Spitfires

Sometimes in our Kentish summers we still see Spitfires in the sky
It’s the sound
We run outside to catch a glimpse as they go growling by
It’s the sound
There goes another England sacrifice and daring do
And a victory roll or two

From the drawing board to the hand of the factory girl upon the lathe
It’s the sound
It’s ordinary men and women with an ordinary part to play
Theirs was a gritty England workers playtime got them through
And an oily rag or two

But sometimes I hear the story told in a voice that’s not my own
It’s the sound
It’s a “Land of Hope and Glory” voice an Anglo-Claxon overblown
It’s the sound
Theirs is another England it hides behind the red the white and the blue
Rule Britannia no thank you

When I hear them Merlin engines in the white days of July
It’s the sound
They sing the song of how they hung a little fascist out to dry