A Visit from St. Joshua
From Wikipedia: Joshua was one of the twelve spies of Israel sent by Moses to explore the land of Canaan... Despite not being canonized, he is considered by some to be the patron saint of spies and intelligence professionals.
Okay, so while he wasn't technically a saint, and doesn't actually feature in this poem, I wanted the title to be vaguely recognisable. Apologies if this offends anyone, but I hope it can be taken in the context of fun it is meant in.
Wrote this way back in about August, but have been saving it for the right time. Inspiration for this is quite obviously A Visit from St. Nicholas by Clement Clarke Moore. (Bit of additional random info for you - did you know that Saint Nicholas was supposedly patron of military intelligence? Well, at least according to w w w . s t n I c h o l a s c e n t e r . o r g / B r I x ? p a g e I D = 4 5)
Anyway, enjoy, and Merry Christmas!
P.S. I love reviews almost as much as I love mince pies and strawberry Ribena... ;D
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the Grid
Some officers did as their overlord bid.
They shuffled and hurried, despite the late night,
Protecting the land from a heck of a fright fright.
::
The people of Britain were tucked up in bed,
No dreaming of guns or bombs haunting their heads.
Their minds full of presents, roast dinners and wine,
But no thoughts for agents, their angels divine.
::
Some had gone home now, some were still here,
While the terrorist threat, as ever, hung near;
The spies of D-Section kept Britain from harm.
A red-flash of pagers, now calling to arms.
::
A shuffle of papers, then boot heels on tiles,
A flurry of footsteps, the dropping of files.
The spooks gathered into one single big room,
Where the voice of Sir Harry Pearce now loudly boomed.
::
From the screen on the wall fell a soft glow of blue
On the motto behind them, the one they all knew –
'Regnum Defende', Defence of the Realm;
Section D led the way, Harry Pearce at the helm.
::
The team were soon briefed on the matter at hand,
And Harry, their leader, now issued commands.
Like always, a time clock was counting right down,
So he issued his orders with a wry, weary frown.
::
"Now, Malcolm! now, Colin! now, Ros, Zaf and Jo!
We need information; hurry, let's go!
Now, Adam! and Ruth too! Find me that bomb!
We've got merely hours till London is gone!
::
But we're under some pressure from Oliver Mace,
And the JIC's crawling all over this place!
So play by the rules as best as you can;
No murder, torture or exploding of vans."
::
With a nod of their heads, his team went to work,
All cursing and damning that JIC jerk,
Muttering insults, they made such a clatter
As they toiled hard and long to resolve the bomb matter.
::
Six assets later, they knew everything,
And the Grid was alive with a loud, hurried din.
The Bomb Squad were sent in to cut the red wires;
They'd avoided the sirens that fled to dark fires.
::
Now came the filing, the paperwork joy;
Zaf tried to avoid it, the slippery boy.
But Jo quickly caught him, and slid him a stack;
It took him all night 'til he handed it back.
::
Up on the rooftop, shy Harry and Ruth
Confessed all their feelings; at last! the whole truth!
An offer of dinner the next day for two,
And in highest spirits, back down they both flew.
::
A kind word or two and now time for dismissal,
A cheer very hearty, big smiles, and a whistle.
They went through the Pods and called, jolly and bright,
"Merry Christmas to all! And to all a good night!"
::
Merry Christmas! =D