(Stop the Cavalry, Jona Lewie)

“Oi, Lewie,” yells Sgt. Jones. “Listen to the radio here! Churchill’s in the field!”
“Really?”
“Nah, he just says we’s doin’ ‘splendidly’.”
“Oh,” Jona Lewie sighs, as the snow keeps falling outside the bunker. “Though it might’a been a victory speech.”

Jones shakes his head. “No gunfire right now.”
“I miss you Mary,” Lewie whispers suddenly.
“Missin’ your sweetheart Lewie?”
“Yeah,” he sighs. “Damn Germans. We was gonna get married before they attacked Poland.”
“Shit.”

A loud bang lets loose the realisation of another bomb.
“We’s out here, layin’ down our lives,” Jones yells over the clamour. “While Luzar and Jim sip tea wi’ crumpets.”
“If we ged ’ome,” Lewie shouts into his superior’s ear. “You should run fer the gov. You could stop this, Jones.”

“Le’s jus’ concentrate on gettin’ home soon, Lewie. I jus’ wish I was at ’ome fer Christmas.”
“In Mary Bradley’s arms.”
“Yeah, Lewie. In ’er arms.”