In the dark twisted depths of despair br salamone staggeres into his filthy lair br reeking of opium, whiskey and rum br into his quarters, they looked so glum br the candlelight flickered in the drafty room br cockroaches roamed, he was not alone br at the bottom of the glass he looked for the truth br whats happened to all those years? his mis-spent youth br pondering over those days during the war br doodlebugs that rained on the dull London night br Urchins gather shrapnel cos moneys so tight br an old womans finger bleeds as she sews her stocking br Grandads in an east end pub enjoying a lock in br So many faces numbing the pain br Are they here for the laughter or to stay out the rain br the stories they tell, how i wish they were all alive br its them we should thank for 1945br br GORDON SAUNDERSbr br