Ooh, he was a good looking man that Glenn Miller, he could have got me in the mood and left his string of pearls on my little brown jugs any day of the week. And not only was he the leader of one of the best dance bands the 1940s have ever known, he was also an airline pilot in the Royal Marines. In fact it was his airborne duties which led to Glenn’s untimely demise, as he went missing in an undisclosed location somewhere above the English Channel and his body has never recovered since. My cousin Pearl once got to know an American airman, underneath the pier at Blackpool. But her airman was no Glenn Miller. He should have done the honourable thing and looked after her and little Walter, or at least gone missing in a watery grave. But ohh no. The minute the war was over, he scuttled off back to Arkansas, or wherever it was he came from, with his tail between his legs. He should have ruddy kept it there while he was with our Pearl an’all, filthy so and so. Mind you she did get a nice pair of nylon tights out of the bargain.
Some people have suggested that Glenn did not die in an aviation accident at all, but was shot by the Gestapo in a German brothel after being sent to Berlin to broker a peace deal with top Nazi generals. I tell such people not to be so ruddy silly. Why would they send Glenn Miller into Nazi Germany when they had Victor “you make me feel mighty real” Sylvester. The nazi agent/brothel tittle tattle was put about by Ambrose and his Orchestra, who were jealous of the increase in Glenn’s record sales after he died. Unfortunately for Ambrose, the plot didn’t work,
and he and the boys had to give up the music industry and start a lucrative business in the manufacture of rice pudding and custard. Glenn is very happy on the other side these days, tending to his bald patch and standing with his back to people and talking to them over his shoulder whilst holding a stick and waving his arms about. Glenn’s advice to the living: “If you must cross the channel, consider using the tunnel, or catching a ferry”