AN ENTENTE.
AS we were running the Channel along, with a rising wind abeam,
Steering home from an escort trip as fast as she could steam,
I'd just come up, relieving Bill, to look for Fritz again,
When I turns to the Skipper an', "Sir," I says, "I 'ears an aeroplane."
An' sure enough, from out o' the clouds astern, we seed 'im come,
An' down the wind the engine sang with a reg'lar oarin' 'um.
The Skipper 'e puts 'is glasses down, an' smilin' says to me,