Transatlantic Cable 12 – The Telegraphists
Dits and dahs and dahs and dits,
All day, all night, all year, relaying –
Reading, sending, hearing, writing,
Little bursts of sound and lightning.
Letters come in beeps and bits,
We do not think of what they’re saying –
In they steam without cessation,
With no room for punctuation.
Tappity, tappity, dit by dah,
The pulse of the modern world, they are.
We are the teachers, we are the clerks,
The upper working lower middle –
Literate, and handling secrets,
Tap it, jot it, never speak it.
We are the servants of the sparks,
Our social standing quite a riddle –
Overworked yet fairly paid,
We’re not professionals nor trade.
Tappity, tappity, ev’ry station,
All we move is information.
Rhyming Couplets 