“The Song of the Telephone Exchange”
In days of wires and copper bright,
When voices flew through day and night,
A noble task, with wrench and gauge—
To build the great exchange!
With reels of cable, thick and long,
The engineers all sang their song,
“Connect the towns! Let speech be free!
From Ballymore to Battersea!”
They hauled the frames with silent care,
In basements dark or towers fair,
Each switchboard stood like organ pipes,
Conducting calls and hums and gripes.
The linemen climbed with spools and grace,
To thread the wires from place to place,
While office clerks with anxious tone,
Said, “When can I call Margate home?”
Through junction boxes, line by line,
The spark of talk began to shine,
And distant cousins, once estranged,
Were mended by exchange!
The clicking clack of relays fast,
The hum of signal, hiss of past,
And somewhere deep within the coils—
The sound of gossip, deals, and spoils.
A marvel born of sweat and steam,
Of teamwork, vision, pipe, and dream,
So raise a cheer for that fine age—
The birth of the exchange!
For every ring, and every tone,
Was built by hands, not done alone.
And though the future’s wireless made—
Their legacy won’t fade.
The Crazymad Writer Writes Again 