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a a/bNot really a poem as such, but still means sumat this time of year.
A Letter From France.
1st July 1916.
They've said soon all this will be over, and then I'll be coming back home.
Back to the White Cliffs of Dover, you won't believe how much I've grown.
I can't wait to see you again Mum, have I got some stories to tell.
I can't tell you where I am right now mind you, but it does seem a little like hell.
Ity's all very quiet this morning, nobody's laughing and joking,
We're up to our ankles in puddles,Oh, and I'm thinking of giving up smoking.
Tell Uncle George, I remember, I know I still owe him two bob,
But they've said this will all soon be over, and I'll pay him when I'm back at my job.
I suppose Dad's out racing his pigeons, then he'll go for a brown ale or two,
There's pigeons here carrying notes from Generals, and they seem to know what to do.
Tell Ethel, I'll be home before Christmas, and we'll be wed by the end of the year,
They've said this will all soon be over, I can't wait 'til I get out of here.
Well, I ain't got much to tell you Mum, but I wish all those whistles would stop,
They've said this will all soon be over, 'cos today we're going over the top.....
Chris Ross ©