Bomber's Moon
'44 in Bomber County
young men waiting for the night,
In the hedgerows birds are singing,
Calling in the falling light.

And the captain says,
'Tonight there'll be a bomber's moon,
We'll be there and back underneath a bomber's moon.
A thousand bombers over the northern sea
Heading out, out for Germany.'

Chalkey White stands at the dartboard,
Curly Thompson writes to his wife,
Nobby Clarke and Jumbo Johnson
Are playing cards and smoking pipes;

And over the hangars rises a bomber's moon,
Full and clear rising, as the engines croon
And the planes they taxi out on to runway five
And sail off out into the silvery night.

Sandy Campbell checks his oil gauge,
The Belgian coast is coming soon;
Curly Thompson lifts his sextant,
Lines up on a bomber's moon

And waves are shining there below the bomber's moon.
The Lancasters flying high below the bomber's moon
Coming in along the Belgian coast
A thousand silver-shrouded ghosts.

Flak flies up around the city,
Jumbo Johnson banks his plane,
Goes in low and drops his payload,
Turns to join the pack again.

And people are dying there below the bomber's moon,
The city's a raging hell below the bomber's moon,
And the planes head out towards the northern sea:
Young men coming home from victory.

Over Belgium came the fighters,
Flying high against the night;
Curly Thompson saw them coming,
Closing in before he died.

And the young men shot them down below the bomber's moon,
Shot them down in flames below the bomber's moon;
Young men sending young men to their graves
Saw them down into the North Sea waves.

'83 in Bomber County
Mrs White dusts the picture and she cries:
Chalkey White in uniform
Looking as he did the day he died.

And for God's sake no more bomber's moons,
No more young men going out to die too soon,
Old men sending young men out to die,
Young men dying for a politician's lies.

For God's sake no more bomber's moons,
No more young men going out to die too soon,
Old men sending young men out to kill.
If we don't stop them then they never will.

No more no more bomber's moons.

No more no more bomber's moons.

--- Mike Harding
©2015 Poetry London
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