‘Twas Saturday March the twenty-fifth,
The time was 1 pm,
And gathering round the entrance gate
Was quite a crowd of men
Who had brought their wives and daughters
To view the Ambulance Train.
The object was a worthy one
The charge was sixpence each
And people were eager to pay their share
To help the “Soldiers’ Relief”
And so they waited, standing there
Patient, orderly, neat.

When down the street came a batch of men
Each in his bib and tucker
With haughty looks and swanky tread
And all kept clear of the gutter
So they and their ladies should not be smeared
By touching the common worker.
They were some of the Foremen of Wolverton Works
Who would not mix with the crowd
So they came to the gates an hour before
The rabble were allowed
And viewed the train in their stately way
Glorious Grand Proud.

Oh pity that such a noble cause
Should be smirched by these men’ s pride
That a foreman cannot view the train
Till he’s kicked the worker aside
And struck him a blow that’s left behind a sting that’s going to abide.
There is still some lessons for them to learn
Some levelling up to be done
Till it’s hammered into their pompous heads
That they and the workers are one
That all the brain is not owned by them
These foremen of ‘Wolverton’.
That their foremanship ceases once outside the gate
And they become one of the crowd
That they live on the same common earth as the rest
And not above the clouds
That more work will be done for the man you respect
Than the one who looks down on you ‘Proud’.