Is there really a house and a garden

Where the northbound lorries pass,

Where the summer breeze stirs the apple trees

And buttercups grow in the grass;

Where roses blow in the autumn

And the blackbird builds in the spring,

And a steady creak and a happy shriek

Was a little girl on a swing?

 

Was it really us in the kitchen

With a Sunday supper spread,

Making cheer with a glass of beer

With pickles and beer and bread;

You and I, and a spaniel

On the kitchen hearthrug curled,

And a sleepy head upstairs in bed-

And never a care in the world?

 

Did my feet once walk on a carpet

Did I doze in my own armchair

Was it us made merry with friends and sherry

In a house with a twisty stair?

Did we dine on a polished table

With silver bowls agleam

Is there really a house and a garden-

Or was it all a dream?

 

Composed by a British P.O.W. in 1942.