Bridged those weary years of exile,
Helped him pick the threads of life up,
Feel he’d been away but two days
Not two weary years and over.
After lunch he doffed his khaki,
Dived into a suit of mufti,
Felt his leave had really started
As he sauntered to St. James’s,
Bound for Jermyn Street and Hammam’s.
Had a Turkish bath at Hammam’s,