Battle Of Britain Memorial by Ros Barber

Here, a human being has turned to stone.
Wingless, stony flying hat in hand,
not a breath stirring the stone of his collar
and his stony face untroubled by expression.

Blank; not waiting for some hum on the horizon
not grieving, cursing or remembering
but unwritten as he tries to wear all feelings:
from the cheery Tally Ho to Seek and Destroy.

He surfaces from these mottos vast
and empty. And green. As though Nature
couldn’t resist colouring in this featureless creature
with a shade that makes him even less human.

Even harder to picture
lying awake at night with the ack-ack fire;
the sky groaning with bombers, their dull tons
heading for his wife in London.

Perhaps he is better seen from the air;
understood suddenly, briefly,
like the sound that comes from a mile away
but is your own skull exploding.

Or distantly, theoretically, like the pencil mark
of a place a bomb must fall.
Until the last minute, stay above the cloud line.
Set imagination to zero as the bomb doors open.
Keep five to ten thousand clear of emotion.
Too close - see the wiped face.

— Ros Barber