Tax-I.
Page 17
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(With the necessary apologies to Mr. Kipling.) I wish the powers could see me now with a towel round my brow, And a driver's report before me as to how he killed a cow. I used to be rather tender once, (Kind-hearted and benevolent once),
Christian Endeavour and temperate once—
But now I am Tax-I.
That is what we are known as—that is what you must call, If you want to get there in a 'urry, cheap an' safely an' all, Prices for burym' partica, weddin's and births, we supply. Ring up the Sweatm' Department. Call out a Tax-I.
My 'ands are ruined with grease spots, my clothes—Oh my tailor's bill!
An' the things I've thought of the business would make a navvy ill ! An' I don't know what day I'm in, nor where I'm workin', nor why.
I've trekked from the Tyne to the Humber once, From Bradford to filthy Sheffield once,
(Or else it was Cottonopolis once)—
For now I'm a Tax-I.
That is what we are known as—we are what you require, For gettin' back to the wife, in the early morn per wire, When the 'eat of the night is oppressive, out of the dust and dry.
Charter a Motor Kerriage. Drive home in a Tax-I.
Our one-course dinner's a scramble, and our lunch is a glass of beer, Our breakfast a munching moment, with the lever still in gear,
An' you couldn't tell us a yard away from a. miner of
deepest dye.
Whist drives, at homes and dances once,
Drees clothes, waltzes and two-steps once—
But now we are Tax-I.
That is what we are known as—we are the fellers they blame For chippin' the local coal carts and knockin' a wheel orf the same.
Can't even pass by a cab rank, but some fool starts 'ollerin' o Hi ! 0/
" 'Ere comes an 18-horse murder ! " Look out for the Tax-I.
The smart new manager's come in, imaginin' days of ease, (The same as we thought ourselves, perhaps. in the days cf the use-to-be's).
And our words of Advice are " freeze to the job ! " " Forget her limpid eye ! " We used to think of the petticoats once, Spending the cash as we earned it once, Sometimes a little before—more than once— But now we are Tax-I.
That is what we are known as—ours are the lights you see, In the garage every mornin', when the hour is nearin' three, Addin' and checkin' the figures, till the columns twist our eye. Ten decimal one-four-seven ! Help! and Curse the Tax-I.
I'm glad my mother can't see me now, the kid that she used to know With a cherub's smile, a guileless eye and a pretty pale blue how.
I've done and said since the nursery days—well, in verse, one mustn't lie, I used to be rather truthful once, (I wasn't of course in the business once),
You can't. start out to lie at once—
Unless you are Tax-I.
That is what we are known as—that is our name and style. If you want to be very funny, call us a" Shillin' er mile." We are no high-pay servants—demand is less than supply. We're the Provincial Runes Ring up the Tax-I.
I wouldn't myself talk to myself as I left him a year ago, I'm not at all the sort of chap my people ought to know. When I think of the innocent men I knew, the change almost makes me cry.
I used to be smart at figures once, (Gawd ! I did love a decimal once): Dear little sums of addition once—
But now I'm a Tax-I.
That is what we are known as—we are the men that 'avebeen Nearly a year on the cab-stand, smelt it and felt it and seen. We 'aven't got 'old of the needful—we 'ope to bye and bye, When we're pensioned by the Government—no longer proud
Tax.!.
Add. subtract. divide ! The end of the month again ! Tot up the sheets for the mighty, set, out your expenses: plain. Out go the cars in the mornin'. up our relief-laden sigh. A respite—we breathe—Gawd 'alp us: The worried Tax-T.
SWAFFHAM..