, 54 Sqdn RFC, or any remains of his Aeroplane were ever found.
It is thought that he, and his crashed aeroplane were obliterated by the Artillery Barrage preceding
the final assault on the village of Passchendaele, in the Ypres Salient on Tuesday, 6th November, 1917.



© Copyright 2009 Windhover - All Rights Reserved
TheAnonDavid
Member
since 2008-08-28
Posts 237
UK
1 posted 2009-03-15 10:58 AM


Windhover
This is a laudable attempt at a difficult subject. World War 1 occurred almost a hundred years ago now and there is a wealth of documentation, film and photographs to remind us of the deadly folly. Your excellent poem told a story of one death - if readers multiply this by 21,228,813 (the official WW1 death toll) then they will begin to understand the scale of the human tragedy.
The war spawned some incredible poets, Rupert Brook, Siegfried Sassoon and Wilfred Owen to name but a few, but there is always room for others to contribute their thoughts. Welcome to the ranks of post WW1 inspired poets, Windhover.
Henry Ford may have said, "History is bunk," but there must always be a place for those who look at history and need to remind the world of its continuing stupidity.

secondhanddreampoet
Member Ascendant
since 2006-11-07
Posts 6394
a 'Universalist' !
2 posted 2009-03-15 11:31 AM


another grand-fine historic (and slice of the 'every-mans' life)
piece from this powerfully effective/interesting author!

The line may be cliche, but it does have that quintessent ring of unfortunate truth:  
"those (individuals and nations) who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it" ...
as W.W.II (the second 'world rerun') and so much before and since bear out ...

excellent writing!

passing shadows
Member Empyrean
since 1999-08-26
Posts 45577
displaced
3 posted 2009-03-15 01:20 PM


wow

this is haunting

sad stuff but a needed topic

suthern
Deputy Moderator 1 TourDeputy Moderator 1 Tour
Member Seraphic
since 1999-07-29
Posts 20723
Louisiana
4 posted 2009-03-16 10:17 AM


By the time I'd finished reading the first few lines, I knew this was going to break my heart... but I couldn't stop reading. And now... I can only pray for all our men and women who are far from home, fighing for a special someone and the rest of us.

Well written!!

Post A Reply Post New Topic ⇧ top of page ⇧ Go to Previous / Newer Topic Back to Topic List Go to Next / Older Topic
All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format.
navwin » Archives » Open Poetry #44 » Letters Home.

Passions in Poetry | pipTalk Home Page | Main Poetry Forums | 100 Best Poems

How to Join | Member's Area / Help | Private Library | Search | Contact Us | Login
Discussion | Tech Talk | Archives | Sanctuary