Gremlin! Poem by David Lewis Paget

He was posted to Squadron 74
With ten hours flying time,
He knew that he needed a hundred more
Or his life was on the line,
For Biggin Hill was a shambles then,
All craters and UXB's,
As fast as they ferried the Spitfires in
They were beaten down to their knees.

They were hit with Junkers 88's
And Dornier 17's,
They came in high and they came in low,
Like a swarm of angry bees,
They got the workshops, hit the stores,
In an all-out, mass attack,
While Michael Shaw bit his lip, and swore
He was going to get them back.

For a week or so he was on patrol
In a Spitfire group of six,
Learning how to control the beast
As he pulled back on the stick,
The leader taught him to watch his wing,
And keep his back to the sun,
To roll away to avoid the spray
From an ME 109.

'Don't waste your ammo, just get your sights
Fixed firm on the guy ahead,
A burst, three seconds of cannon shells
Is enough to see him dead.
Follow him down to confirm the kill
But watch for the one on your tail,
If you're not too quick, and you feel you're hit,
Pull back on the stick, and bail.'

In the second week, a Dornier
Flew under his starboard wing,
Like a graceful pencil, floating there
Like a bee that had lost its sting.
He peeled away and he fired a burst
That ripped it like tinsel foil,
But smoke had bloomed as the fire consumed,
And all he could smell was oil.

'You're blooded, ' bantered the guy in Ops.,
'You're buying us all a drink! '
They party'd hard at the mess that night
So they wouldn't be forced to think.
For every kill was a young man's life
Though it wasn't for them to mourn,
And for Michael Shaw it was all-out war,
The reason that he'd been born.

He got three Junkers 88's
And thought that he'd gone to heaven,
The very next sortie out, he claimed
A Heinkel One Eleven;
'They shouldn't be over, bombing us,
We give as good as we get...'
But his eyes were tired and his mind was fired
With the kills that were out there yet.

His Squadron claimed three 109's
That were shepherding bombers in,
While Michael took two Junkers out,
But his mind was beginning to spin,
For out on the edge of his starboard wing,
He thought he saw something move,
He turned his head in a moment's dread,
Then felt he had nothing to prove.

He must be tired, he shook his head
To get all the cobwebs out,
But there was the shape on the starboard wing,
Once more, this time, no doubt.
A terrible creature with tapering ears,
Sharp teeth and an evil grin,
And a long, long tail, that was wrapped around
His starboard aileron.

He tried to bank, the stick was held
Rock solid, and stuck in its place,
He could only climb or dive, not roll
Nor peel away with grace,
He dived on down through the covering cloud
Right over an azure sea,
Then he glanced again at his starboard wing,
There was only a mystery.

At Ops he sought out the Group Captain,
And cleared his throat to speak,
'I must be tired... but sir, I swear...'
Then he looked down and shuffled his feet.
Could he dare to mention the thing he'd seen,
Would they think him raving mad?
The Group just patted his arm, and said:
'Well, it can't be all that bad! '

'I saw this thing, out on the wing,
I couldn't believe my eyes...'
'Oh yes, well Shaw, you'd not be the first
To hallucinate in the skies.
You've had an attack of the 'Gremlins', son,
It happens, you'd better just rest,
Get them to check out your oxygen,
It's part of the pre-flight test.'

A week went by, he scored more kills,
A Heinkel, a 109,
He thought the thing had been just a blip,
A sign of a tired mind,
But then, just after he pulled away
From firing a steady burst,
A face peered in at the cockpit shield,
A face that was more than cursed.

It seemed to cling quite effortlessly
With the help of its long, sharp claws,
It bared its teeth in a grin of sorts,
And saliva dripped from its jaws,
Its eyes were narrow, like tiny slits
As they squinted right through the screen,
And its tongue was forked, flicked back and forth
As Michael sat back, and screamed.

He dived, went into a barrel roll
Thinking to shake it free,
A Messerschmitt 109 was there
To compound his misery,
It rolled and followed him down, and then
A burst tore into his tail,
He had no choice, pulled back the stick,
Opened the hood, and bailed.

They found him out in an open field,
His parachute lay nearby,
They drove him back to the aerodrome
But they couldn't look in his eyes,
Like tiny slits, they peered in hate
And his tongue just wouldn't sit still,
He said: 'Just get me an aeroplane...
I have to go out, and kill! '