Squdron crest
Life at Burn Header

Squadron Songs

 
halifax

 

 

 

Picture the scene:
The Winter fog so common in the Vale of York has settled over Burn airfield and operations for the night have been cancelled. Relieved aircrew are rapidly disappearing into the night, heading for the messes and local pubs.

Soon the sound of revelry and irreverent squadron songs can be heard from the open bar doors drifting into the night air:

Here are just a couple:

The Boys of Burn, Selby (To the tune of Old King Cole)

Old King Cole was a merry old soul and a merry old soul was he
he called for is kites in the middle of the night and he called for his pilots three
every pilot was a very fine type and a very fine type was he
I don't give a **** said the pilot, merry merry men are we
there's none so rare as can compare with the boys of Burn Selby.

Old King Cole was a merry old soul and a merry old soul was he
he called is kites in the middle of the night and he called for his navigator's three
we are bang on track said the navigator,
I don't give a **** said the pilot, merry merry men are we
there's none so rare as can compare with the boys of Burn Selby.

Old King Cole was a merry old soul and a merry old soul was he
he called for is kites in the middle of the night and he called for his bomb aimers three
left, left, steady, dummy run said the bomb aimer,
we are bang on track said the navigator's,
I don't give a ****  said the pilot, merry merry men are we
there's none so rare as can compare with the boys of Burn Selby.

Old King Cole was a merry old soul and a merry old soul was he
he called for is kites in the middle of the night and he called for his flight engineers three
I want four pounds boost said the engineer,
left, left steady, dummy run said the bomb aimer,
we are bang on track said the navigator,
I don't give a **** said the pilot, merry merry men are we
there's none so rare as can compare with the boys of Burn Selby.

Old King Cole was a merry old soul and a merry old soul was he
he called for his kites in the middle of the night and he called for his wireless ops three
dah di di dah didi dah said the wireless op,
I want four pounds boost said the engineer,
left, left steady, dummy run said the bomb aimer,
we are bang on track said the navigator,
I don't give a **** said the pilot, merry merry men are we
there's none so rare as can compare with the boys of Burn Selby.

Old King Cole was a merry old soul and a merry old soul was he
he called for is kites in the middle of the night and he called is mid-uppers three
for every mid-upper was a very fine type and are very fine type was he
corkscrew port like hell said the mid-upper,
dah di di dah didi dah said the wireless op,
I want four pounds boost said the engineer,
left, left steady, dummy run said the bomb aimer,
we are bang on track said the navigator,
I don't give a **** said the pilot, merry merry men are we
there's none so rare as can compare with the boys of Burn Selby.

Old King Cole was a merry old soul and a merry old soul was he
he called for is kites in the middle of the night and he called for his rear gunners three
every rear gunner was a very fine type and a very fine type was he
crikey it's cold said the rear gunner,
corkscrew port like hell said the mid-upper,
dah di di dah didi dah said the wireless op,
I want four pounds boost said the engineer,
left, left steady, dummy run said the bomb aimer,
we are bang on track said the navigator,
I don't give a **** said the pilot, merry merry men are we
there's none so rare as can compare with the boys of Burn Selby.

anchor inn - Burn
The Anchor Inn: At the Northern Perimeter of Burn Airfield on the bank of the Selby Canal


They say there is Halifax leaving the Ruhr bound for old Blighty's shore, heavily laden with terrified men, all lying prone upon the floor.


The Shiny Arse Brigade.

I never fly in aircraft, cos I haven't got the guts
I sit upon my arse all day and write out lots of bumph
The aircrew call me penguin 'cos I haven't any wings
I'm one of the chairborne airmen, shiny pants and shiny rings.

Chorus;
If the flak went bang, my knees would clang
my ring would blaze away.
My head would whirl, my tail would curl, I'd run the other way.
For I'm absolutely useless when it comes to fighting wars.
I can only sit on my arse and wear holes in my drawers.

I stand and watch the aircrew when they take off on a flight
and thank the lord I'll not be there when searchlights probe the night
I've never had to corkscrew and I've never had to weave
the only thing that I can do is stop the airman's leave.

Chorus;

Just now I am a practicing upon the barrack square
to get the boys a marching like they do up in the air
one day there'll be a big affair, a bloody great parade
and leading all the aircrew will be the shiny arse brigade

Chorus;

We work from nine to five each day with two breaks off for tea
I've never had an engine cut and feathering is Greek to me
when aircrew come to see me, we nearly have a fit
for the only thing they want from us is to sign a clearance chit.

Chorus;

I'd hate to be sent out one night upon a ruddy op
my heart would sink into my boots, I'm sure my guts would drop
but the A.O.C comes up to me, and takes me by the hand
and promises me another ring to stay upon the land.

Chorus;
If the flak went bang, my knees would clang
my ring would blaze away.
My head would whirl, my tail would curl, I'd run the other way.
For I'm absolutely useless when it comes to fighting wars.
I can only sit on my arse and wear holes in my drawers.

This the aircrew song was sung in messes and pubs to ground crew officers and senior N.C.O's

Wheatsheaf Inn - Burn
The Wheatsheaf Inn: Burn Village. The wartime Landlord was Oliver Locke, a retired Regimental Sergeant Major.
Today the Wheatsheaf displays some Burn Airfield memorabilia.

 

source:  ‘578 Squadron Operations 1944-45’
Author :  ‘W/O Charles “Chuck” Adams D.F.M’