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