You are old Father Shackleton, The young Nimrod said But the hardy old Shack Just shook his wise head. Youll have to get some in, lad, Oer land and oer sea, And get barnacles on your belly, When youre flying low like me. Ill tell you something else, lad, (And this is not a tale - ) The Shackleton is the only plane, Whose crew can harpoon a whale. A Russki sub to the Kremlin Sent an urgent SOS; If these Shackletons come lower, Theyll be drinking in our mess. Seaweed on the wing tips, The radome salty and white, Props churning up the wave tops, A real pilots delight. No smelly stinking paraffin, And howling, yelling jets, We may not have fancy trimmings, But on us you can place your bets. Your Father was a Comet, That I cant deny, But my Dad was a Lancaster, Who helped to free the sky. So next time you come in, lad, And enter up your log, Remember that compared to me, Youre just a blinking sprog! - Found amongst WR963s archive paperwork. Apologies to Lewis Carroll, we believe it originated with 8 Sqn! -
Posted on: Sun, 12 Oct 2014 15:26:00 +0000
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