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When he was in uniform
And fighting in the War
He used to think of "Civvie Street"
And long for home once more.
Used to dream at eventide
Of England quiet and green.
His one desire was to get back
To Blighty it would seem.

He would swear with all the boys
About "this Army game"
"Soldiering is not for me
That much is bloody plain".
Yet, when he caught his packet
And knew he was for home,
A sudden sadness tugged his heart
That was, hereto, unknown.

Now he's back in London and
He wears his "mufti" suit.
No more discipline for him
No Jerries here to shoot.
No bellowing Sergeant Major
To plague his life all day.
Yet, it's strange, he yearns for comrades
Still fighting, far away.

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