While I was in the NAAFI, on the notice board I saw,
This letter pinned there, like so many more.

Dear John, I just want to say
I shan’t be writing any more. I got married yesterday
I married Bill Wiggins, the chap down the street,
Turned down by the Army, because of flat feet.

I couldn’t stay at home, with nothing to do
But honestly John, I tried to be true.
I’d go to the Palais on Saturday night
And dance with the lads, well it seemed alright.

I’d go to the Angel for a drink or two
And somehow I seemed to forget all about you.
I’d go with Bill Wiggins out on a date
And while I was with him, I’d feel great.

So I’m writing this letter, to say that we’re through,
And I’m calling the baby John, after you.
Whatever you do, don’t grieve over me,
I’ll just say farewell and I think you’ll agree

When you come back home you’ll find me gone
So goodbye and good luck, I’m so sorry John

Michael A.J. Scarrott


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