The Eighth Memory
by
Mark Brotherton

The English girls loved you
The German cities hated you
You littered Europe with bombs and fallen comrades
You learned to like the bitters and hate the weather
The cold was always there, but so was the hope
I still see you there, children in leather and green
So much younger than you seem
Adapting, adjusting and bringing about death
Certain and doubtful all in one breath
Odds are against you, what do you have to lose?
But lose you will, if not your own life then someone you knew
Your livelihood riding cold on dedicated ground crew and never turning back
Life in a tin can, work in a freezer shot at day by day
Boredom and terror never far away
Fighters and flak stalking your every move
Pubs and English lovers never open long enough to soothe
Lives that ended too soon, terror that lasted too long
Your being there, far away now written on an airfield in marble stone
In November they bring you poppies hoping somewhere you're well
Remembering the good times, remembering your hell
They see you in their memories
They visit your mates at Madeningly
They remember your presence, they remember your fight
They remember you most, as those who flew in broad daylight
They call you "our lads" in villages and in dales, from Norwich to Lavenham
From Framlignham to Deenethorpe the story is passed down
Of the day the Yanks brought new hope to town
From Fortresses, Liberators and Mustangs the stories live
In small churches, pubs and in village halls
To that most sacred of places behind the altar of Saint Paul's
You, who fought without hate
You, those immortal young men of the American Mighty Eighth.

Dedicated in Memory of Sgt Douglas F. Brotherton
and the 401st Bomb Group (H) Deenethorpe, England