Byrnie
5/2/2013 11:22:24 AM | LITTLE BOOTS’ LAST FLIGHT
29 January 1944
Author: Bombardier Lt. William Louis Ritch, 1944
Poem provided by Little Boots Pilot Capt. Robert W. Beers’ son, Robert W. Beers, Jr.
Twas 4:30 in the morning: just at the break of day
The 401st was briefing for a mission Jerry way
S-2 was at the blackboard, stretching strings across the map
New revisions from division and the latest stuff on flak
One crew among those present this story justly suits
Ten combat men and fighting ship, the crew of Little Boots
Bob Beers was our first pilot and Byrnie flying Co
Gershon pushing pencils, I the bombs let go
The target named was Frankfurt, the bombardiers to shack
We knew not then as we know now; we weren’t coming back
Take off time was eight o’clock, still early in the morn’
It was not long or so it seemed we found ourselves airborne
We flew around in circles over England so to group
But there was nothing new to this just S.O.P. called poop
Of all the damn positions to find ourselves indeed
La group, hi squadron, number four or second element lead
The channel passed beneath us, sparkling in the sun
And up ahead the coast of France; I wished I hadn’t come
There were flak guns now below us, my God those krauts could shoot
They filled the sky with puffballs, of cotton dipped in soot
All though our time was numbered it hadn’t come just yet
For now the sky was peaceful, this mission we were set
Just then one inboard engine number three by name
Coughed and sputtered, roared and quit ne’re to be the same
Little Boots kept heading east she flew o-kay on three
Now down below the clouds had come, the ground one couldn’t see
The hours had passed as we had flown, the time was close to noon
And overhead our escort ships wheeled about for home
The second time that morning we flew in circles ‘round
This time we weren’t o’er England but over Frankfurt town
Again that Hi explosive stuff was bursting in our midst
To make things worse the output hi had dropped their bombs amiss
Ole number two was hit we knew and went the way of three
Poor Little Boots was way behind, our squadron hardly seen
A voice came over interphone, “our fighters out to port”
Our fighters hell, they’ve Jerry ships, with us awhile they’ll sport
Our man behind the tailguns, Sergeant Turvy was his name
Won himself a worthy place in gunners hall of fame
His last words that were spoken over intercom to men
Informed us that his twin guns downed a Messerschmidt 110
I admit that I was frightened this business was not fun
For support I grabbed a handle and my guns began to hum
The noise was reassuring, to my senses slowly came
And saw ahead as big as life a German ship in flame
Things began to happen so fast they can’t be told
Of “20’s” tearing through the wing the waiste the tail and nose
Bob and Byrnie kept us flying while we fought as men of war
No better men were to be found to make the big bird soar
Our navigator Hal was hit and fumbled with his chute
The Plexiglas was blown clear off the chin turret kaput
Jerry ships kept coming on in seven groups of four
Winking red and spewing lead they had us that was sure
Our wing was belching bright blue flame our waiste no longer sound
100 octane going up while we were going down
Ole Buster Beers knew things were up we couldn’t fight her longer
We’d flown Lil Boots her last sky mile to stay now we’d be goners
Top turret man had been hit bad was lying on his face
Byrne opened up the forward hatch Young kicked him into space
After Byrne the engineer then Hal then Bob and I
Floating down on Kriegieland no more this war to fly
What happened to our other men I wish I could report
We only hope they heard the bell and left our burning fort
You’ll find us now in Stalag Luft together yet we four
All staring through a barbed wire fence and sweating out the war
Written, I don’t know why, with the hand that shook over the Rhur,
by your screwball toggle switch operator – Bill
P.S. People who fly in glass houses shouldn’t.
P.S.S. Happy Birthday Bob and many happy returns of same anywhere but here.
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Byrnie
5/3/2013 9:37:28 AM | Andy, I'm very glad Capt. Beers' son was willing to share this poem. Coincidentally (or maybe not), he left a message just four messages after mine on your website guestbook, which I visit often. Had I not seen that, I would never have had the means to contact him or been able to share this. I hope that the author's family, and perhaps other crew members’ families, will see this poem some day. BTW, it’s been exactly one year today since I landed on your website and here at the 401st. Like so many others, I found information about my uncle’s service that I may never have known otherwise. It’s been wonderful, it’s been sad, but it’s also been an educational experience and one that I will never forget. Loretta
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