If you can come and help to make munitions,
And in a crowded factory hostel live,
If you can work and never want positions
That Ministry of Munitions do not give;
If you can smile when Cresol fumes are blowing
Across your face in an annoying way;
If you can slave – no temper ever showing-
And never long to reach the end of day;
If you can hear the ‘typers’ all a-jingling,
And try to make it fit into a tune;
If you can bear to feel your fingers tingling,
And never long for dinner to come soon;
And if when solvent figures turn out ‘wonky’,
And C-in-Cs most violent rage display,
If you can simply hustle out your hankie,
And wipe the glistening tear away;
If you can rise at half past five and hurry
To catch a beastly train that goes at six;
If you can squelch through snow and never worry-
In fact, count hardships absolutely nix;
If you can really eat a canteen dinner,
And never once grouse or complain,
You then will be an A1 first class winner,
And all respect and admiration gain.
If you can carry on through all the hot days,
And never rest a moment from your work;
If you can weigh and never care just what ways
The ‘balance’ chooses its wee bit to shirk;
If you can fill each tiny little minute
With millions of titrations and ‘spee gees’,
Then you will truly be the bally limit,
And we will give you crowds of laurel trees.
