It’s wartime, the Battle of Britain is raging and the War Office decides that the pilot’s morale needs to be kept high so they come up with a plan for the pilots to take a break now and then to spend some time with the fine young ladies of the aristocracy at evening get-togethers.
Of course, no unseemly business must be allowed, so chaperoned by some of the military bigiwgs, the young gels are assured only the most civilized behavior.
At one such do, young Paddy is delighting a group of sparkling debutantes, who are quite taken by his strong good looks, and strong good Irish brogue. As his Wing Commander is passing the little group, he catches Paddy describing his daring escape from an attack in the sky, saying “And just as Oi was sweating that Oi’d never have enough fuel to get back, these three Fokkers come swooping down on me!”
Fearful the young ladies would misinterpret the aircraft for Paddy’s legendary sprinkling of the language with expletives, he stepped in to make an explanation to protect their sensibilities.
“If I may, Paddy, ladies. A Fokker is one of the finest aircraft operated by the Luftwaffe, and as Paddy is saying, they do tend to give us in the RAF a lot of trouble in this conflict. Thank you, Paddy, you may go on.”
“Oh yes indeed Sor,” says Paddy, “The Fokker truly is a great machine and all. But these particular fokkers were Messerschmidts.
