Now Daniel Finnegan’s airplane was a captivating sight,
It was built in 1922 in two days and one night.
It had one wing, the wheels were square and painted all by hand,
And it ran off stout and cider and a red elastic band.
It flew from Bangor to Enniskill for the price of one pound ten,
And for an extra one and six you could do it all again.
It took three days to get there, non-stop in rain or shine,
And when you landed with a bump it was always half past nine.
One Sunday after communion the vicar took a dare;
Went up in the air with Finnegan, eyes shut in constant prayer.
“Aerobatics is my choice today.” To Finnegan with a stare,
Before he’d got the words out the plane was everywhere.
Then halfway through a barrel roll the vicar went all red,
“His dog-collar must be way too tight,” thought Finnegan. “He must be dead.
“Be jabers, God, don’t let this be, I’ll fly more resolute,”
When all of a sudden a flash of light brought the vicar’s parachute.
So if you go on holiday with Finnegan on the wing,
Be sure to tie your luggage on with masking tape and string.
‘Cos when you get to Dublin or the state of Delaware,
You might be spending 14 days in your clothes and underwear.
May love and laughter light your days and warm your heart and home,
Be sure to take the train next time wherever you may roam.
But have a thought for Finnegan, whose flights were cheap and fair,
His plane now stands outside the pub called Finnegan’s wing and prayer.
D G Dickenson,