Surplus Women
We cheered them off, that September,
So sure in their duty,
As we were in ours, you see.
We loved them enough, I remember,
To want them to keep-in alright
With the powers-that-be.
We held the fort, as contenders,
But only until they returned,
As surely they would, we trust.
Be a good sport, I remember,
Assisting to sister the brotherhood,
Because we could, and must.
They’re most of them gone these days, ho-hum,
Except the old and lame and mad –
Though not their fault who goes and stays,
All families are missing a brother or dad.
It’s lonely for the strays that we’ve become –
And guilty to be so secretly glad.
Gas fitters, brick layers,
Tram drivers, football players –
Our handiwork is at the root
Of ev’ry batch of shells the soldiers shoot.
We filled the schools, as pretenders,
And the factories too,
And the pubs and the shops, we hear.
We held their tools, I remember,
And lived their jobs, and drove their trams,
And tended their crops, all year.
We proved our worth, our gender,
As we waited for news
That the end was upon us, at last.
To give back each berth, I remember –
Was joy for their coming,
And dread that our honours had passed.
But what if so few of them come back to check-in ?
What will we do then, without their call ?
We’ll manage, of course, we’ll soon get the knack,
We’ll, some of us, have an absolute ball –
But what if they never retrack, d’you reckon ?
What if this freedom’s our absolute all ?
Slowly thriving with aplomb,
While gaining votes and singledom –
We’ve come at last to claim our due
Now that there’s far far more of us than you.
