Welcome to Hobson's Voice

Walkin' down the drove of a dark black fen I heard an ancient voice:
"You're walkin' on my grave in the dark black fen; so, stranger, hear my voice!
"I lived in the fens, and I lived free; then lawmen came and captured me.
"Alive, alive they buried me. I fought with tooth and claw, and they called me
"Fen Tiger!  Oh, Fen Tiger! Ho, Fen Tiger!

"Passing easy laws in the greedy town, they never heard our voice!
"They schemed to drain the land that God had drowned...Never ever heard our voice!
"When they built a wall, we'd knock it down! Ditch or dyke or dam, we'd turn them round!
"Smash each windmill to the ground! We fought with tooth and claw, and they called me
"Fen Tiger! Oh, Fen Tiger! Ho, Fen Tiger!

"Living in The Fens was harsh and real; every season brought its pains and joys -
"Plover, duck, and pike, and the marshland eel...the colour of the Fenland sky!
"We took from Nature what Nature gave: the rest we'd save;
"Just enough, no more we'd crave! Steward of the Waterland, they called me
"Fen Tiger! Oh, Fen Tiger! Ho, Fen Tiger!

"Never take for granted what Life's about..... disappear so fast!
"I warned there'd be trouble if the land dried out.....disappear so fast!
"I saw it all, how they changed The World! Trees all shrivelled, with their dead leaves curled!
"The land was dust and the dust all swirled! They cursed it as 'The Fen Blow, and they called me
"Fen Tiger! Oh, Fen Tiger!Ho, Fen Tiger!"

So I spoke to The Spirit who would talk with Men:  "Tiger, I hear your voice!
"I quarry out the gravel 'neath the dark, black fen: Tiger, I'll be your voice!
"When we finish our job, we'll do your wish - We'll open up the sluice with a swirl and a swish -
"Once again, a home for fowl and fish - We're filling up The Fen again, filling up The Fen,
"Fen Tiger! Oh, Fen Tiger! Ho, Fen Tiger!" 
                                                             
                                                                                                         Copyright(c)2009John Rees

I tell a tale of the year of Forty Three/ When young men flew to keep our island free;
With engines at full roar and the scream of speeding tyre/ They left from The Fields of Cambridgeshire.

From Bourn Airfield at the dark end of a day/In mid-December, a squadron made its way...
Standing down below, the Ground Crew said a prayer/ For fog and cloud began to fill the air.

High in the sky, men had one thing on their mind: / The road to Berlin was what they had to find;
"Strike the enemy at his heart where he is strong/ And perhaps this dreadful war to us will then belong!"

"Beware The Lowlands, long-occupied by force! / Though close friends fall, stay unflinching on your course!"
How lonely is the sky when you're caught in cold searchlight/ And you know that shards of steel could blow your body to the night...      .......      ......     ......

When all was done and the peril was all past/ Return to England, those white cliffs here at last....
"We're home, my Boys! We're home! We're feeling grand! / All we have to do now is just get down and land!"

But Bourn Airfield was nowhere to be seen - a midnight fog - the worst there's ever been -
The planes flew round and round,  searched for signals from a mast; / With fuel at zero, they had to get down pretty fast!

Who knows the fear? Who can guess the cold despair  Of men entombed in a tin box in the air?
God knows how, Yes, some did make it down...../ But others met Their Maker on the ground.

So, when at night you hear an aeroplane, Think of those Boys who will not return again....
Think of someone's son who died in fog and fire
And left his blood in The Fields of Cambridgeshire.....
And left his blood in The Fields of Cambridgeshire...........