Perhaps the ancient films on daytime telly
Drip-feed the small obsession to us still
The little ships, the sirens and the shelters
The "Crikey. Bertie's bought it!" of it all.
The cheery WAAFs with Elstree Studio accents
Who did their bit and waited for the planes
Wore frocks off-duty, stockings, bright-red lipstick
Then married men called Charlie, Les or Ron.
Who settled down in semis, flats and prefabs
With furniture marked CC forty-one
And spawned a brood of adenoidal rockers
Their pimply ingrate sons with red guitars
Who'd learned the war from Hotspur, Combat Library
Victory At Sea and Sergeant Rock.
Wing Commander Gibson, Airfix Spitfires
`Take that, squarehead!' `Gott in Himmel!' `Aargh!'
Perhaps that's all we had, the jokes and memories
Like shells ploughed up on farmland, old barbed wire
To compensate for six years requisitioned;
A nationalised Valhalla of our own...
Until the British beat groups toured the bases
And pensioners took boat-trips up The Rhine
And businessmen flew twice a week to Stuttgart
And brickies married nurses from Cologne
And bikers went to Bierfests near to Munich
And ravers went for weekends in Berlin
And councillors to Hamburg on exchange trips
To study housing, transport or design.
And then the thing was over - but it wasn't.
The punchline still remains, without the joke
And hangs there like a catchphrase from a gameshow
Which no-one can remember any more.
Perhaps it's just a tatty family heirloom
A thing kept in a corner in the hall
That's trundled in for birthdays, then forgotten
Redundant now but ganz gemutlich still
Achtung then Fritz. For you der var is ofer.
The same for us... although you'd never tell.
The reason we're still laughing is - it's stupid
And stupid is a thing we do quite well.Reuse content