This is a poem found in a photo album of Verlia Smith, Jr. who was a crewman on a PBY from 1942 - 1945. I found this on another site and thought I'd share it with all of you.
Tony2
Handsome Is
Butt of quips from the fighter ships, and target of snorts and chucklings
Are the hard-shelled guys on the PBY's--the crews of the Ugly Ducklings--
Who ride patrol where the wide seas roll, who scout over tropic islets,
And do not fret at the laughs they get from the hot and the fancy pilots;
For thought PBY's are slow to rise and not go so fast at flying.
Clumsy and stout, they cruise about, heavy and big and bumbling--
Yet out of the skies the PBY's send many a fighter tumbling.
Not built to dive, yet they will contrive, if there is the need, to do it.
Not made to read to the stratosphere, but sometimes they climb up to it.
You can't devise any strange surprise but the PBY's are ready,
Or any stunts that they won't try once--though their motto is "slow and steady."
But their regular sweep across the deep to see if they may discover
Where the enemy subs and carriers hide, or the enemy squadrons hover,
Then radio back and hit the track for home--and hope they make it;
Though often they stay to dish it out, and also, of course, they take it.
But they PBY's have another guise, and though they may lack in beauty,
To men on a raft they are angel craft when doing their rescue duty.
And they'll do that chore off a hostile shore where enemy guns beset them,
Where the wrecked survivors 'can't be got'==but nevertheless they get them.
Oh, the Wildcat's swell, and the Hellcat's hell, and the Superforts are sugar,
But snap a salute to the husky brute, that sturdy and seasoned trooper
That plods ahead with a motor dead and a load that starts wings to buckling--
Come, glasses high to the PBY, the beautiful Ugly Duckling!
Tony2
Handsome Is
Butt of quips from the fighter ships, and target of snorts and chucklings
Are the hard-shelled guys on the PBY's--the crews of the Ugly Ducklings--
Who ride patrol where the wide seas roll, who scout over tropic islets,
And do not fret at the laughs they get from the hot and the fancy pilots;
For thought PBY's are slow to rise and not go so fast at flying.
Clumsy and stout, they cruise about, heavy and big and bumbling--
Yet out of the skies the PBY's send many a fighter tumbling.
Not built to dive, yet they will contrive, if there is the need, to do it.
Not made to read to the stratosphere, but sometimes they climb up to it.
You can't devise any strange surprise but the PBY's are ready,
Or any stunts that they won't try once--though their motto is "slow and steady."
But their regular sweep across the deep to see if they may discover
Where the enemy subs and carriers hide, or the enemy squadrons hover,
Then radio back and hit the track for home--and hope they make it;
Though often they stay to dish it out, and also, of course, they take it.
But they PBY's have another guise, and though they may lack in beauty,
To men on a raft they are angel craft when doing their rescue duty.
And they'll do that chore off a hostile shore where enemy guns beset them,
Where the wrecked survivors 'can't be got'==but nevertheless they get them.
Oh, the Wildcat's swell, and the Hellcat's hell, and the Superforts are sugar,
But snap a salute to the husky brute, that sturdy and seasoned trooper
That plods ahead with a motor dead and a load that starts wings to buckling--
Come, glasses high to the PBY, the beautiful Ugly Duckling!