Census Man Bob.

The knock on the door, was insistant and clear,
John opened the door, said, the census man's here,
He bade the man enter, said, please to sit down,
John's mother was worried, her face wore a frown,
The census man entered, said, to all a good day,
Looked at John's mother, her nerves seemed affray,
As he sat at the table, to each child he did look,
While he set down his ink, his quill pen and his book.

The children they watched him, all nine were nearby,
George William was frightened, he sat down to cry,
The man asked his questions, where was Mum born,
My husband's at work, he was gone before dawn,
How many children and what are their ages,
Soon he may ask her, just what were Dad's wages,
She vowed not tell, he would just have to guess,
How old was she now, thirty nine more or less.

Why were they prying, she felt she might weep,
As she looked at her baby in his cradle, asleep,
The census man, kindly, said, don't be afraid,
For he saw by her face, she was slightly dismayed,
Now this is a census, and I'll tell you what for,
I am not here to pry, so don't show me the door,
It's a goverment count of population and such,
A record for the future, I don't ask too much.

The man he seemed friendly, his name it was Bob,
Mum took the black kettle down from the hob,
The "Old Willow," teacups were laid on the table,
A newly baked sponge cake, was set down by Mabel,
Who poured out the tea, and said I'll be mother,
As census man Bob asked the name of each brother,
He asked which of the children, if any could write,
And who there, could spell out their surname tonight.

Census man Bob, was the genealogist's joy,
He explained all so well to the eldest boy,
One hunded years on, when we are deceased,
These records I write, will then be released,
Then maybe the son of your grandson's son,
Will search for this family and find everyone,
John's mother listened, her nervousness gone,
She named each of her children, one by one.

She told Bob the truth, occupations and ages,
An exact account in the census man's pages ,
With friendly persuasion, no holding his collar,
John spelled their surnames, for he was a scholar,
Census man Bob, had learned ten years before,
He must be real friendly or some closed the door,
Some people lied and some just wouldn't tell,
Some did their best though they just couldn't spell.

© 2000 Carole A. M. Johnson