War made him a soldier. Little Frankie Mear. Peace left him a loser. The little bombardier. Lines of worry appeared with age. Unskilled hands that knew no trade. Spent his time in the picture house. The little bombardier. Frankie drank his money. The little that he made. Told his woes to no man. Friendless lonely days. Then one day in the ABC. Four bright eyes gazed longingly. At the ice-cream in the hand of. The little bombardier. Sunshine entered our Frankie's days. Gone his worries his hopeless maze. His life was fun and his heart was full of joy. Two young children had changed his aims. He gave them toffees and played their games. He brought them presents with every coin he made. Then two gentlemen called on him. Asked him for his name. Why was he friends with the children. Were they just a game?. Leave them alone or we'll get sore. We've had blokes like you in the station before. The hand of authority said "no more". To the little bombardier. Packed his bags his heart in pain. Wiped a tear and caught a train. Not to be seen in the town again.