The letter home

The letter home Each lad as he writes to his Mother Is conjuring up in his mind All the scenes and sounds of his homeland And the folk that he's left far behind. The tinkle of sheep on the hillside, The chime of the village church bells, The tang of the spray off the Solent, The grandeur of Cumberland dells. Some yearn to be tramping the moorland, Some sigh for the Yorkshire dales — The warm sunny slopes of the Mendips — The blue hazy hilltops of Wales. So let's give Salute to our Soldiers, And remember, wherever they roam, That when they're not fighting, they're thinking And dreaming of England and home.