During the second world war, RAF bomber crews did most of their work at night. For hours at a time, their world was a black painted tin box, suspended thousands of feet up in the sky. The freezing cold was so lethal they had to wear electrically heated suits. They were terrified of being hit by anti-aircraft fire or worse, the prowling night fighters. What was going through their minds?
Two A.M. in the big black bird
with a thundering gale force wind that I heard
and so wrapped up in fur was I,
so warm and cosy,
see me cry
for peace and calm, not fathomless sea
of purple sky and enemy.
Two A.M., now carry me home,
all safe and sound
I'll never once more roam,
for I've seen the future often-time
in blood-red song, and awkward rhyme
cannot repeat yet,
nor say to you
this vision of hell that I've flown through.
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