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.