MYILITTLE GREY HUT INTHE WEST

Thames Star, Volume LVIII, Issue 18357, 2 June 1917, Page 6

MYILITTLE GREY HUT INTHE WEST

IVe a little wet home in the trench, Which the rain storm® continually drench, Blue sky overhead, ' Mud and clay for a bead, And a. stone that we use for a bench. Bully beef and hard biscuits we. chow, It seems years since we tasted stew. Shells crackle and -scare, ißu^ no pace can compare, With my little wet home in tihe trench Our friends in the trench o'er the way, Seem to know tha^ we've come here to stay, They rush and they shout, But they can't get. us out, Though there's no dirty work they don't play. They rushed us a few nights ago, But we don't like intruders and' so Some departed quite sore Others sleep ora-more. Near my little we^, home in "the trench. So hurrah for the mud and the clay, It's the road to "Der Tag" that's "The Day"—< When 1 we enter Berlin, That city of fcnm, We'll make the fat Berliner pay. We'll remember the cold and the

frost,

When; we scour the fat lands of the Bhosb.

There'll be shed then I fear Redder stuff than a tear For my little wet home in the trench Signaller T. Skeyhill.