A few weeks ago a good friend of mine came over with a binder full of pictures to have scanned. Neither of us realized the treasure box that we were scanning. It was full of original pictures, documents, and newspaper articles from the life of her husbands great uncle. He was a fighter pilot in World War II, and was shot down on I think it was his 91st mission. It was such an amazing experience to be part of memorializing his life. My friend will be turning these pictures and words into a book for the entire family with Heritage Makers.
Here is a poem found among those pictures:
Bright Is The Faith
Blow gently winds, in that far off land,
Hallow that grave in alien sand
for there an American flier sleeps.
His was the courage to fly and fight;
His was the honor to die for right.
O, bright is the faith that a flier keeps.
Perhaps it is that in the sky.
The trivial things can pass them by,
And they can see into the years
Which things are worthy of their tears;
Which things are false, and which are just,
In which ideals to put their trust.
How else could fliers blithely go
Into the fire of that foe...
Knowing each flight might be farewell.
Blow gently winds in that far off land
His parents grieve, and that lonely sand
Holds part of their hearts as well.
And though at times we cannot see
Why hate and war and death should be;
Why flame and blood should smitch the sky,
Why first the finest and best should die;
Yet each of us answers one by one
When our little span of work is done.
Blow gently winds in that far off land.
Hallow that plot of alien sand
For there an American flier sleeps,
His was the bitter and difficult road,
yet his was the measure that overflowed.
O, bright is the faith that a flier keeps.
By Edith Haroldson Lovell
