A Spitfire Story

I have been deliberating as to whether to post this here or not. I am not sure if its relevant to this forum or not. However I came across the following, I have no idea who wrote it but I liked it and thought I would share it with you.

Ain’t feelin’ quite so good today, I’m even off me beer!
Altho’ they’ve given me 10 days leave, I still feel kinda queer,
I’ve had a nasty shock you see, I’ve lost my biggest chum,
It happened just a week ago, and better men don’t come.

My pal’s a famous fighter ace, DSO and DFC,
His score of Jerry buses had just reached twenty-three.
Squadron Leader Brand, the finest bloke I’ve met,
Him and me was really pals, that makes you smile I bet.

Him a proper English gent, public school and Oxford Blue
And me a common Cockney bloke, just an AC2.
A Spitfire fighter pilot and his rigger, that was us
The bloke who did the scrapping and me what did his bus.

A “fighting team” he said we were, altho’ he’d got three rings.
“Jimmy you’re all right,” he said, altho’ he’d got the wings.
“You’re the bloke that I depend on when I’m up there in a fight,
I can’t shoot ’em down unless you fix my Spitfire right.”

He was always kind and thoughtful, when my missus had a kid,
He sent a wire, a bunch of flowers, as well as fifteen quid.
I told him I was grateful, said I’d make it up to him,
He gave a crooked smile and said, “You owe me nothing Jim.”

I’ve got a pair of silver Wings, two medals on my chest,
My name’s been in the papers, there’s promotion and the rest.
I’ve got twenty-three swastikas painted on my petrol tank
For all these things it’s blokes like you I’ve really got to thank.”

The day he’d been to see the King to get his DSO
They ‘ad a lovely party, all ‘is friends and the CO.
But ‘e got away for just a while to buy us drinks all round,
“You can’t win medals in the sky with dud blokes on the ground.”

“Killer” Brand they called him, the pilot of no Wing,
What a name to give a bloke who’d never harm a thing,
Except when he was chasing Huns; Blimey then he’d fight!
You see he’d lost his sister when Jerry came one night.

The girls were crazy after him, they chased him near and far,
Made his life a misery, just like a movie star.
Wouldn’t have no truck with ’em, perhaps they thought him dumb,
If they did, he didn’t worry, his best girl was his Mum.

A week ago last Monday, I won’t forget that day,
It was cold wet and dreary, all the sky was grey.
They took off them twelve Spitfires on an early morning sweep,
Just like a hundred other days, I waved and said “God keep”.

I couldn’t seem to settle down the time they was away,
I seemed to have a feeling this was going to be his day.
I waited on the airfield ’til I sighted them – and then,
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

I quickly checked them over, but his crate it wasn’t there.
I asked the other pilots if they’d seen him bail and where?
They’d seen him crashing down in flames, “Tony’s gone we fear.”
I ain’t feeling quite so good today – I’m even off me beer!