So they lingered over dinner As a lover reads a letter Lest the end should come too quickly. Then he bore her to the Gaiety, And the joyous Tiadatha In his comfy green stall nestling, Hooted with infectious laughter Like a schoolboy at a panto, Clapped the songs and jokes and dances As he’d never done in peace time. Happy still when it was over, Thinking of the dance and Murray’s— Sped there in a wangled taxi, All too soon fetched up at Murray’s. Murray’s just the same as ever, Murray’s with the same old fug up, Like an aggravated hothouse, Just the same appalling prices For a jug of Murray’s Mixture. Many well-remembered faces Round the little close-packed tables With their many-coloured night-lights. Same old floor that gleamed like honey, Same old priceless band of niggers Playing rag-time, playing fox-trots As no other band could play them. And they danced and danced together, Phyllis and my Tiadatha, As upon that summer evening When at first they met each other— Till the nigger band departed, Till the waiters all grew restive, Phyllis danced with Tiadatha. Happy days are short as kisses Snatched when someone else is coming, Happy days end always quickly But in war time even quicker Than they used to do in peace time. Bitterly my Tiadatha Cursed the fate that sent him homewards Ere the pearly dawn was breaking, Ere the workmen’s trains were running. But he knew Fate is remorseless, Knew that Dora is remorseless As the chucker out at Murray’s. So by dint of shoving, pushing, Begging, bribing and cajoling, He induced a taxi-driver, Most elusive, very lordly, To unbend enough to take them (At a price) as far as Sloane Street. In that hard-won London taxi, Speeding down dim Piccadilly On its way to darkened Sloane Street I will leave my Tiadatha On his first sweet night in England— Leave him feeling very happy, Drugged with a divine contentment, Feeling life was paying interest On the days he had invested In those dreary Balkan trenches. Leave him with the things he’d ached for In those two long years of exile, Leave him to his well-loved London And the arms of green-eyed Phyllis. * * * * *