Dennis’s Messerschmitt
I had a good friend, Dennis, who was a bit of a tit
until he got his Messerschmitt.
Not one that flew in World War two.
No German pilot did take delight in aerobatic dog fights.
Never over Kentish coast, did it escort a host of Junkers 88
Flying west over Margate, on route for bigger tar-gate.
No this was a bird of different metal, raring to go and in fine fettle
It almost did a victory roll with Dennis in control.
My good friend Dennis became a star
the day he bought that bubble car.
This Messerschmitt was a pedigree.
Never boring, could trace its roots to Herman Goring.
Highways and byways ready to attack.
Two wheels at the front and one at the back.
It also had a luggage rack.
It came complete with leather seats, back and front, side by side
made for a ‘comfortable’ ride.
Motor at the rear. Pull that string,
oh how that engine would sing.
That put put put still rings.
Music to my ears, composed by German engineers.
Vorsprung durch Technik, atmosphere electric.
Now, into that small space, along with Dennis, driving ace
would pile the lads, Mick and Andy, Martin too
and of course yours truly, me. I’d find a seat on someone’s knee.
The car had a unique feel,
take the brakes on the two front wheels
the near side one only squealed and didn’t break at all.
So on applying to avoid flying off to the right,
and giving oncoming motorists a terrible fright.
Dennis would stamp hard and turn sharp left with deft coordination
and shouted exclamation from passengers in front and rear.
‘Never fear’ he’d cheer ‘Dennis is here.’
With luck, given time, the car would slow in a straight line.
However, this manoeuvre didn’t always meet with success.
Which caused the lads a lot of stress.
We could be reduced to tears or unintelligible rants.
Andy even wet his pants
From my perch on someone’s knee
it was not uncommon for me to see
on the faces of pedestrians, amazement
as we careered along the pavement
or we might emerge from half a mile of grass verge,
a detour involuntarily taken.
No one stirred but badly shaken.
All that summer we did cruise the city streets and avenues.
Travelling far, braving the ride,
until someone turned the tide.
The end of the story begins like this.
After numerous bumps and one near miss,
the last one involved a tree, terrifying to see
but thankfully Dennis was quick to react;
All we lost was the luggage rack.
‘You’ll kill yourselves or someone else no doubt before the year is out.’
This, from Dennis’s dad, Mr Todd,
Who, let’s face facts, was a miserable sod.
‘That car must go and that’s that my lad.’
‘Oh come on dad’.
A tragic case and very sad of health and safety gone completely mad.
So let me end this report and cut this tragic story short.
The car was sold and that was it.
Dennis went back to being a tit.
See also:
