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This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Jenny Christian of the 2nd Air Division Memorial Library on behalf of Eileen Cooper and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site’s terms and conditions.

I was only 8 years old when World War Two broke out, but I have many memories as that was the year my Father Walter Fields took over as landlord of The Bird in Hand public house in Oulton Street which was on the edge of Oulton airdrome.

Although there were a few locals as customers, it was mainly full every evening with RAF men. There were very happy times with them all singing round the piano as well as drinking lots of beer. Sometimes they would be very quiet when they came in and we would know some had not returned from bombing Germany.

We got to know some very well and they would come to see us even when the pub was closed. One we got to know very well and we often wondered what happened to him. He wrote the following verses for my Father when he was leaving the pub.

The Local

There’s a little pub in Oulton Street
Where Yanks and British often meet
And lads just coming off the ‘drome
Make it like their second home

It owns the name of “The Bird in Hand”
The landlord’s great and the beer is grand
All through the week it rings with song
And at 10pm they sound the gong.

The customers are a decent crew
And everyone enjoys their brew
There’s civvies playing darts all night
And A.C.2s getting tight.

Everyone is doing fine
While tipsy airmen “shoot the line”
But careless talk is never heard
Under the wing of the dear old “Bird”.

Our stay at Oulton may soon end
And over the ocean our way we’ll wend
But wherever we are in any land
We’ll always remember “The Bird in Hand”.

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