17. The Christmas Spirit

 'tis the morning of christmas and through d.s.d. from one end to t'other no one can you see the silence is shattered at five after nine the first clerk reporting is almost on time just in from a party came s/sgt bell he's been out carousing and sure looks like .... he takes out his work and sits down to the task but ere he commences he pulls out a flask and raises his spirits right up to the sky but those in the bottle are now nearly dry except for the snoring 'tis quiet again till leo comes in about ten after ten and finds our dear harry stretched out on the floor with his head holding open the cableroom door now leo is not a teetotaller quite and conceived to arrange for a glorious night of wining and dining 'twas really no trouble but everything now looks as if it were double the officer on duty now drops in to say that he sees no reason to be here today if somebody wants him he'll be at his home where no one can reach him - he hasn't a phone - along about noon pete arrives with a crock and shortly the office is starting to rock as clerks who are now really out in full bloom are merrily dancing all over the room the dancers subside and relax on the floor till labonte comes staggering in through the door he shouts at the clerks till they're up on their feet and promptly decides it would make things complete if they got together - the best notion yet - with four of them here they can make a quartette with reckless abandon it doesn't take long for them to break out in melodious (?) song the strains of sweet adeline float through the air the din is terrific but nobody cares the singsong is over with adieus truly said harry and leo go home and to bed in wavers benny just one hour late with a long tale of woe much too sad to relate his eyes are all bloodshot and the bags so defined you can tell he's been having a wonderful time he weaves cross the room and slumps down in a chair there's no need to mention he's slumbering there anon comes the sound of hysterical glee from out in the hallway now who can that be why it's dear little mary she works in five ten and must have been hitting the bottle again she storms in the room and then throws on the floor a huge batch of cables two hundred or more frank lurches in and - you'll ne'er believe this - he promptly gives mary a big juicy kiss now mary is quite a respectable lass so knocks our poor frankie right square on his fanny not willing to take this assault sitting down he picks himself up and displaying a frown proceeds to chase mary all over the floor as rowe right on time staggers in through the door he pulls out a bottle of good christmas cheer and meets frank and mary who are now in high gear there's a crash and a tangle of torsos and limbs but he clings to the bottle with vengeance so grim that although he is down and for a loss has been tossed the bottle is safe not a drop has been lost just a couple of rounds and the "baby" is dead and a crazy idea comes into pete's head if they take all the cables now strewn on the floor and add all the files tucked away in the drawers they can make a swell fire to warm up the place and get rid of some stuff that has been a disgrace to the office since first it was founded last year and bring joy to the officers they hold so dear they all start to work and though still in a daze they soon have created so merry a blaze that they take pete's old desk that's an eyesore to all to add to the fire - brass handles and all - the fire has caused an unbearable heat so they all grab their coats and then beat a retreat right down to the sidewalk and just stand around to watch the whole building burn down to the ground


Comments:  Written during World War II, this poem is my personal favorite.  It is most effective, if read aloud.  Try it!

In this poem, Dad adopted the rhythm of the much-loved "A Visit from St Nicholas," by Clement Clarke Moore, but wrote in the style of Archy, a fictional cockroach columnist, who typed by jumping from key to key.  It was impossible, of course, for Archy to hold down the shift key, so his entire output was without capital letters, but also without punctuation (which latter I attribute to saving his energy for the "important stuff").  Dad included a little punctuation, as you can see.

D.S.D. was the branch of the Canadian Ministry of National Defence to which my Dad was attached during the early years of World War II.  (This may have been a signals or communications unit.)  My Dad's nickname was "Pete," thus he wrote himself into the tale.