A Poor Speller

The occasion of the opening Of a certain famous pier Reminds me of a story Told at a luncheon here.

'Twas said how once in Winnipeg They took upon the Force An illiterate probationer— Though a man of some resource.

They supplied him with a note book When they sent him on his beat, To record whatever happened, With details, quite complete.

Now the first night he's on duty, It chanced there did collide A dairy rig and motor truck— The milkman's horse, it died.

Our hero opened up his book And got his facts down fine, Till he found, on asking, that the street Was known as Ballantyne.

He scratched his head, he bit his thumb, And scratched his head again, Then dragged the carcass through the streets Until he came to Main!

Now, if he hadn't joined the force He might have gone to sea, And where d' you think he'd tie up here? Why sure, the G. T. P.!

But all good sailor-men can spell, So Harbor Board don't fear, Ten letters and three syllables Won't keep them from your pier.