The Night Before Christmas... Vintage Wings Style

A Vintage Night Before Christmas

by Heather “Blitzen” Fleck

Photo: Rudolf Mallory Chestnutt

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the hangar,

Not a SnapOn Tool was stirring, not even a prop banner.

The stockings were hung on the exhaust stacks with great care,

In hopes that the British would never ever be there.

The pistons were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of newly-seated rings danced in their heads.

And Andrej in his coveralls and Rob with his Blackberry,

Had just settled down with some whisky to be merry.

When out on the roof there arose such a clatter,

Guy sprang from the Mustang to see what was the matter.

Away to the door he flew like a flash,

Wrenched opened the door and tripped with a crash.

The moon on the grass where there should have been snow,

Gave the lustre of midnight to objects below.

When, what to Xavier’s wandering eyes should appear,

But a miniature Lanc with 4 V-12 reindeer.

With a lanky ol’ pilot, so lively and seasoned,

He knew it a moment it must be John Aitken.

More rapid than Tiger Moths his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

“Now Outboard Port! Now inboard port! Now Starboard in and out!

And they all hissed and banged and ignored his great clout.

To the top of the windsock! To the top of the wall!

Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!

As dry leaves that before the wild Hurri do fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.

So up to the hangar top the reindeer they flew,

With a cargo hold of toys, and St. Kevin and Andrea too.

And then, in a twinkling, Vanessa heard the props twirlin’,

And the distinct hum and purr of 4 big V12 Merlins.

As Blake woke from his sleep and was turning around,

Down the chimney the financiers came with a bound.

They were dressed in tan flight suits, from big heads to foot,

And their clothes were all tarnished with exhaust gas and soot.

A bundle of goodies each had on their backs,

And they looked like some hobos, just opening their sacks.

Their eyes how they twinkled, with dollar signs sparkling,

As they handed out presents whilst McKenzie was barking.

A Mk IX for Mike, more rivets for Ken,

A Manager for the store, and sheet metal for Eden.

More parts for Sarah, a new MAC for Dave,

Some yellow paint for Korey, and for Ali, a summer slave.

John Foster got more coffee, Rob Kostecka got more sleep,

Angie and Andre got a Vampire, another toy to tweak.

The volunteers all got airplane rides (but no one wanted the Lysander)

And the tour guides got more folks coming in for a gander.

But the best gift of all, out of which everyone got a kick,

Was getting rid of the L29, that big old red brick.

The financiers spoke not a word, focused solely on their work,

And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.

And poking their fingers right up their nose,

And giving a nod, up the chimney they rose.

They sprang to their sleigh, to the team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew, like something that rhymes with whistle.

But Paul heard them exclaim, ‘ere they roared out of sight,

“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”