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Poetry from within
   

The Few


So peaceful by the Nissen hut, waiting for that fateful call,

‘Scramble, Scramble’, a swarm of Spits and Hurricanes all around.

Was the scheme for this sortie to defend our shores at Dover?

Or worse, cross foreign fields to fight the foe in his fatherland.

Please Lord; grant my safe return today, for I fear more than death

being buried in foreign soil, no loved ones to lay a wreath

This medalled hero, crack shot, fought and won all his daily wars

Squad’s sole survivor, shrugs at his physical and mental scars

Stooped now, though mind still razor-sharp, he stands before the sculpture

and recalls the courage of his comrades. So many, ‘The Few’.


‘WAITING AROUND WAS WORSE THAN BEING SHOT AT’, HE RECALLS
(Quote from WW2 RAF Squadron Leader during interview on the
unveiling of the ‘Battle of Britain’ London memorial).

Tom Porter


FootNote: (Poem composed using each word from the quote in consecutive lines)