An Entente

AN ENTENTE.

AS we were running the Channel along, with a rising wind abeam, Steering home from an escort trip as fast as she could steam, I'd just come up, relieving Bill, to look for Fritz again, When I turns to the Skipper an', "Sir," I says, "I 'ears an aeroplane." An' sure enough, from out o' the clouds astern, we seed 'im come, An' down the wind the engine sang with a reg'lar oarin' 'um. The Skipper 'e puts 'is glasses down, an' smilin' says to me, "We needn't be pointin' guns at 'im--'e's one o' the R.F.C. We don't expect to meet the Boche, or any o' his machines, From here to France an' back again--except for submarines." An' 'e looks again at the 'plane above, an' says, "I do believe It's a fightin' bus--good luck to them--an' lots of London leave."

An' jolly good luck, says I, says I, To you that's overhead; An' may you never go dry, go dry, Or want for a decent bed. With yer gaudy patch, says I, says I, Of Red an' White an' Blue-- Oh, may the bullets go by, go by, An' not be findin' you. Astonishing luck, says I, says I, To you an' yer aeroplane; An' if it's yer joss to die, to die, When you go back again-- May the enemy say as you drop below, An' you start your final dive: "Three of us left to see him go, An' it must be nice for him to know, That wasn't afraid o' five."