"I never touch it at home," he said, "the society of my dear little wife is all the stimulant I need. I would give the world to be with her now--just to sit in my chair and watch her at her sewing or knitting. The separation is too much for me and, you know, it has lasted nearly three years now."
I have caught this yearning in more than one of the songs our soldiers sing, but especially in the following, which is called "Absent":
"Sometimes, between long shadows on the grass, The little truant waves of sunlight pass; My eyes grow dim with tenderness, the while Thinking I see thee, thinking I see thee smile.
"And sometimes in the twilight gloom, apart, The tall trees whisper, whisper heart to heart; From my fond lips the eager answers fall, Thinking I hear thee, thinking I hear thee call."
The men’s thoughts pass easily from the sweetheart to the mother who bore them, and we have a third class, the Home Song. I have been awakened in the night by men, going up to the line, singing "Keep the Home Fires Burning." It is very thrilling to hear in the dead of night, when every singer is within range of the enemy’s guns.
"They built a little garden for the rose, And they called it Dixie-land; They built a summer breeze to keep the snows Far away from Dixie-land; They built the finest place I’ve known, When they built my home sweet home; Nothing was forgotten in the land of cotton, From the clover to the honey-comb, And then they took an angel from the skies And they gave her heart to me. She had a bit of heaven in her eyes Just as blue as blue can be; They put some fine spring chickens in the land, And taught my Mammy how to use a frying pan. They made it twice as nice as paradise, And they called it Dixie-land."
Being Londoners, the following song called "Leave" never fails in its appeal to our Division:
"I’m so delighted, I’m so excited, With my folks I’m going to be united. The train’s departing, ’twill soon be starting; I’ll see my mother, my dad and my baby brother. My! How I’ll meet them, My! how I’ll greet them. What a happy happy day. Just see that bustle, I’d better hustle, Good-bye--so long--can’t stay--
"I’m on my way back to dear old Shepherd’s Bush, That’s the spot where I was born, Can’t you hear the porter calling, Queen’s Road, Piccadilly, Marble Arch and Bond Street? Oh, I’ll not hesitate, I’ll reach the gate; Through the crowd I mean to push, Find me a seat anywhere--please anywhere, Tram, train, tube, ’bus I don’t care-- For mother and daddy are waiting there-- In dear old Shepherd’s Bush."