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Oh, Hedy Lamarr is a beautiful gal
And Madeleine Carroll is, too.
But you'll find, if you query, a different theory
Amongst any bomber crew.
For the loveliest thing of which one can sing
(This side of the Heavenly Gates)
Is no blond or brunette of the Hollywood set,
But an escort of P-38s.
Yes, in days that have passed when the tables were massed
With glasses of scotch or champagne,
It's quite true that the sight was a thing to delight
Us, intent upon feeling no pain.
But no longer the same, nowadays is this game
When we head north from Messina Straits.
Take the sparkling wine, every time just make mine
An escort of P-38s.
Byron, Shelley and Keats ran a dozen dead heats
Describing the view from the hills,
Where the wildflowers play and the winds gently sway
An army of bright daffodils.
Take the wildflowers, Byron, the daffodils, Shelly -
Yours is the myrtle, friend Keats.
Just reserve me those cuties,
American beauties -
An escort of P-38s.
Sure, we're braver than hell;
On the ground all is well -
In the air, it's a different story.
We sweat out our track through the fighters and flak;
We're willing to split up the glory.
Well, they wouldn't reject us,
So heaven protect us,
And until all this shooting abates,
Give us courage to fight 'em
And one other small item:
An escort of P-38s.
This poem was composed by Tech./Sgt. H Bryson, a B-17 gunner in north Africa, and was first published in 1943, in the "Stars and Stripes."
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