CURLY:- 
And then a weird thing happened:
Got a letter from some woman,
Claimed to be a Spiritualist medium.
Said she had a message for me
From a man named 'Airey'
Saying I shouldn't fly to India.
Well I knew Airey all right;
Been my oppo in the War
'Till he went down in an SS Zero
Over the North Sea.
But I've no time for that stuff;
All balls, if you ask me.
Still, I didn't tell Suzie,
No sense in giving her the creeps.
Then, two weeks later,
Lucky Breeze gets a mystic message
Of his own
From a dead flying chum of his,
Singing the same song,
"Don't fly to India."
Brought in person this time
By Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, no less.
We told each other loudly
What a laugh we thought it was...

Now it was our turn 
To show what we could do.
Out she came, a fair bit lighter,
But it was 'out of the frying-pan',
'Cause now her bloated bags
Fouled the [bad word] raw on every rivet;
Soon she was a mass of holes.
Riggers working night and day
To keep pace with their patching;
Soon they were pasting
Patches on patches;
She was leaking like a sieve.
And worse, the cells were loose now,
Surging to and fro in flight.
This made the ship unstable,
Always pitching up and down,
Up and down.