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.