The young and the old.

The standard bearers.

The vicar and the priest

all stood in silence

Under the great beech;

And a few gold leaves

Floated down like tears:

A minute to eleven.

"Age shall not weary them

Nor the years condemn;

At the going down of the sun

And in the morning

We shall remember them."

And as the clock struck eleven

I did remember them,

The lads of 143 Squadron

Whom we sent out

One raw winter's day

(Like today, like today!)

Twelve Beaufighters

Twenty-four mates

Young and lovely

In the promise of their days...

Hours later, out of the Fenland fog.

Four planes limped home.

Only drunkenness could

Cope with our grief

And that's how we stayed

To the going down of the sun.

Submitted by Frank S Rickards (Ex-Flight Lieutenant RAF)

Osbaldwick

Updated: 11:15 Thursday, November 15, 2001