Letter to Heather


I’m writing this letter at bed-time.

There are only three chaps in the hut.

But out of that number

There’s one deep in slumber,

And his eyes, I expect, are tight shut.


The other one’s poking the fire,

For the weather is frosty and cold,

And our ears and our noses

Our fingers and toeses

Are stiff with a numbness untold.


The third one is me and I’m sitting

Aloft in my two-decker bed,

With my feet underneath

Blankets, and ‘tween my teeth

My pipe which is glowing so red.


It is Saturday night here at Chigwell,

And most of the fellows are out.

I suppose their weekends

Are spent visiting friends

In London, or somewhere about.


The stars in the night sky are twinkling,

I saw the North Star and the Plough;

And I thought, “They will shine

On two sweethearts of mine,

And I wish I were there with them now !”


I must try to be with you for Christmas,

To share the plum pudding and goose,

And to join in the sport

Father Christmas has brought

In his sleigh with the reindeer and moose.


I hope you no longer have sneezes,

And that Mummy’s bad cough is gone too,

And that Blackie is good

And is eating his food

As every good kitten should do.


I see you are learning your lessons,

For you got all your add-up sums right;

And you still say your prayers

When you’ve climbed up the stairs

And before you have said “Nightie-night !”


Please remember me to all your dollies,

Topsy Wendy and Teddy and all,

And tell them that I

Will be home by and by

To be making a social call.


Now I think I’ll be going to bo-bos,

For my eyes I’m beginning to rub,

So here’s a big kiss

For a sweet little miss

From her loving and very own …..Bub.