B Flight 104 Squadron Poem



B Flight 104 Squadron Poem


A poem written about B Flight and set out in the form of a scroll.




One handwritten sheet


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Theres [sic] a famous training squadron, and it’s called 104
It was transferred to Bicester, just after break of war
Theres [sic] Squadron Leader Christian, who doesn’t live to his name
He makes the erks push kites out, when it’s pouring with rain.
Then theres [sic] Chiefie Andrews, who takes a great delight,
In watching lads fill kites up in the middle of the night.
When it’s to [sic] bad for flying and we’re browned off to the core
He wont dish out the passes till its dead on half past four
Theres [sic] also Jimmy Kieller, he’s called the one you’ll find,
He’s not to [sic] hard to work with, but this sergeants such a bind
We don’t know much about him but there is a song we’ll sing
I can’t write all the words out, but it’s called “The Anson King.”
You all know Corporal Wakeford, yes! you may call him “cheese”
But please don’t make fun of his “snoz” although its such a wheeze.
Wellfares just a common erk, although he’s A.C.1.
Since he has been in “B” Flight a new craze has begun.
The kites look just like hambones dolled up with yellow paint,
The lads think it a great joke they look so blooming quaint.
Forty Four’s the worst one, the engines seem quite sound
But with all this blinking dope on, it can hardly leave the ground
Last but not least comes Thurston, he’s a queer old sort of crock
He sits down in his store-room, and is always out of stock.
If you need something badly out of the camp main stores,
Don’t go to Wally Thurston, he’s run out of 664’s.
He’ll tell you that he’s busy and to keep out of his den,
There’s a clothing parade in 12 months time, you’ll get your issues then
No harms meant by this story, I hope you’ll take it right,
So lets all get together, three cheers for our “B” Flight.


“B Flight 104 Squadron Poem,” IBCC Digital Archive, accessed July 25, 2024, https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collections/document/36394.

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