The Surveyor’s Lament (Anon)
They send you out in
heat-waves
with theodolite and
chain.
You carry on in
blizzards
and driving moorland
rain.
With clino and
plane-table
you find where
contours go.
Try looking for a contour
under a foot of
Yorkshire snow!
So at the gates of
Heaven to St. Peter
you will
tell “I’m an Apprentice,
Sir, from Pennypotand
I’ve served my
time in Hell.”
This must have been written by an R.E. Survey apprentice in 1952 or 1953.
Does anyone know his name?
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With thanks to Trevor "Bill" Powell for this contribution