“The Last of the Bombardiers”
On a lonely road through a cold black site,
A miserable beggar trudges through the night;
The people whisper over their beers,
"There goes the last of the BOMBARDIERS"
What was a BOMBARDIER? No reply
For men turned silent and women sighed,
As a death like silence fills the place,
With the gaunt grey ghost of a long lost race.
It’s hard to explain the catch of breath,
As they seemed to sense the approach of death.
Furtive glances from ceiling to floor,
‘Til someone or something opened the door.
The bravest of hearts turned cold with fear,
The thing at the door was A BOMBARDIER!
His hands were bony and his hair was thin,
His back was curved like an old bent pin,
His eyes were two empty rings of black,
And vaguely he murmured "Shack, Shack, Shack!"
This ancient relic of the Second World War,
Crept 'cross the room, and slouched on the bar.
No one spoke but they watched through the glass,
As the beggar produced a Bombsight Pass,
And with hollow tones from his sunken chest,
He demanded a drink, and only the best.
Glass to his lips, they heard him say,
"The Bomb-Bays open - BOMBS AWAY!"
Then speaking a word, he strolled to the door,
And the BOMBARDIER was seen no more!
People still wonder at the strange last words;
'Twas the strangest phrase they’d ever heard.
But all through the times, the phrase has stuck,
And when they say "BOMBARDIER", they say
HA - ARD LUCK!!!