I first heard his voice on my grandmothers record player

On a visit to her country cottage

I asked who he was as I loved his soft voice

And was told that his name was Al Bowlly

 

I enquired whether I might see him in concert

But Grandma told me that he was dead

As he had been killed during the war

The victim of a German bomb

 

I later found out that his last resting place

Was in a graveyard next to a railway line

In a leafy suburb of West London

Not far from where I had once lived