'Wings over Albion'

As 'Battle of Britain season' comes to a close during its 85th anniversary year, Dr Taylor pens a short poem on the epic aerial campaign

HU 49253, ‘Hurricane pilots ‘scramble’ to their aircraft, July 1940.’ (The Imperial War Museum/Wikimedia Commons)

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Riding high on blackened wings,

With little regard for paupers nor kings,

The Luftwaffe lands its deadly blows

And thrusts Europe into chaotic throes.

—

Blitzkrieg forks throughout the lands,

Biblical destruction in human hands;

And great cities fall, one by one,

Until everyone thinks the battle is won.

—

But the survival of one sea-faring nation,

Cuts sharply through Nazi Germany’s jubilation;

Though heavily bloodied on the shores of Dunkirk,

Great Britain rises - and she now draws her dirk.

—

Behind her stands the Commonwealth,

Along with men who, through finesse and stealth

Have escaped the Nazi-occupied lands

And know a thing or two about defiant stands.

—

As northwestern Europe is swathed by the summer,

The mood in the Luftwaffe grows ever glummer

Winston Churchill’s words have stunned Berlin:

‘I expect that the Battle of Britain is about to begin’.

—

With the Luftwaffe venturing over churning waters,

The fighter pilots skirmish at close quarters;

German bombers deliver thunder and death,

Stukas howl out like the minions of Seth.

—

Spitfires rise, and Hurricanes soar,

‘The Few’ become etched into British lore

As Fighter Command now takes the brunt,

Of goading Messerschmitts out on their ‘free hunt’.

—

But though the Luftwaffe’s destruction is severe,

Trouble lurks beneath its baleful veneer;

Some airmen are homesick, others are jaded

Hopes for a quick victory have long since faded.

—

Weeks turn into months; men die by the hour

The Reichsmarschall’s mood grows increasingly sour;

Directing his aircrews to tear London asunder,

They know not yet the full weight of this blunder.

—

Gifting Fighter Command a moment to breathe,

Its men thank the heavens for this welcome reprieve;

And, having pushed through adversity to the stars,

The RAF makes it clear: “this island is ours.’”