3 Jouluista runoa

[Jarkko Ahlroth 0]

‘Twas the flight before Christmas and all through the sky,

 

Not a creature was stirring, ‘cept the Captain and I.

 

The throttles were set on the quadrant with care,

 

In hopes of beating St. Nicholas there.

 

 

 

The passengers were nestled all snug in their seats,

 

The purring of engines had lulled them to sleep.

 

And Captain at the wheel and I on his right,

 

Had just leveled off for a long winter’s flight.

 

 

 

When out of the sky there arose such a clatter,

 

We jumped in our seats to see what was the matter.

 

We checked each engine quick as a flash,

 

Glanced at the dials all over the dash.

 

 

 

The moonlight reflecting from the cloud bank below,

 

Showed nothing amiss in the cold white glow.

 

When what to our wondering eyes should appear,

 

But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer.

 

 

 

With a little old pilot, so lively and quick,

 

We knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

 

More rapid than our ship his courses they came,

 

And he whistled and shouted and called them by name.

 

 

 

"Now Pratt! now Whitney! Now Curtiss and Wright!

 

On Franklin! On Allison! On, on though the night!

 

"To the top of the clouds, to the top of them all,

 

Now, dash away, dash away, dash away all!"

 

 

 

And then in a twinkle on our wing we did here,

 

The prancing and pawing of each little dear.

 

Flying swift as the wind over a cloud,

 

They passed right by us, nodded and bowed.

 

 

 

He was dressed in goggles and helmet and boot,

 

And snow flakes were clinging to his flying suit.

 

A bundle of toys was strapped to his back,

 

He looked like a paratrooper in his jumping pack.

 

 

 

His goggles now frosted, his dimples now merry,

 

The wind burned his cheeks and his nose like a cherry.

 

He had on the earphones of his radio,

 

And he was flying the course straight as an arrow.

 

 

 

The smoke from his pipe his teeth held tight,

 

Streamed out behind him into the night.

 

He had tightened his seatbelt over his belly,

 

But it shook underneath like a bowl full of jelly.

 

 

 

He was sure a good flyer, that jolly old elf,

 

He flew better than the Captain – or even myself.

 

With a burst of speed from his tiny sled,

 

He was out in front and pulling ahead.

 

 

 

He was looking for a break in the dense overcast,

 

For he’d stockings to fill – al all night task.

 

When off to the south he saw a big hole,

 

And banked to his right and started to roll.

 

 

 

He pushed forward his stick, to his team gave a whistle,

 

And towards it they flew, like the down on a thistle.

 

But we heard him exclaim as he dove out of sight,

 

'Merry Christmas to all and to all a good flight!'

 

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‘Twas the night before Christmas all over the place,

When we were confronted by an old flying ace.

There was icing reported and turbulent air,

He said “File me a flight plan, I gotta get there.”

Outside sat his aircraft all ready to run,

And the old man walked out to that P-51.

“bad weather’s no problem,” he silently mumbled,

The prop came to life. . . that big Allison rumbled.

He eased in the throttle, the roar shook the ground,

He taxied on out and he turned it around.

He went through the run-up and seemed satisfied,

Then he said to himself, “I’m in for a ride.”

So he lined it up straight as he poured on the coal,

The tailwheel came up as he started to roll.

Up off the runway, he sucked up the gear,

And that mighty V-12 was all you could hear.

He screamed overhead with a deafening crack,

The blue flames were flying from each shiny stack.

He pulled up the nose and started to climb,

No ice on that airframe, it didn’t have time.

On top of the weather with the levers all set,

He looked up above him and saw a Lear jet.

With jet fuel and turbines there just ain’t no class,

Gimmee pistons, and props and lots of avgas!

Now he was approaching where he wanted to go,

But weather had covered the runway with snow.

How will he land it? We just have to guess,

Because the only way in was a full I-L-S.

Then over the marker, he started his run,

The ceiling was zero, visibility. . . none.

Still going three hundred and he felt the need,

For an overhead break to diminish his speed.

Over the numbers he zoomed, along like a flash,

Pulled into his break, we just knew he would crash.

Oh, why do they do it on these kindof nights??

Then over the threshold, we saw landing lights.

“I’m on a short final with three in the green,

And I see enough runway to land this machine.”

Then he tied down that Mustang, and they all hear him say. . .

“Next year, I’m stickin’ with my reindeer and sleigh.”

 

 

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'Twas the night before Christmas, and out on the ramp, Not an airplane was stirring, not even a Champ.

The aircraft were fastened to tiedowns with care In hopes that come morning, they all would be there.

 

The fuel trucks were nestled, all snug in their spots, While peak gusts from three two zero reached 39 knots.

I sank behind the fuel desk, now finally caught up, And settled down comfortably, resting my butt.

 

When over the radio there arose such a clatter, I turned up the scanner to see what was the matter.

A voice clearly heard over static and snow, Asked for clearance to land at the airport below.

 

He barked out his transmission so lively and quick, I could have sworn that the call sign he used was "St. Nick".

Away to the window I flew like a flash, Sure that it was only Horizon's late Dash.

 

Then he called his position, and there could be no denial, "This is St. Nicholas One and I'm turning on final."

When what to my wondering eyes should appear, A Rutan sleigh, with eight Rotax Reindeer.

 

Cleared for the ILS, down the glideslope he came, As he passed all fixes, he called them by name:

"Now Ringo! Now Tolga! Now Trini and Bacun! On Comet! On Cupid!" What pills was he takin'?

 

Those last couple of fixes left the controllers confused, They called down to the office to give me the news.

The message they left was both urgent and dour: "When Santa lands, have him please call the tower?"

 

He landed like silk, with the sled runners sparking, Then I heard "Exit at Charlie," and "Taxi to parking."

He slowed to a taxi and exited Three-Two, As he came down the taxiway the sleighbells' jingle grew.

 

He stepped out of the sleigh, but before he could talk, I had run out to him with my best set of chocks.

He was dressed all in fur, which was covered with frost And his beard was all blackened from Rotax Reindeer exhaust.

 

His breath smelled like peppermint, gone slightly stale, And he puffed on a pipe, but he didn't inhale.

His cheeks were all rosy and jiggled like jelly, His boots were as black as a cropduster's belly.

 

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old fool, And he kindly informed me that he needed some fuel.

A wink of his eye and a twist of his toes, Let me know he was desperate to powder his nose.

 

I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work, And I filled up the sleigh, but I spilled like a jerk.

He came out of the restroom with a sigh of relief, And then picked up a phone for a Flight Service brief.

 

And I thought as he silently scribed in his log, That with Rudolph, he could land in an eighth-mile fog.

Next, he completed his pre-flight, from the front to the rear, Then he put on his headset, and I heard him yell, "Clear!"

 

And laying a finger on his push-to-talk, He called up the tower for his clearance and squawk.

"After departure fly heading three two zero," the tower called forth,

"And watch for a Luscombe inbound from the North."

 

Then I heard him proclaim, as he climbed thru the night, "Merry Christmas to all! I have traffic in sight."