The Flight and the Tablecloth


It was the day of the fair in the Gypsy Glen

The brothers had gone together

Grandad was the oldest, he was ten

They loved the hills and the heather.


The year was nineteen thirty-three

And the boys felt the rush of thrill

Because they’d read that they would see

A display of flying skill.


They watched with wonder on each face

As the pilot looped and rolled –

And each of them was a flying ace

With flying in his soul.


So when they found the tickets for

The raffle draw at three,

They were there to hear their number called

And they leapt in ecstacy.


And later when strapped inside the plane

They flew over the town,

They had a shock above their lane

As leaning, they looked down

To see their tall, stern mother waving madly to the skies

A tablecloth of white, with tears of joy in her eyes.

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