Liberator Liberator---(B-24/ PB4Y/C-87) I was long and lean and squatty And my nose did sport a tire— had two great big rudders at my stern--- Four turrets along my length and guns along both sides— My big bomb-bay held things--that “boom” or burn. My wing was long and narrow— And my “eighteen thirties” jut— crescent scoops were “grinning” ‘long each side— My props just cleared the ground as I bobbled up and down— As I taxiied giving crews of 10 their ride. I flew the whole world over— In the Second Word War—and I was made in greater numbers—it is true— But when they tell the tales—talk of others has prevailed--- Almost like I never even flew. Even though my range was longer— And my speed was better too—and my pay-load was also up a tad— It was tougher for my crew--- to formate tightly when we flew— This extra work— the media thought bad. So when big raids made the news— Was mostly “Fortress” crews that got the good attention in the press-- And though that plane was good—(did everything it could)— They weren’t the only folks who felt the stress. Early in demand-- by Coastal Command— So I wore roundels of Britain-- for a change— I kept U-Boats at bay—where convoys’d been their prey,’ O’er the far grey North Atlantic-- with my range. The Navy flew me too in a roll for me quite new— Became an attacker near the ground--— Instead of bombing from great height—my crews were taught to fight— By strafing where prime targets could be found. As a transport I could carry heavy loads— With my armaments removed—lots of cargo--they could stow, In my long-tall belly--- near the ground—[“C- Eighty Seven” now my name]— (Appearance much the same)—across the seas and mountains goods would flow. The number of my clan who still can fly, Has dwindled ‘til there are only just us two--- See us if you can—and support us if you will— For those missions that those other thousands flew. Bill Woodall