What it was like in the 40s   They don’t write ’em now like they did in the 40s; Those craftsmanlike lyrics of love with its pleasures and pain. The crooners don’t croon or the melodies swoon like they used to, O my Sinatra and O my sweet Lilli Marlene.   The seams of their stockings rose all the way up in the 40s Like ladders of Jacob, but girls wouldn’t give you their names, Still, the lyrical trumpets sang hot, sad and sweet in the 40s, O the great Satchmo and O the divine Harry James.   All the…