by Edwin John Young Arty, owd Bill's nephew, won a prize in t' football sweep... And thought he'd buy an aeroplane, and got one on the cheap. He called on Bill t' next Sunday, his ideas were romantic He said "Hop in t' plane Uncle, let's fly across Atlantic!" Bill said "All right, that suits me lad, Atlantic, how far's that?" Art said "About four thousand miles." Says Bill "I'll fetch me hat." Young Art took off in gradely style, tho' only a beginner, Bill's missus saw them off and shouted, "Don't be late for dinner!" They'd been aloft for several hours when owd Bill gave a sigh, "What's up Uncle?" says Arty. Bill replies, "Eh, lad! I'm dry!" "Could do' a sup?" grins Art, "O.K. we'll have one wi'out fail," And out he fetched some bread and cheese and onions and bottled ale. It didn't take them long to finish food, and put back drinks.. Then Arty waggled joy stick while owd Bill had forty winks. T' next day Bill were gettin' bored; "Still nowt but sea!" he cried, "What are we crossin' this 'ere for, and what's on t' other side?" "America's not far," says Art. Bill grunts "I'm very glad, For I'm gettin' that there dry again, so just step on it, lad!" That afternoon they sighted land. "By gum!" says Bill, "That's queer! Who's yon big lass in t' nightgown on t' water over theer?" "That's Liberty, we're near New York," young Art had got it pat; "She's a buxom wench," grinned Bill and politely raised his hat! They flew above the skyscrapers, the city were a big un, Bill weren't very impressed wi' it, he'd sooner live in Wigan. They landed in a field near town, said Arty, "There! we've done it!" They'd just climb'd out, when up there roared a car wi' armour on it! Some sour lookin' chaps jumped out, and each one had a gun; T' leader shouts, "Hands up! I'm Public Enemy Number One! Fork out your dough, you suckers, and make it good and snappy!" Bill handed over one and three while looking far from happy. Young Arty had no brass at all, he'd spent all his on t' plane, So gangsters cussed and swore a bit, and then drove off again. Bill cussed an' all, and swore of U.S.A. he'd have his whack; "Young Art," he said, "turn plane round, lad, and let's be flyin' back!" And so they started on their way, and Bill heard Arty yell "T' engine's missin'!" "What..." cried Bill, "have they pinched that as well?" That night up sprung a hurricane and Bill got quite a fright, A lightnin' flash singed his moustache, it was a ruddy night! It blew and blew for hours on end, they rocked and pitched and tossed; Young Art though he said nowt to Bill, thought them as good as lost. T' climax came next afternoon, they could see nowt for rain When suddenly gust of wind hits 'em and blows both wings off plane! "Jump out, Uncle" roars Arty, "and use thy parachute!" Bill looked a bit askance at this, but nodded remainin' mute. He jumped and Arty jumped an' all and everything went well; "I wonder where we'll land?" shouts Art. " 'Appen," says Bill, "in 'ell." They both descended graceful like, they didn't land too hard, Bill blinked around and said "Blow me... this 'ere's me own back yard!" Bill's missus then comes out and shouts in voice that rattles winders "D'you call this bein' home to time? Thy dinner's burnt to cinders!" "But Aunty," said young Art, when they'd come inside out o' t'draught, "We've flown to U.S.A. and back!" She said, "Don't talk so daft!" At pub that night they stood pints round and told their tale of glory But them as heard just shouted, "Liar!" or "Tell me the old, old story!" And though they often tell this yarn, and ne'er a detail miss They've never convinced nobody... not from that day to this!
The end