Merlin Song       (Written to mark the running of the first engine at East Kirkby in 1994)

To some the Merlin is a bird,

Or a Magician in the written word,

To us an engine giving flight,

Through the darkness of the Wartime nights.

The East Kirkby Lancaster, standing proud,

Facing the Reunion crowd,

The preparations have begun,

For the starboard-inner engine run.

All eyes now on propeller blades,

Unmoving now for two decades,

Jerking movements, a blast of sound,

Then the ancient blades are whirling round.

Faster, faster, until I see,

The aircrew are confronting me.

And mirrored in the shimmering blades,

I see every flight I ever made.

Slowing now, then the sound is gone,

But East Kirkby echoes linger on.

With the many gathered in time and space,

This single voice will take its place.

We know that fifty years before,

Here every night the Merlins roared.

More than a hundred of them hurled,

Their challenge to a darkened world.

From nay Merlins, to just this one,

Youth to age, until all are gone.

But we heard again the Merlin roar,

On a Summer day in Ninety-Four.