thought up to then that a lance corporal was pretty near as
important as a brigadier.

"We'll soon tyke that stripe off ye, me bold lad," said one big
cockney.

They were a decent lot after all. Since we were just out from
Blighty, they showered us with questions as to how things looked
"t' 'ome." And then somebody asked what was the latest song. Right
here was where I made my hit and got in right. I sing a bit, and I
piped up with the newest thing from the music halls, "Tyke Me Back
to Blighty." Here it is:

Tyke me back to dear old Blighty,
Put me on the tryne for London town,
Just tyke me over there
And drop me anywhere,
Manchester, Leeds, or Birmingham,
I don't care.

I want to go see me best gal;
Cuddlin' up soon we'll be,
Hytey iddle de eyety.
Tyke me back to Blighty,
That's the plyce for me.

It doesn't look like much and I'm afraid my rendition of cockney
dialect into print isn't quite up to Kipling's. But the song had a
pretty little lilting melody, and it went big. They made me sing it
about a dozen times and were all joining in at the end.