A siren sounds over Astra town

Threat of closure revisits Ellesmere Port

Financial Times, 26 March 2012

I

There’s a siren sounds at the turn of each shift

that we set the clocks by in our town.

Nothing much else disturbs the peace

at least till the landlady hollers time

and those who’ve spent the day guiding

seats onto runners, bolting alloys

onto hubs with pounding pneumatic

spanners, burnishing livery badges

(admittedly with greater pride

if it’s a Vauxhall, though few now are),

down their Stellas, their Speckled Hens,

with a thought for the poor sods turning nights.

II

There’s two and a half thousand workers

on the Vauxhall merry-go-round,

and many a publican, butcher or bookie

along the road home through Hooton

(which was base to the 6-1-0 squadron

during the war). But news from the front

(no Enigma required, it’s all in the papers)

says the Germans are scheming, again,

aiming to close down the plant on efficiency

grounds, too many tea breaks they claim

(some might say they’re attacking our Englishness).

Detroit looks on, promising fairness:

‘materials, markups, then labor,’ they say,

but an Englishman’s labour is the price they pay.

(c) 2012 Slush Poet