W. V. S.

Oh, woman, in our hours of ease,
Uncertain, coy and hard to please;
When pain and anguish wring the brow
A ministering angel thou.
And thus friend Omar Khayyam spoke
The truest word that any bloke
Has uttered in a word complex
Concerning the delightful sex.

But now with diplomatic guile
Their coyness we will shelve awhile,
And try to bring to light of day
The highly satisfactory way
That wives - though sometimes hard to please -
Now do a noble share to ease
The burdens of these times of stress
By work in W.V.S.

At any hour they may be seen
Behind, a Forces dry canteen.
Large camouflaging nets they make;
Street canvassing they undertake.
They knit for boys in Navy blue,
Run boot and clothing centres too.
One company each week mends stacks
Of garments for "The Beeches" vacs.

At Infant Welfare Clinics, too,
One section finds good work to do,
And others requisites provide
To keep our hospitals supplied.
Again, in every road and street
The "Housewives' Service" card we meet -
The sign of "open house" displayed;   
For townsfolk homeless in a raid.

Thus through the anguish, pain and toil
That war brings to this  mortal coil,
Our ministering volunteers
Deserve our thanks for four long years
Of service through these trying days
In such variety of ways.
We'll call them, if they will allow,
"The Nation's Maids of All Work" now.

R.W.N.