91

WITLEY

1
There's an isolated desolated place I'd like to mention,
Where all you hear is Stand at Ease, Slope Arms, Quick March Attention
It's miles away from anywhere, by god, it is a rum-un,
A chap lived there for fifty years, and never saw a woman.

2
It used to be a blade of grass, a farmhouse and a cow,
A little pond with seven ducks, a pig-sty and a sow.
A lot of little Wooden Huts, they threw up in a hurry,
Some soldiers came, and now they call it Witley down in Surrey.

3
There's only two lamps in the place, so tell it to your mother.
The Postman carries one, and the Policeman's got the other.
To walk around the village, well it isn't very far,
You simply turn around three times, and stay just where you are.

4
There's a place they call it Tin Town, where they go to feed their faces,
There's everything from Fish and Chips, to "Soldiers Friend" and Braces.
A fellow bought a Meat Pie once, of which he had a fear of,
But when he tried to take a bite, the damn thing bit his ear off.

5
Lots of tiny Little Huts are dotted here and there,
For those who have to live inside I've offered many a prayer.
Inside the Huts there's Rats as big as any Nanny Goat;
One night a solider saw one trying on his overcoat.

6
For Breakfast every morning, it's like old Mother Hubbard,
You double round the Hut three times and jump up at the cupboard.
Sometimes they give you Bacon, but when they give you Cheese
It forms Platoon upon your plate, orders arms, and stands at ease.

7
Every night you sleep on boards, just like a lot of cattle,
And when you turn from left to wright, your bones begin to rattle;
And when the Bugle blasts at morn, it drives you off your noodle,
You knock the "Ice Bergs" off your feet, and damn and blast the Bugle.