Where the nightingale is singing
And the white moon beams.”
Then, scarcely pausing for breath, leaning far forward, a bewitching smile on her face, she sang: “No! No! No! Papasista.”
When the roar of applause had died away, Dave heard a gray-haired lady in a Persian lamb coat say:
“Such a vulgar song!”
“Quite,” agreed her mink-coated friend. “Vulgar and wonderful. I quite love this war. It has given me one more chance for a fling at life.”
“All out for England!” Cherry called into the megaphone. “Everybody sing, ‘We’ll roll the old chariot along’.”
They sang. They roared. They sang.
“If Hitler’s in the way, we’ll roll it over him.
If Tubby’s in the way, we’ll roll it over him.