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SONG 2 "I’M DREAMING OF A SOFT LANDING".
Sung to the tune of " White Christmas."
VERSE 1
I’m dreaming of a soft landing,
Just like the way we’re taught to do,
Feet and knees close together, soft as a feather,
It seems so easy after all;
VERSE 2
I’m dreaming of a soft landing,
My thoughts go drifting through the night.
May my first balloon jump be right,
And may all my touch-downs be as light.
SONG 3 YOU’D BE SO NICE TO COME HOME TO!
Sung to the tune of "You’d be so nice to come home to."
You’re so nice to come down with,
When the aircraft’s out of sight,
Up above me you look so lovely,
In your silk gown flowing white,
And it’s so nice to see you
And to know you are safe up above,
I’m your paratroop, you’re my statichute,
Can’t live without you my love!
SONG 4 "THE MAN ON THE FLYING TRAPEZE"
Sung to the tune of “The Man on the Flying Trapeze.”
He jumps through the hole with the greatest of ease,
His feet are together and so are his knees,
If his chute doesn’t open he’ll fall like a stone,
And we’ll cart him away on a spoon!
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SONG 7 MARY, THIS TATTON’S A WONDERFUL SIGHT.
Sung to the tune of “Mountains of Mourne.
Oh Mary, this Tatton’s a wonderful sight,
With the paratroops jumping by clay and by night,
They land on potatoes, and barley, and corn,
And there’s gangs of them wishing they’d never been horn.
At least, when I asked them that’s what I was told,
The jumping is easy, slow pairs leave them cold.
He said that he’d rather bale out of the moon
Than jump any more from that awful balloon
SONG 10 "BLESS ‘EM ALL"
Sung to the tune of “The Man on the Flying Trapeze.”
VERSE 1
They say there’s a Whitley just leaving Ringway,
Bound for old Tatton Park,
Heavily laden with parachute troops,
Bound for the jump they adore.
There’s many a soldier that’s jumped once before,
There’s many a one had a fall,
But you get no promotion if your chute doesn’t open,
So cheer up, my lads, bless ‘em all.
VERSE 2
Bless ‘em all, bless ‘em all,
Bless ‘em all, bless ‘em all,
The parachute packers and all.
Bless all the sergeants and their paratroops,
Bless all the packers and their statichutes,
‘Cos we’re saying goodbye to them all,
As out of the Whitleys we fall,
You’ll get no promotion if your chute doesn’t open,
So cheer up, my lads, bless ‘em all.
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