| My name is Harry Rupert Hugh Montgomery the Fifth, I am the fighter pilot that they call the Flying Quiff. I’m known for downing every single airman that I face, It’s earned me fame and fortune as the King’s best flying ace. |  |
But in a recent dogfight I left someone in the air.
His name’s Baron Von Vinklemutt, he flew with so much flair.
My rival waved his scarf at me and flanked me on my right,
Then he toopleturpled over, which gave me quite a fright.
But when I widdlewaddled to shoot at his Messerschmitt.
He just über-schüber-flübbered up. I missed! He wasn’t hit!
He then pulled an escape move which was frankly rather flash,
with flips and twists and curly turns, a bit like my moustache.
And as he flew away from me into the setting sun.
I knew amongst the Flying Aces, he was number one.
I landed my poor fighter. Goodbye to it I bade,
And sunk a couple glasses of some Pimms and Lemonade.
When I slunk back to my mansion, wondering what to do,
I saw pictures of H. R. H. Ms Four and Three and Two.
Plus also Harry Rupert Hugh Montgomery the First,
So would my great great granddaddy have thought me as the worst?
“I’ll show you all,” I then announced, to my ancestral clan.
“I’ll get Baron Von Vinklemutt, I have a cunning plan.
I won’t need a Spitfire, or a Hawker Hurricane,
To shoot the skilful Baron down, I'll need a different plane.”
I’ve heard of an inventor, the finest in the land.
This super chap is John Shelley, he’ll draw the plane I’ve planned.
And when it's built, my rival, will feel sinking in his gut.
As I scare the heebie jeebies out of that Von Vinklemutt.
My new plane will go forward and then instantly go back,
Then yo yo up and down a bit. And buzz. Or should it quack?
It will confuse my nemesis, I'll have the upper hand,
When I pull the manoeuvre that he’ll never understand.
The move’s a spiffing-dingle-dangle-flapping-hoogle-whiff,
As performed by the great Flying Ace they call the Flying Quiff.
And when I put the brakes on, the Baron will go by.
Where he’ll end up in the sights of my Shelly Dragonfly.
Illustration © 2013 John Shelly
Poem © 2013 Alex Craggs
His name’s Baron Von Vinklemutt, he flew with so much flair.
My rival waved his scarf at me and flanked me on my right,
Then he toopleturpled over, which gave me quite a fright.
But when I widdlewaddled to shoot at his Messerschmitt.
He just über-schüber-flübbered up. I missed! He wasn’t hit!
He then pulled an escape move which was frankly rather flash,
with flips and twists and curly turns, a bit like my moustache.
And as he flew away from me into the setting sun.
I knew amongst the Flying Aces, he was number one.
I landed my poor fighter. Goodbye to it I bade,
And sunk a couple glasses of some Pimms and Lemonade.
When I slunk back to my mansion, wondering what to do,
I saw pictures of H. R. H. Ms Four and Three and Two.
Plus also Harry Rupert Hugh Montgomery the First,
So would my great great granddaddy have thought me as the worst?
“I’ll show you all,” I then announced, to my ancestral clan.
“I’ll get Baron Von Vinklemutt, I have a cunning plan.
I won’t need a Spitfire, or a Hawker Hurricane,
To shoot the skilful Baron down, I'll need a different plane.”
I’ve heard of an inventor, the finest in the land.
This super chap is John Shelley, he’ll draw the plane I’ve planned.
And when it's built, my rival, will feel sinking in his gut.
As I scare the heebie jeebies out of that Von Vinklemutt.
My new plane will go forward and then instantly go back,
Then yo yo up and down a bit. And buzz. Or should it quack?
It will confuse my nemesis, I'll have the upper hand,
When I pull the manoeuvre that he’ll never understand.
The move’s a spiffing-dingle-dangle-flapping-hoogle-whiff,
As performed by the great Flying Ace they call the Flying Quiff.
And when I put the brakes on, the Baron will go by.
Where he’ll end up in the sights of my Shelly Dragonfly.
Illustration © 2013 John Shelly
Poem © 2013 Alex Craggs
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