CURLY:-
I felt we were leaving real things
And entering some sort of
Wind-blown limbo,
Behind clouds of myth and history,
In the cold dream-space
Between the worlds.
Here, between earth and heaven,
Anything could happen now...
'India or Bust'...

Slipping reluctantly
From the caress of the searchlights,
Butting into a head-wind
As the rain began,
Due South, driving her hard,
She's never been this fast before...

What with one thing and another,
We were the heaviest air load ever lifted,
Even though, to save weight,
We'd left all of the parachutes behind.

Eight o'clock, sharp...
Passengers and off-duty officers
In one lonely corner of the vast saloon.
This great room is an illusion;
The walls and ceiling are painted canvas;
The gilded pillars are made of balsa wood,
A cold and drafty stage-set
Dressed with bamboo furniture
And ferns in pots,
The scenery
For a risqu‚ Noel Coward play
Set in some dubious Riviera hotel...
Thompson and Lucky
Are full of bonhomie,
Playing up to the passengers;
Everyone else who knows the score
Is pretty quiet.

That's when I suddenly realise
That Thompson's just as windy
As the rest of us are;
Which makes him less of a fool,
And more of a rogue
In my book...

Blow me, if No. 5 engine isn't down again,
But not a word of this in the messages
We're sending out to a waiting world.
Our call-sign stutters out,
'George-Freddy-Ack-Ack-William,
Everything is top-hole, tickety-boo,
And very nicely, thank you.'

The wind is rising, 30 miles an hour now.
We're getting heavy, soaking up the rain.
Can't get above 800 feet or so;
We're too low and too slow...

But London doesn't know or care;
The streets, all sparkling and shiny wet,
Salute us with their motor-horns.
From the black Thames,
Tugboats hoot and whistle
At the giant raindrop
Hanging in the wet sky...

The wind still rising, 35 miles an hour now,
And the rain is really coming down.
Over Kent and Sussex,
Low through the gap in the Downs
At Reigate.
Surely, with one engine out,
We'll have to turn back at the coast...

Then Lucky rushes into the Lounge
Shouting for 'Sparks'.
Maybe it's the after-dinner brandies,
But it looks like he's gone over the top;
He's red and pop-eyed,
And laughs like hell...

LUCKY:-
Just get your arse in gear!
And patch in the BBC
To the Saloon loudspeakers
And give it all the juice you've got!
Well show 'em down there
That we're going out in style!...

CROONER:-
They wonder how I can dare
To fly through the air,
Bravely exploring the blue.
I take my flying-machine
Where no one else has been,
Because I take my sweetheart too!
And as they see us go by,
Way up in the sky,
They say "What a daring thing to do!"
But I know you are my Guardian Angel,
And I'm flying to heaven with you.

And as they see us go by
Way up in the sky,
They say "What a daring thing to do!"
But I know you are my Guardian Angel,
And I'm flying to heaven with you.