With the white stick and the vacant stare. A man in decline, a world-weary soul, How eighty years plus have taken their toll. But take sixty away and see how he flies, High over the downs, climbing the skies. Courage undoubted, steely-eyed, true, Serving his country high up in the blue. Heavenward soaring with cannons all blazing, Quick-witted, alert, everywhere gazing. Banks to the left, banks to the right, Enemy squadron routed, in flight. A pitiful figure, who could disagree Yet one of the ‘few’ who saved you and me. David Webb, Sompting.