• Down a lonely road on a cold black night
    A miserable beggar trudged into sight
    And the people whispered over their beers
    "There goes the last of the Bombardiers!"

    What is a Bombardier? -- No reply
    But men grow silent and women sigh
    As a death like silence fills the place
    With the gaunt grey ghost of a long lost race

    Furtive glances from ceiling to floor
    Till someone or something opened the door
    The bravest of hearts turned cold with fear
    For a thing in the door was a Bombardier!

    His hands were bony and his hair was thin
    His back was curved like an old bent pin
    His eyes were two empty rings of black
    And he vaguely mumbled - "Shack Shack Shack"

    This ancient relic of the Second World War
    Crept across the room and slouched at the bar
    And in hollow tones from sunken chest
    Demanded a drink, and only the best!

    The people said nothing but watched in the glass
    As the beggar produced his bombsight pass-
    The glass to the lips and they heard him say
    "Bomb Bays Open- Bombs Away!"

    Then speaking a word, he slouched thru the door
    And the last of the bombardiers was seen no more
    But sit thru the years that phrase has stuck-
    When you say "Bombardier" you add "Hard Luck"