Rain swept down from a cloudy sky
after a week, sunny and dry
would you believe a day out again
after the sunshine, down comes the rain.
Paddock wood in the county of Kent
jeeps and tanks, a forties event,
military regalia covered the spot
where hops once grew, and fire kilns dot.
For miles around, the Oasts are seen
standing high above the green,
a landmark for the local folk
where once the sky was hid by smoke.
Canvas tops, relics of war
sheltered the stalls from a fresh downpour,
so much on show for eyes to see
a chance to buy from history.
Horses were stabled, the drays on view
magnificient creatures London once knew,
now a sight thats driven away
by noisy traffic on the Queens highway.
We followed the tents, marvelled at sights
of miniature engines modelled from flights,
even a dummy of Hitler displayed
the horrors of war, where children once played.
The sound of music rose high on the breeze
teasing and haunting in sweet melodies,
tunes we remembered when Glen Miller played
we found the Marquee and happily stayed.
War time uniforms adorned the youngsters on stage,
the Andrew sisters from a bygone age,
remembering the words we sang in our youth
while the rain pelted down, and battered the booth.