Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3827/Wireless

by P. R. Chalmers

WIRELESS.

There sits a little demon
 Above the Adiniralty,
To take the news of seamen
 Seafaring on the sea;
So all the folk aboard-ships
 Five hundred miles away
Can pitch it to their Lordships
 At any time of day.

The cruisers prowl observant;
 Their crackling whispers go;
The demon says, "Your servant,"
 And lets their Lordships know;
A fog's come down off Flanders?
 A something showed off Wick?
The captains and commanders
 Can speak their Lordships quick.

The demon sits a-waking;
 Look up above Whitehall—
E'en now, mayhap, he's taking
 The Greatest Word of all;
From smiling folk aboard-ships
 He ticks it off the reel:—
"An' may it please your Lordships,
 A Fleet's put out o' Kiel!"

 

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