There is a bond between them
That only they can share,
Whose lives are bound together
By the friendship of the air.
At home in any company,
No matter where they are,
From Singapore to London,
From Cyprus to Accra.
No petty rules prevent them
Relaxing as they wish,
In backstreet bars OR ballrooms,
No trace of snobbishness.
A classless sort of people
With backgrounds far apart,
Born of Lords AND miners,
With flying in their heart.
But when they're not relaxing
That is a different case.
The rules are hard and rigid
And there is no easy pace,
Or room allowed for error,
In decisions that they make.
No second chance is given
With so many lives at stake.
The public think it's easy
And say they're over paid,
Complain of noise and nuisance
Each single flight that's made.
Could they but see the lightning flash
Amidst the monsoon rain,
Know half the problems to be faced,
Perhaps they would think again.
Most of them are married
With children like your own
And do not relish nights away,
Their families left alone.
It isn't all wine and roses
Although it may appear as such.
Just folks who know how to live
And love to live so much.
Written in the 1960s by Doug. Atkins and never published.
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