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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required In London Town he was born and bred, A ramshackle abode down Popham St. In Queens' Cottages hunger was he fed, In London Town he was left for dead. The landings above the square surveyed Bins big enough where children played. Ancient of Times neighboured in a row, Remnants of war; jaundiced and sallow. Maggies the sweet shop across the road, Sixpenny Cream Soda; a wonderful fizz, Wacky backy, newspapers re echoed Churchillian rancour of London's blitz. Air sirens sung their seductive torment, Chaos ensued to escape the maelstrom To Underground haven of fear spent, To avoid the carpet of whistling bomb. Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag And smile, smile, smile.England's ablaze; A fiery inferno and Johnnies lit up a fag. Let's play dodge the bomb. What a craze. The landings where we played, had our Fun, the dungeons where we slept and Cried. Our war because we were poor Was at our door. Cor! Listen to the band! The heat of battle, the shrill of curse Swear words bombing our souls of womb. The days we were born, our lives a hearse To carry us to our graveyard tomb. We survived the war and lived to tell, What injustices we suffered and bore. At times it felt like we were in hell Now those times are but of folklore. Sung: The beginning of a WW1 English song. Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag And smile, smile, smile.
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