Letters

Dear love,

The walls are wet and the floor is oiled

My feet are cold and the food is spoiled

I didn’t know until now that you can set fire to the snow

Only 2 more years and I’ll be coming home

I’m bunking with a lad, around sixteen years old

Shaking like a bullet in the wind, not cause’ of the cold

At night I hear him whimper, crying for his mum

Like I, he’ll be free when the war is done

I’ll be thinking of you as I go to bed tonight

You won’t lose me I won’t go down without a fight

At twenty two it isn’t my time to die

My brother comrades fall in honour but not I

Cause’ I’ll be - coming home for you

Dear love,

Too many dead, with their mouths lined with foam

The boy bunker with me, no, won’t be going home

I’ll be with you in a few days though, just 2 left to go

The papers say that I’ll be arriving a hero

I’ll be thinking of you as I go to bed tonight

You won’t lose me I won’t go down without a fight

At twenty two it isn’t my time to die

My brother comrades fall in honour but not I

Cause’ I’ll be - coming home for you

Dear Madam

It is with my deepest regret to inform you that your Husband lost his life on January 15th, 1971. I know him personally and he spoke fondly of you on a regular occasion. He was a humble man, who fought bravely in the name of our King. I know my words are weak and fruitless on such a grievous instance but I cannot refrain from consoling you with the knowledge he died saving his prosperous country in which his cherished family reside. I know the heavens will greet your husband with open arms and one day I hope he will be the first to meet me there.

Yours very sincerely and respectfully