Eastward they climb, black shapes against the grey
Of falling dusk, gone with the nodding day
From English fields.
Not theirs the sudden glow
Of triumph that their fighter-brothers know;
Only to fly through cloud, through storm, through Night
Unerring, and to keep their purpose bright,
Nor turn until, their dreadful duty done,
Westward they climb to race the awakened sun.
Owen Chave (1943)
Air Squadron 
I think it’s a very poignant poem. It must indeed have been a very uncertain life for these young men. The poet here, Owen Chave, lost his life in the war, along with thousands of his comrades. A very appropriate verse in the year that the Bomber Command memorial was unveiled.
How surreal to be among the first generation to do overnight attacks and then return the next day to seek some sense of normalcy.
I had not come across this. Thankyou. It has something of the sound of Wilfred Owen about it.