|Molong Express and Western District Advertiser 3 September 1910 p. 3.|
Now this is the rhyme of the tramway track,
And the rhyme of the numbered men :
From out where the traffic is seldom slack
It has come from a tram-man's pen.
And he'll quickly know what it's all about,
Will the guard in the busy street,
When giving the "trays" and the ha'pennies out,
And fighting the shortage sheet.
He is taking fares on the numbered car,
He is "civil" and "prompt" and "kind,"
And away where the scattered stop posts are
His journal is checked and signed.
Ii is ever the crowd, or the waiting few,
And the clock and the Bundy key.
For the guard has ever the same to do,
When in and out of the Quay.
Now the driver drives with a constant watch,
He is careful and wide awake,
And his left hand feels for the fastest notch,
While the right hand holds the brake.
And he's often far from a helping hand,
When the mighty motors fail,
Or when he hasn't an ounce of sand
For the car on the greasy rail.
Now show the sign with the bold head light,
And, taking, the starter's chaff,
They leave in the pelting rain at night,
Or the single line with the staff !
They are running to gloomy point and bay,
And are miles away from the town,
When the wireless message comes their way :
"Lookiout, look out for the 'Crown!' "
On a late lone run when the fog is dense,
And the street car rolls along,
"Fares, please," says the guard, as he gropes for pence,
And the driver bangs his gong !
There's a drunken man on the open road,
And he reels with an awkward gait ;
But there comes a voice from the drowsy load ;
"Do you know that you're running late ?"
But when they have worked every week day through,
And they come to the Sabbath day,
They are never heeding the work they do—
For the work means extra pay.
And the guard will joke with the driver man,
When he sees him down from the "perch,"
Reach for the basket and billy can,
As the cars lay up for church !
And wet or fine—it is no matter when
The best is made of the job,
On the schedules worked by the numbered men,
From the workman's tram to the "blob."
With a glimpse of city, and park and sea,
Let others deny if they can.
But at times it's a life that pleases me,
And I am a street car man.
But this is merely a tramway rhyme,
And a rhyme no one will prize ;
But out on the track in his own good time,
The tramway bard will arise !
And though I am out on the city line,
Where the eager thousands wait,
As long as the tramway buttons shine,
I have love for the numbered mate.