A characteristic imitation given sometimes at regimental concerts used to run in this way:-- _I-see-ye, I-see-ye, I-see-ye, I-see-ye. I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming. Biv-eee, biv-eee, biv-eee. Sh, sh........sh. HAH! I'm off, I'm off, I'm off, I'm off!_ And a current French marching-song of the time imitated the promiscuous crump of bomb-explosions thus:-- _Il pleut, il pleut des bombes (Et boum! et bon! badaboum et bon!) Il s'ecriera Guillaume Rentrons, rentrons-- Zon, zon._ But no rhyme in any language ever expressed that lurid splash on the night-sky when a bomber was destroyed, that effusion of crimson which caused men's eyes to dilate looking up at it, that sense of dreadfulness and awe and satisfaction, that banishment of pity through fear's reaction which steeped men's minds, as if on the floor of their souls an answering red glow appeared. It was tragical to be bombed, but how much more so to see the bomber die. They died most dreadful deaths, those Zeppelin crews and aero-bus teams, and yet of course they merely died. They met the common soldier's destiny---- Nevertheless you could not lessen the sensation of watching an airman's death by reasonableness. In the lurid spectacle in the heavens men saw not death but a hieroglyphic--a sign. Men did not liken them to Lucifer cast from heaven, but their fall was like the rebel angels' fall-- With hideous ruin and combustion, down To bottomless perdition. Day-flying was different and affected the mind in an entirely different way. Even the stricken night-bomber, when his charred remains were seen by daylight, became in enemies' eyes nothing but honourable. The triumph over him was forgotten in a sort of triumph in him. There was a naturally chivalrous attitude towards dead airmen. That chivalry was sometimes spoiled by human jackals--but the majority nevertheless instinctively preserved it.