An Ode to a WREN

To the Wrens of this our station,

We, in fervent admiration,

Wish to dedicate this eulogy in verse,

But the author, at its closure,

Isn’t going to risk exposure

Cause you’ll think that he’s a rattlesnake – or worse

As in every walk of life

With its struggles & its strife

There are very many different kinds of Wren;

And that’s why we defer,

Saying which ones we prefer,

Till we’re miles away & up at anglistin.

The signals Office Section

Is the general direction,

In which our feet would always seem to tread;

But though we may be smitten,

By Veronica and “Kitten”,

They look at us as though they wished us dead.

There’s a photographic girl

Who simply sends us in a whirl,

I’m sure that all of you must know her name,

But Monica’s dark beauty

Sends us off the line of duty,

And paradise without her would seem tame.

There’s “Paddy” in the ? Armoury, who,

I feel quite sure could never do

A single act of harm to man or beast,

But she compares a Sub to – well

A sort of wild dog out of Hell

And of the two she hates the wild dog least.

The girl in the Postal Section,

Could create an insurrection,

If she’d let those curls fall loosely round her napper,

But she keeps them in their places,

With bits of wire and lace,

And reminds us of the 1930 flapper.

Other due consideration

Of the female population

We’ve decided that the ones we like the most

Are the Wardroom Wrens, who can,

Just by cooking in a pan,

Make a sirloin steak look like a piece of toast.

There are others who, through lack of space,

(Or should I say through loss of face)

We’ve had no opportunity to mention

But when we are off duty

They well know their charm and beauty

Will secure for them the whole of our attention.

And so to all that winsome band

We wish success & fortune and

A safe and quick return to normal joys;

And if certain old men through force of habit

Should twitch their heads with – “Hell, I’ve had it!”

Be tolerant – they were once the fighter boys