The Pilot Who Never Came BackA Poem by David Lewis PagetDLP with Mirage A3-22, 1972.
The
mist was rolling in clouds, opaque As
I hurried along the line, Looking
for A3-22 The
Mirage of Lieutenant Devine, There
wasn’t much hope of flying time If
the weather didn’t improve, But
I still had an Instrument Pre-Flight ‘Just
in case,’ said the Duty Crew. ‘You
never know with Devine,’ they said, ‘He’d
fly in a howling gale, At
the first swift burst of sunlight, he’ll Be
sitting right here on your tail, Trying
to give you the hurry-ups As
you strap him into the seat, A
bit of a caution is Jack Devine…’ ‘A
pain in the arse,’ said Skeet. Skeet
was the Armament Fitter that I
found under 22, Fitting
the Matra Missile there, And
a sidewinder, or two. ‘Where
the hell is he going, this Is
more than a training run!’ ‘He’s
going on out to the firing range Out
there, past Avalon!’ Devine
appeared in the mist, while Taking
the pitot covers off, I
pulled all the undercarriage pins As
he gave me the hurry-up, ‘I’m
going the moment the mist has cleared, So
do what you have to do!’ I
climbed in, ran up the gyro’s Checked
out the auto-pilot, too. He
wouldn’t wait for a moment So
I threaded his lanyards through, Pulled
out the Martin-Baker pin And
held it out for his view, He
sat on the live ejection seat Took
whiffs of the oxygen, And
sat impatient, drumming his feet ‘Til
a little bit after ten. I
stood by the guy on the battery cart To
wait for the mist to clear, The
pilot gave thumbs up for a start We
could finally disappear, We
watched him heading off down the strip With
a roar like an avatar, And
headed on back to the duty hut, ‘He’ll
be back in less than an hour!’ We
grabbed a coffee, an hour went by, But
still no sign of Devine, The
Gunny had given a meaningful look, He
was cutting it more than fine, He
wasn’t fitted with drop tanks, so An
hour was all that he’d got, We
phoned the guys in the tower, and asked, ‘Is
he overdue, or what?’ It
was then that A3-22 Came
screaming over the strip, Smoke
was streaming out of its tail, Black
as a coal mine pit, He
turned and landed, the fire trucks Were
waiting to put it out, A
pool of kerosine lay in the tail, As
Devine came tumbling out. His
face was thunderous, back in the hut Where
he signed the duty log, But
he kept his visor firmly shut, Then
turned, and he just stalked off, I
didn’t see him again, but heard He’d
tried to report us all, He
blamed the erks for the whole damn works, Said
the engine nearly stalled. He
left the following morning for Another
Miracle flight, We
didn’t go out to look for him ‘Til
the day turned into night, We
never discovered his plane at all, It’s
missing still, at sea, But
his wife was down in the hospital, And
that was what interested me. She’d
been admitted with cuts and scrapes And
scratches down to her feet, They
said that she was hysterical, Was
babbling in white heat, ‘I
haven’t a clue who that pilot was Dressed
in my husband’s clothes, But
it wasn’t my Jack Devine,’ she said, ‘And
I think that a wife would know!’ She
said he’d taken her there by force, And
raked her body with claws, He’d
bitten her shoulder ‘til it bled, She
couldn’t fathom the cause. He’d
looked like her husband, walking in, But
then his body had changed, ‘He
looked like he had a scaly skin And
his face was rearranged!’ The
last that I heard of Jean Devine Was
in June, the following year, She’d
gone to deliver her baby But
was shaking in dread, and fear, They
told her that it had been stillborn And
refused to show her its face, Or
the tiny body scales it had, Unknown
to the human race! David
Lewis Paget © 2012 David Lewis PagetFeatured Review
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16 Reviews Added on September 18, 2012 Last Updated on September 19, 2012 Tags: Mirage, Matra, sidewinder, missing Author
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