WARBIRDS

 

As it was in the beginning

When aeromodelling had begun

Evolved an intrepid group of men

Well, most any Mother’s son.

They fashioned flimsy models

Clothed in tissue doused with dope

And launched them boldly into the air

To fly was their staunch hope.

 

To complement their efforts

As this budding hobby gained ground

With little motors and on a string

The planes flew round and round

And with this great endeavour

They put on quite a show

But many were left suffering

A giddy bout of vertigo.

 

For the latest generation

That was of course, many years ago

They’re now all flying with the benefit

Of modern tele-radio.

With model’s representing aircraft

Throughout the age of flight

When you put them all together

A most impressive sight.

With a fervour they would model

Almost anything and fix a wing

Bring it out to show it off

Then try to fly the thing.

There were others who among them

Had more fastidious minds

Their aircraft were scale models

Of all conceivable kinds.

 

Like those that stick together

When they gather round the Pubs

As birds of all one feather

They formed model aero clubs.

Scattered around the country

Anyone welcome to join in

But with membership of mostly men

Well, it’s just not a ‘girlie’ thing.

 

As always there are factions

Within established clans

And in the ‘Land Down’ under

There were those with other plans

For they who favoured warplanes

Back in nineteen eighty eight

Behind the scenes were scheming

With a view to separate.

 

From around the South East corner

With late Ricky Rogers as their boss

Under his direction formed

The Airforce of the Southern Cross.

With a rank and file comprising

Billy Sharpe and all his mates

A sort of loose confederation

Of their Independent States.

 

Like a gypsy band forever

In their caravans on the road

They travel round the countryside

With no place of fixed abode.

Each month they come together

And perform their aerial show

Warbirds dancing through the sky

Like some airborne rodeo.

 

In the livery of every air force

That was ever to take flight

Wings glinting in a melee

Throughout the bright sunlight.

You will see in the confusion

That this would work them woe

For they never could distinguish

Between both friend or foe.

 

Surely you'll imagine

The potential for chaos

And among those freedom fighters

Were those clearly at a loss.

Bewildered and not heeding

‘WATCH OUT! - for that clown’

So startled by the warning

The unsuspecting were shot down.

There were those left undaunted

For when the day was done

Would gather round the campfire

Where debriefing had begun.

Reports although embellished

Became part of their folk lore

Which left the losers planning

How to even up the score.

 

With another mission sorted

They would pack up all their stores

And wend their weary way back home

To tend to mundane chores.

But soon the daily routine

That defines suburban life

Would see them dreaming once again

For the thrill of airborne strife.

 

Waiting for that urgent message

Telegraphed to them all

When again the far flung squadrons

Would rally to the bugle call

Converge together and deploy

At some distant troubled shore

So that old rivalries might be settled 

Where the warplane rules once more.

 

Rodd Sherwin

Click on Link to  'The Chronicles of SAAMBR'