Some years ago, I was priviliged to be in an upstairs room of a small Torquay pub to hear the

tale of the Dambusters' raid - "straight from the horse's mouth".  "Johnny" Johnson was the

sgt. bomb aimer who took his Lancaster around 10 ten times before being satisfied about his

bomb drop on the Sorpe dam.  The dam was damaged but not breached due to the failure

of planning to take into account its shock-resistant earth-based constuction.

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Whippet lean and dry of tone,

With manner self-effacing,

He conjured up the distant drone

Of bombers moonlight-chasing.

 

He made it easy to believe

How different were those days when

Young men like him dared to achieve

Great deeds in daring ways then.

 

Though many springs had left behind

That distant May-moon night,

Those who listened would soon find

Themselves aboard that flight.

 

In the moon-bright ray a life away

From this mocking modern world,

He and we lay in the bomb-aimer's bay

As the target beneath us unfurled.

 

Time and around, and around yet again,

The hazards and risks multiplying,

Till the right time arrived and the Lancaster dived 

At the target for which it was trying.

 

A hit but no breach then away out of reach,

The hand that was held had been played;

No more could be done but much had been won

While sacrifice was sought - and was made.

 

When God needs sky-pilots (and He wants the best)

To  safeguard the Kingdom of Heaven, 

To side with His angels and see off the rest,

He'll know all about "six one seven".