To Ralph

Munich time, and you eighteen
I a year less.
“I just want to fly”
You said,
“Not die”
And we were quiet
In anxious contemplation..

For a year
You flew in peace
Each weekend.
Then Danzig came.
We changed our office suits
For blue
Of different hues.

Two years, nine months
Have passed since then -
Norway, Poland, Rhine -
Scharnhorst [our mutual friend]
Tirpitz, Brest,
You knew them all
[Once a trawler picked you up
As you swam].
And still you flew.

D.F.M.
[God ! How you deserved it !]
A thin blue ring
Replaced the stripes.
You volunteered
To go abroad -
We joked about the snow
On Russian boots,
And bears.
Then one day, Malta !
You wrote
“The country’s grand
And bathing fine”
{The BBC filled in the gaps}
Soon, M.E.F.
“There’s too much sand”
I read.
“But the bathing’s grand”
{Tobruk was falling}
Still the battle rages
And you are there.
Oh, Ralph ! God bless.

{Flight Lieut.R.E.Walker, D.F,M.was a photo-reconnaissance Spitfire pilot and
was killed over Italy in July 1943 ].