My mate 'e'd been a gardener; 'is roses wasn't beat;

'Is marrers was a marvel and 'is strorberries a treat;

But w'en 'e leave 'is corliflow'rs an' lettuce to enlist,

'E said it was the lavender, 'is blinkin' bit o' lavender,

A silly patch o' lavender 'e missed.

In France I used to foller 'im to gather up the bits;

'E "'adn't 'eard" o' snipers and 'e "wasn't 'eedin'" Fritz;

Till in a slip o' garden by the Convent 'e was copped,

And dahn among the lavender, the trodden sodden lavender,

The bloody muddy lavender 'e dropped.

A job it was to fix 'im up and do a double bunk,

But 'e was chattin' casual while I was oozin' funk;

'E yarned abaht the bits o' things 'e used to see at Kew,

An' told me of the lavender, the tidy lot of lavender,

The leagues an' leagues o' lavender 'e grew.

They book 'im through to Blighty and 'e drop a line from 'ome,

Comparin' clay in Flanders with the proper British loam;

"An' w'en you gets yer seven days, you come along an' see

The roses an' the lavender, the lavender, the lavender ...

You oughter see the lavender!" says 'e.

My mate 'e 'ad a sister, w'ich I didn't even guess

Till I was at the wicker-gate an' see 'er cotton dress;

'Er face was sweet as summer-time an' pretty as a tune;

'Er eyes was like the lavender, the blue bewitchin' lavender,

As lovely as the lavender in June.

She bid me welcome kindly, an' as quiet as you please,

An' fust we talk o' battlefields an' then we talk o' bees;

But, though the 'olly'ocks was aht an' all the roses red,

I only see the lavender, the patch o' purple lavender;

"I'm pleased you likes the lavender," she said.

I'm tickled by a pansy, wot's called an 'Appy Thought;

I'm gone on yaller "Glories" of the proper smelly sort;

An' once I 'eld gerani-ums was gayer than the rest,

But now I likes the lavender, a little sprig o' lavender,

I likes a bit o' lavender the best.