DEAR OLD UNCLE ALBERT by Paul Kennelly May 2009
sitting in the shelter , with Jerry overhead
the ack-ack guns are firing , I’m bouncing in my bed
and then a huge explosion , an awful squealing cry
as poor old Uncle Albert , is blown into the sky
peering out the dug-out , dust is everywhere
an’ there is no sign of Albert , it really isn’t fair
he’d volunteered to fire watch , his tin hat on his head
but due to the Luftwaffe , he’s very, very dead
chorus
oh , old Albert was our Uncle , a gentle rosey man ,
he used to be the driver of our local Co-Op van
but when the air raids started , he joined the A.R.P.
and spent his evenings on the roof with flack and Earl Grey tea
staggering out the shelter, I looked for him in vain
and then I saw his glass eye , rolling down the drain
a pair of smoldering army socks , hung upon the shed
and little bits of greatcoat upon the flower bed
his legs were in the greenhouse, his boots were in the yard
his tin hat was embedded in the sign that read “ Home Guard “
his gas mask bag was dangling, for all the world to see
and the rest of Uncle Albert was hanging in the tree
so , poor old Uncle Albert , he’s half way up a tree
the rest of him is spread around for all the world to see
oh poor old Uncle Albert, oh deary, deary me
he’s had his chips , he’s got no hips, from life he’s broken free
sitting in the shelter , with Jerry overhead
the ack-ack guns are firing , I’m bouncing in my bed
and then a huge explosion , an awful squealing cry
as poor old Uncle Albert , is blown into the sky
peering out the dug-out , dust is everywhere
an’ there is no sign of Albert , it really isn’t fair
he’d volunteered to fire watch , his tin hat on his head
but due to the Luftwaffe , he’s very, very dead
chorus
oh , old Albert was our Uncle , a gentle rosey man ,
he used to be the driver of our local Co-Op van
but when the air raids started , he joined the A.R.P.
and spent his evenings on the roof with flack and Earl Grey tea
staggering out the shelter, I looked for him in vain
and then I saw his glass eye , rolling down the drain
a pair of smoldering army socks , hung upon the shed
and little bits of greatcoat upon the flower bed
his legs were in the greenhouse, his boots were in the yard
his tin hat was embedded in the sign that read “ Home Guard “
his gas mask bag was dangling, for all the world to see
and the rest of Uncle Albert was hanging in the tree
so , poor old Uncle Albert , he’s half way up a tree
the rest of him is spread around for all the world to see
oh poor old Uncle Albert, oh deary, deary me
he’s had his chips , he’s got no hips, from life he’s broken free
