The War Worker
At seventeen school seems
a bore.
When other guys have gone
to war.
To sit in class all day is hard,
When you dream of working at
West Coast Ship Yard.
Then even the girls who are
studying sewing,
Would sooner be working the swing
shift at Boeing.
We may not be old enough yet,
to go fighting,
But a War Workers life, can
sure be exciting.
The city's sure the place
to be,
For small town guys, like you
and me.
The West end famed for its room
and board.
Not quite like home but what
we can afford.
On Granville Street, both night
and day.
You'll find War Workers, out
to play.
Some go to movies, some roller skate,
some sit in bars and talk.
While others seem to spend their time,
standing under Birk's big clock.
The Ship Yards are booming on Vancouver's
North Shore.
Building "Ten Thousand Tonner's" to help
win the war.
High up on the on the scaffolds the riveters work,
regardless of wind, rain or snow.
They're doing their best to set a new record,
with only one hour to go.
The buckers and burners are going full bore,
while the cranes make one final lift.
We punch out our time cards and head for the gate,
It's the end of another long shift.
The workers swarm out looking carefree
and merry.
Now they're heading for home, on the
old North Van Ferry.
Out on Sea Island at Boeing's big plant
the War Workers labor away.
They're building Catalina and Canso, aircraft
to hasten the dawn of V-day.
The big planes are starting to take on their shape
as they move out of Shop ninety nine.
Each day they keep growing like some living thing
as they move down the assembly line.
Some planes now completed are out on the tarmac
the Airforce inspection is through.
This scene brings a thrill that would never be told,
by old War Workers like me and like you.
Then it's on with the routine of building more
aircraft, for the boys overseas are still dying.
We must "Carry On" as the War Posters say "Buy
Bonds" just to help "Keep 'Em Flying."
On Saturday night sharp at
seven o'clock,
We're catching the Bus heading home
to White Rock.
The Bus driver's an old guy we've
known him for years,
And watched him with awe, as
he shifted the gears.
There's girls that seemed older
when we went to school.
And guys we looked up to, when they
beat us at pool.
Now here on the Bus we're all
fitting in right.
Just a bunch of War Workers; heading
home; on Saturday night.
Written by former Boeing Aircraft (Canada) Ltd. worker and now 80-yr old, David Taylor; and kindly submitted to the Sea Island Heritage Society (SIHS) February 13, 2006
|