A letter to a wounded soldier in the great war on his 21st birthday
Title
A letter to a wounded soldier in the great war on his 21st birthday
Description
Addressed to dear Bobby a six verse poem to a family member.
Language
Publisher
Rights
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Contributor
Identifier
MGreerRF131053-241030-06
Transcription
A Letter to a wounded soldier in the Great War on his 21st Birthday
DEAR BOBBY,
Your letter received gave us pleasure indeed, And we are glad to know you are better; One item I see quite interests me, it’s found at the end of your letter.
‘Tis the amount of years you may count When November is twenty days gone,
Of the world’s smiles and tears your number of years Will then have been just twenty-one.
Of good things in store may there be galore, As to each year is added another,
With the best of good health, the truest of wealth, and nothing your conscience to bother.
Just a word of advice may you ne’er it despise, Dear Bobby its most kindly meant,
Of your morals take care, avoid evil’s snare, And mind that your money’s well spent.
Of words just another “Be kind to your mother”; She’s ever a lad’s best friend,
Tho’ searched the world o’er, there’s none kept in store; She loves from beginning to end.
To our health in conclusion I must make allusion, We three are in best of good trim,
So, to best wishes a dozen from Auntie and Cousin, Add love from your old
Uncle Jim.
DEAR BOBBY,
Your letter received gave us pleasure indeed, And we are glad to know you are better; One item I see quite interests me, it’s found at the end of your letter.
‘Tis the amount of years you may count When November is twenty days gone,
Of the world’s smiles and tears your number of years Will then have been just twenty-one.
Of good things in store may there be galore, As to each year is added another,
With the best of good health, the truest of wealth, and nothing your conscience to bother.
Just a word of advice may you ne’er it despise, Dear Bobby its most kindly meant,
Of your morals take care, avoid evil’s snare, And mind that your money’s well spent.
Of words just another “Be kind to your mother”; She’s ever a lad’s best friend,
Tho’ searched the world o’er, there’s none kept in store; She loves from beginning to end.
To our health in conclusion I must make allusion, We three are in best of good trim,
So, to best wishes a dozen from Auntie and Cousin, Add love from your old
Uncle Jim.
Collection
Citation
“A letter to a wounded soldier in the great war on his 21st birthday,” IBCC Digital Archive, accessed September 8, 2026, https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/collections/document/60454.
